The Mistletoe Kisser: Blue Moon #8

by Score, Lucy

  Great. Now he was thinking about her mouth again. Which made him think about their kiss yesterday. Which made him think of what else they could have been doing in addition to more kissing. Which made him hard. Again.

  “What does all this mean?” called a tall man with an Afro in the back.

  “Yeah. Are our kids really gonna be toothless?” asked a woman in a tie-dye onesie from the second row.

  “Explain like we’re five,” the teenager next to Gia suggested.

  “Good call, Evan,” Beckett said, pointing at the kid. He stalked over to the whiteboard and picked up a marker. “This is Blue Moon,” he said, drawing a circle.

  A man with a fanny pack and camera with a telephoto lens jumped up onto the stage and started blasting Beckett with blinding flashes.

  “That don’t look like the town limits,” someone yelled from the balcony.

  “Pretend,” Beckett said dryly. He ignored the paparazzo and drew a second, bigger circle. “This is the state.”

  “How’s come Blue Moon isn’t in the state?” a guy in a straw hat and a Grateful Dead sweatshirt asked.

  “Just go with it,” Beckett suggested with what Ryan felt was unwarranted patience. “Every year, the state gives our town money to help fund things like our schools, fire department, police, public buildings.”

  The photographer shoved his camera into Beckett’s face and snapped half a dozen shots in rapid succession.

  “Like an allowance,” the big, bearded guy on Sammy’s right supplied.

  Carter Pierce. Ryan recalled seeing him from a distance… on the back of a horse yesterday.

  “Exactly like an allowance,” Beckett said, blinking rapidly. He reached out blindly for the whiteboard, accidentally swiping his dry-erase marker over the camera lens and photographer’s face.

  “Hey! Freedom of the press!” the guy yelled.

  “That’s Anthony Berkowicz,” Sammy said, leaning in to his side. Her hair smelled like cinnamon. “He’s Rainbow and Gordon’s son and editor of The Monthly Moon.”

  “The what?” Ryan knew exactly what The Monthly Moon was, but he liked how it felt to have her leaning against him.

  “Town newspaper,” she whispered back.

  “I vote that we use our allowance to install heated sidewalks,” a skinny teenager with pink hair and wearing a Nirvana shirt called out.

  “I second the motion!”

  “That’s not how this works,” Beckett said in exasperation. “The state tells us how we’re allowed to spend our allowance.”

  “That doesn’t seem fair,” shouted a woman from the far side of the theater. “I’m tired of shoveling. I vote for heated sidewalks.”

  With an exaggerated sigh, Gia stood up and handed Sammy her wiggly toddler. “Hold this, please,” she said, then climbed onto her seat. She stuck her fingers in her mouth and whistled shrilly.

  The crowd quieted.

  “Listen up, people!” Gia addressed the crowd. “Heated sidewalks mean no school district. No fire trucks. No public library or town parks. So if you want to put all the teachers and support staff out of jobs, drive around potholes that can swallow your Volkswagen, and put out your own fires, by all means, demand heated sidewalks.”

  “This is like a soap opera,” Ryan said, leaning in to catch another whiff of Sammy’s hair.

  “Yeah, but like a telenovela,” she said, jiggling the kid on her knee. The baby or toddler—Ryan wasn’t sure what the age cutoff was—giggled.

  “Do you still want heated sidewalks?” Gia yelled.

  “I guess we can go back to shoveling,” someone said.

  “Good. Then let’s take a deep, cleansing breath together,” Gia insisted.

  “Yoga teacher,” Sammy whispered.

  Around them, the audience inhaled noisily and then exhaled, creating an indoor gale-force wind. Blue Moon had an impressive collective lung capacity.

  “Good,” Gia said, giving them a curt nod. “Now let’s sit down, shut our faces, and listen to my very handsome husband as he tells us what this means and how he’s going to get us out of it.”

  There was scattered applause as Gia regained her seat. Someone in the sound booth played a few bars of “Respect” by Aretha Franklin.

  “Hang in there with me for just another minute, folks,” Beckett begged. “The state is sending an auditor to Blue Moon.” He drew a stick figure.

