Robyn Neeley - Christmas Dinner

Lacy giggled. “What do you mean? It’s my favorite BU sweatshirt. I bought it my freshman year.”

“Amanda, I think you have something of mine.” He grinned mischievously and pointed to his tie still coiled around her wrist.

She immediately pulled it off and flung it at him. “Lacy was just about to tell me how I ended up on the couch where, apparently, you were sleeping?”

“I got this, Lacy.” He winked and turned to Amanda. “You came out here earlier this morning mumbling something about needing to make sugar cookies for the tree deliveries. What was that all about anyway? I got up to use the bathroom, and when I returned . . . well, there you were snuggled up on the sofa. Out like a light.”

Amanda sipped her coffee. His recount of how she’d ended up on the couch was innocent enough. She would have preferred that her assistant didn’t see her after a few drinks, but at least she didn’t make a mistake with Tate.

“I really do need to go.” She set her mug on the coffee table. “I still need to pack. I should have been on the road by now. Lacy, would it be too much trouble to take me to my car?” She stood up and looked around for her clothes. She hoped her Nissan was still at the Singing Surf.

“Sorry, Boss. My roommate has my car. She drove to Raleigh last night. I’m sure Tate can take you.” Lacy retrieved Amanda’s suit from the back of the recliner and handed it to her.

Tate stood. “Sure. No problem. I’m headed out of town for the holidays myself. Packed and ready to go. I can drop you off at the bar and jump on the highway.”

“Thanks,” Amanda muttered.

“Where are you off to, Tate?” Lacy asked, picking up Amanda’s coffee mug.

“Nowhere special. Just visiting extended family up north and getting a little skiing in.” He yawned. “Can you be ready in five minutes, Ace?”

“Fine.”

She dressed hurriedly in the bathroom and rushed out the door. Tate and Lacy sat on the building’s front steps. Well, what’s going on here? She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but something suspicious was going on. Amanda watched them hug.

Seeing Amanda, Lacy pulled away from Tate and stood. “Well, I should probably get ready for work. The bus comes in twenty minutes. Happy holidays,” she said, giving Amanda an enthusiastic embrace. She whispered in her ear, “Open your eyes. This is going to be your best Christmas yet.”

Amanda smiled wryly. Why was this going to be the best Christmas yet? What had Tate said to Lacy? And why did Amanda need to open her eyes?

“Bye, Lace.” Tate rose from the steps and gave Lacy a quick wave. He reached inside his coat pocket for his keys. “Ready?” He started down the path to his Jeep, not waiting for Amanda’s answer.

“What kind of game are you playing?” Amanda called out, hot on his heels. “Visiting family up north? You don’t mean my family, do you? Please don’t tell me I agreed to take you home with me?” She tied her coat tightly around her waist, trying to block out the frigid air.

Tate smirked. “You know, I’m starting to think you’re grumpy all the time. Okay. I’ll tell you what happened. We had dinner together. You had one too many glasses of wine. I wanted to drive you home, but you wouldn’t reveal such classified information as your street address. There was no way I was going to let you get behind a wheel.”

“So, how did we end up at Lacy’s?”

“Look, Nancy Drew, I called Lacy, using your phone, to get your address. Check it if you don’t believe me. You snatched the phone from me. Might I add this is after you grabbed the Santa hat off of the bartender’s head and tried to set it on fire with the candle on our table.” He reached out and touched her shoulder. “You really have issues. We’re lucky you didn’t burn the place down. The owner practically tossed us out.”

Amanda pushed his hand away from her. That explained why she vaguely remembered the Santa hat and inhaling smoke. Whatever. The bartender looked ridiculous in that hat, anyway. She did him a favor. “All right. Go on.”

“You demanded that Lacy pick you up and told her that her job depended on it. It was late and rather than continue arguing, I agreed to drive you here. Shortly after we arrived, you passed out.” He unlocked and opened the passenger door. “Lacy and I stayed up and watched TV for a while. I fell asleep on the couch until you commandeered my spot earlier this morning, and to the recliner I went. End of story.”

Amanda got in his Jeep. She didn’t believe for a second that he was telling her the complete story. What was their embrace back there about? They were hiding something.

“So I didn’t agree to take you home for Christmas?” she asked as soon as Tate jumped in the other side.

“No,” Tate admitted. “You didn’t.”

“Thank God.” She massaged her aching head.

“Hey, you really are in rough shape. Anything I can do, Ace?” Tate asked, shoving his key into the ignition.

“Don’t you think you’ve done enough this week?” Amanda shot back. “Maybe when I return you can break another story and put the final nail in my career’s coffin.” Her head was about to split in two.

“There will soon be other news for you to break—probably more on this story, in fact. How about a Christmas truce?”

“Fine,” she conceded. She needed to let it go. The teleprompter jam really wasn’t his fault. Besides, he was right. There would be more news on the mayor’s downfall after the holidays. She would insist on taking the lead.

They sat in silence as Tate drove the two miles to the bar. Red and green holiday decorations saturated Wilmington’s historical district storefronts. Poles decked out with red and white ribbon.

Maybe she should hibernate in her condo and ride out Christmas weekend. She could tell her family she had the flu and shouldn’t be around her pregnant sister. It wasn’t a total lie. She closed her eyes and fought back the sick feeling in her stomach. The last thing she needed to do was throw up in Tate’s Jeep. He’d never let her live it down.

Minutes later, her body leaned to the right as Tate swerved into the bar’s parking lot. Finally.

“What the . . .” Tate raised his voice.

“What?” Amanda flung her eyes open and sat up straight. “Oh my God. My car!” The life-size Santa statue and sleigh display from last night had crashed into her car’s front hood, shattering her window. Toys and shards of glass were scattered all over the ground. The sleigh was turned over on its side next to the car. Kris Kringle’s red velvet behind and black boots were lodged halfway through her front window.

Flying out the Jeep, she ran over to her Nissan. She bent down and picked up a small brown teddy bear, a casualty from the sleigh.

“Wow!” Tate joined her. “Now this could be the best reason yet for you to hate Christmas.”

“You don’t think one of the mayor’s supporters did this for revenge?”

Tate considered it for a second. “Nah, but I have a feeling we’re about to find out what happened.” He nodded in the direction of the tavern.

Amanda recognized the man walking toward them. It was Richie, the tavern’s owner. “Ma’am, is this your car?”

“Yes. I left it here last night. Do you know who did this?” she asked in disbelief.

Richie pointed over to the flatbed truck and stammered. “Well . . . um . . . er . . . We were fixing to take the sleigh off this morning when my son, Drew, accidentally put the truck in reverse and hit the gas too hard. It went flying onto—”

“My car,” Amanda finished. Her eyes were fixed on her violated Nissan.

“I’m awfully sorry. We’re going to pull the Santa out and call for a tow truck. Can I have them take it to a garage for you? I’ll take care of the repairs.”