  “How come the auditor has three legs?”

  “Maybe that’s not a leg.”

  Beckett erased the third leg and soldiered on. “If we can’t prove that we spent our allowance in the places the state said we could, we will lose all of that funding for next year and we may be responsible for paying this year’s funding back to the state.”

  “That sounds bad,” someone called.

  “Yes. It is very, very, very bad,” Beckett verified. He drew a big frowny face on the whiteboard.

  “Mama, that’s just like the sticker I get at school for talking too much,” Aurora whisper-yelled to Gia.

  The mayor returned to the lectern. “I promise you we are going to do everything we can to make sure that doesn’t happen. We’re asking for any volunteers with accounting or small business experience to help us go through six months of town transactions to reconstruct the reporting we’re missing. Be advised, this is a massive undertaking,” Beckett cautioned.

  “When is the auditor coming?” asked a woman in a long caftan.

  Beckett looked like he was going to be sick. “The auditor will be here at eight a.m. Christmas Eve.”

  The murmurs in the crowd cranked up to full volume.

  “That’s the day after tomorrow,” Sammy groaned. “Exactly how bad is very, very, very bad?”

  “Even worse than you think,” Ryan said. “The town risks losing all future state funding. Property taxes will sky-rocket to cover the difference. People won’t be able to afford to own real estate. Which means foreclosures, a mass exodus. And that’s not even touching on potential jail time if Blue Moon can’t prove the town didn’t commit fraud or embezzle the money.”

  “We’re fucked,” Carter Pierce muttered under his breath.

  Aurora’s red head swiveled around and eyed her uncle. “I heard that, Uncle Carter,” she whispered. He reached forward and tugged a fire-red curl.

  “If you have the experience we’re looking for and you have time you’re willing to donate, we will be eternally grateful,” Beckett said. “Please see Rainbow Berkowicz after the meeting, which ends now.”

  Bruce popped back up at the microphone, blowing his nose noisily into a handkerchief. “I would like to issue a public apology to the fair and just people of Blue Moon. Amethyst and I plan to throw ourselves on the mercy of the court—”

  “This isn’t a court, Bruce,” Beckett said, wrestling the microphone back. “You can apologize later when we don’t have a Solstice to celebrate and six months of financial records to recreate. Thanks, everyone, for your time. If you can volunteer, please see Rainbow.”

  Ryan had every intention of seeing Rainbow, he thought grimly.

  Beckett made a gesture toward the back of the theater. The spotlight dimmed and the microphone’s audio cut as Bruce launched into another convoluted bid for forgiveness.

  Ryan saw Sammy eyeing the line that was already forming. “I should volunteer,” she said half to herself.

  “Do you have accounting experience?” he asked.

  “Not exactly. Phoebe Pierce handles my books.”

  “Then I suggest you leave it to the experts.”

  “Who? Mason?” She nodded at the aisle where Mason was surrounded by a crowd five people deep in all directions. Everyone was volleying rapid-fire questions at him.

  “If you get involved in that mess, you’ll regret it,” he advised.

  “That’s not how things are done around here,” she said, blue eyes narrowing. “We don’t just turn our backs. We help each other out.”

  “Relax, Sparkle. I have a feeling the perfect solut
ion will present itself,” he assured her.

  She raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Since when are you Mr. Positivity?”

  “Me? I’m just a guy trying to save a farm and get on a plane.”

  “You know something, don’t you?”

  He most certainly did. But he couldn’t afford to tip his hand just yet.

  “Excuse us.” Carter the Beard was standing. “We’re heading out.”

  The gorgeous blonde next to him grinned. “This was the fastest meeting in history. We’ve still got an hour on the clock with the babysitting grandparents.”

  “Ah,” Sammy said. “Have fun, you two.”

  Sammy got to her feet, and Ryan did the same so the couple could step into the aisle and haul ass toward the door.

  “Does everyone in this town have libidos in overdrive?” Ryan wondered.

  “Sure looks that way,” Sammy said wistfully.

  She glanced back at the table where a long line had formed. The Berkowicz guy was dancing around the people with his camera, asking them to “look concerned.” Ryan was willing to bet his entire portfolio of CDs that ninety percent of the Mooners in line did not have the experience necessary.

  “I guess I should get home and get some work done,” she said.

  “I guess this is goodbye. Again,” he said, sticking his hands in his pockets so he wouldn’t try to touch her. Every time they said goodbye, he felt less enthused about the idea that he wouldn’t see her again. Which, frankly, was annoying. He’d known her two days. Forty-eight hours. That wasn’t enough time to miss someone.

  “I feel like I keep saying goodbye, and you keep turning up anyway,” she said, biting her lower lip.

  He forced himself to look away from that tempting mouth. “Maybe we should stop saying goodbye then,” he suggested.

  She held out her hand to him. “In that case, I’ll see you around, Ryan.”

  He took her hand and held it firmly in his own. “I can’t wait,” he said.

  With a smile hovering on those kissable lips, she slid her hand free and walked down the aisle. He watched her all the way, hoping for one final look. He should have kissed her again. Might have seriously considered it if they hadn’t been surrounded by an entire municipality.

  Finally, once she’d reached the concession stand, Sammy paused and glanced over her shoulder. She found him in the crowd and gave a little wave. He blew out a breath and tried not to think about how much he was going to miss those blue eyes despite the fact that it made no sense.

  When she was out of sight, he wandered over to the volunteer table and got in line. For once, he had nothing but time on his hands.

  Which was convenient since he ended up waiting nearly twenty minutes. The woman in front of him, Kathy Wu, went into great detail about her qualifications due to an at-home vibrator business.

  By the time he got to the front of the line, a sweaty Bruce Oakleigh was hovering behind Rainbow.

  “Evan, put Kathy on the Only If Absolutely Necessary list,” Rainbow said to the kid next to her. Gia and Beckett’s oldest, Ryan guessed. He had an owlish, serious look.

  “You got it. That brings us to forty-seven Only If Absolutely Necessaries and three Actually Know What They’re Doing. And two of those weren’t volunteers. They were nominated.”

  Rainbow rolled her eyes.

  “Oh, thank goodness you’re here, Ryan!” Sweaty Bruce exclaimed, mopping his brow with a hand-stitched Team Angel handkerchief. “Ryan will save us. He’s a corporate accountant, you know, Rainbow.”

  “I am aware of Ryan’s qualifications,” she said testily. “What I don’t understand is why he’s here.”

  “Obviously he’s here to help,” Bruce scoffed.

  “I’m not so sure about that,” Rainbow said.

  Evan glanced back and forth between them, then shrugged. “I’m gonna see if there’s any popcorn left.”

  Rainbow steepled her fingers. “What can we do for you, Ryan?”

  “I think the question should be what can I do for you?”

  “What can you do for us? Tell us!” Bruce begged. He was leaning so far over the table that he was almost prone.

  “I have experience related to your problem,” Ryan announced.

  “What kind of experience?” Rainbow asked as if she had zero interest in the conversation.

  “Ever hear of the town Red Rock Bay in Washington state?” he asked.

  “Nope.” Rainbow sounded bored.

  “I could Google it,” Bruce offered, patting his pockets for his phone. “Do you want me to Google it?”

  “You’ve never heard of Red Rock Bay because I stepped in at the eleventh hour and saved the town from a very public bankruptcy.”

  “Bruce, why don’t you go get Amethyst some water,” Rainbow suggested, leaning back in her chair.

  “Yes. Good idea! Don’t say anything important until I get back. Amethyst, my pearl! I’m coming,” Bruce said, charging into the crowd.

  “Let’s step outside,” Rainbow suggested, pulling on her coat.

  Ryan followed her out the exit door. The alley was dark and frigid. He dragged on his hat while Rainbow lit another one of her clove cigarettes.

  “Let’s get down to brass tacks,” she said.

  “I came across some interesting information regarding my uncle’s loan today,” Ryan said.

  “You did?” For a moment, she looked perplexed. “I mean. Oh, you did. What do you want?”

  “I want a sit-down with you tomorrow to hash this out once and for all.”

  “In exchange for?”

  “I can make this state auditor problem go away. At least long enough for you to come up with the proper documentation.”

  He had her interest now, he thought as she eyed him shrewdly.

  “How do I know you’re not full of shit?” she asked, blowing out a contemplative cloud of smoke.

  Ryan flipped his ear flaps down. “Guess you’ll just have to trust me.”

  “So I meet with you tomorrow, and you solve this auditor problem before Christmas Eve?”

  “Yes.” He held out a hand. “I’ll see you at eight a.m.”

  “Four p.m.,” she countered.

  “Noon.”

  “Deal,” she said, shaking his hand, her grip firm enough to rearrange several of the smaller finger bones.

  “Rainbow?” Evan the kid appeared in the doorway. He was shoveling popcorn into his face. “Pond Birkbeck wants to know if clipping coupons counts as accounting experience.”

  “I’ll see you at noon, Ryan,” she said menacingly.

  “Looking forward to it,” Ryan said.

  The Monthly Moon:

  Contrary to recent rumors, Mayor Beckett Pierce confirms there have been no official steps taken to shun Bruce and Amethyst Oakleigh. Mayor Pierce also confirms that as far as he knows “alien life forms have not been living among us.”

  The mayor refused to weigh in on whether or not the school district’s More Fiber for Better Poops movement would be on the next town meeting’s agenda. He suggested the Monthly Moon’s journalist schedule an appointment and not just show up on his doorstep at 11 p.m. on a weeknight.

  22

  Sammy was in the middle of wiring a glittery jingle bell in place when there was a knock on her door. It was after nine on a cold-ass winter night. If it was some Mooner wanting to place a custom wreath order in person, there was a distinct possibility that she was going to lose her shit.

  Tripping over a naked wreath, she stomped to her front door. “Ryan?” Sammy nearly dropped her glue gun onto a cat when she opened her front door and found him standing there looking handsome and broody. “What are you doing here?”

  Was this a booty call? Please be a booty call!

  “I’m amped up on battling it out with Rainbow Berkowicz,” he announced from his place on her Merry Everything welcome mat. There was indeed an unpredictable sort of energy crackling off him.

  If this was a booty call, he was going to have to deal wi
th the fact that she’d only remembered to shave one armpit and had eaten six garlic-stuffed olives in place of an actual supper.

  “Plus, I thought you might need food,” he said, holding up two John Pierce Brews to-go bags. “Goat Guy hooked me up with soups, sandwiches, and a six-pack of something called Apocalypse Ale.”

  He’d brought her food she didn’t have to cook after she’d worked straight through dinner. Booty call on.

  “Wow. Okay,” she said, standing aside so he could come in. “Thanks. Did you seriously get into a fight with Rainbow after the town meeting?”

  He crossed the threshold and she felt his gaze as it traveled over her from the ratty hooded sweatshirt, over her Naughty or Nice pajama shorts, down to her candy cane knee socks.

  Dammit. Well, at least her hair still looked good.

  “Holy shit!” she yelped when a gigantic cotton ball appeared next to him in the doorway.

  “Oh. You don’t mind that I brought Stan, do you? He was bored and I’m pretty sure he’s housebroken.” The sheep wandered past her into the house.

  “Uh. That’s fine,” she said, watching Stan trot into the living room. Holly, the almost-glue-gunned cat, skulked behind him, eyeing the sheep with suspicion.

  “He’s pretty good company,” Ryan told her.

  The man had developed a friendship with a sheep he let in the house. Booty call off.

  “How did you find my place?” she asked, following him as he headed for her kitchen.

  The man looked out of place in the tight space with its ancient apple wallpaper and dingy pine cabinets. She wished she would have gotten around to doing the dishes and vacuuming.

  “I asked the bartender at the brewery. She knew. The llama lady from yesterday with the bad biscotti was there for dinner and gave me turn-by-turn directions. Jax said you’re usually in bed by nine, but I knew you’d be up late making wreaths.”

  Sammy blinked. “Hang on. You told how many Mooners that you were coming over to my house tonight?”

  “Just three,” he said, clearly not understanding the ramifications.

  She preferred not having to field well-meaning but inappropriate questions about her sex life in the produce aisle at the grocery store or under a cow’s udder.