Everyone returns to the kitchen, with Park and me following behind.
He leans in, whispering in my ear as he passes. “IknowI can keep up with you. The question really should be, can you keep up with me?” He shoots me a cocky smile over his shoulder before joining my sisters on the barstools.
Park doesn’t know, but I am more than up for the challenge.
* * *
Park
I feel like I just entered the setof a Hallmark Christmas movie. The Warren’s house looks like an elf vomited holiday cheer all over it. A full Christmas tree stands in the corner, wrapped in multi-colored lights and mismatched ornaments. Homemade stockings hang on the fireplace with hand stitched names across the top. In the center of the mantel is a pyramid of glass baby jars hot glued together into the shape of a tree with a strand of lights poking through the backs. Santa and Mrs. Claus sit on shelves. Garland wraps around the banister, and a Christmas advent calendar hangs on the wall.
I pull out a barstool and sit next to Lacee’s sisters. “Your toffee smells amazing.”
“It’s a secret family recipe.” Gina dips a wooden spoon into the mixture and swirls it around. “The best in Leavenworth.”
“I believe it, just based on the aroma.”
“So, Park, what brings you to Leavenworth?” Bruce covers the counter with wax paper. “Just the traditional Christmas touring?”
“No, actually, I’m here visiting my mother.”
“Who’s your mother?” Gina asks. “Maybe I know her.”
“Mary Bradshaw.” I think that’s the name I told Lacee. It gets confusing sometimes.I googled Lacee’s old home economics teacher in Leavenworth so I could make that connection with her and build trust, but now her teacher’s name and my fake mom’s name are jumbled together in my brain.
“Oh, Mary!” Gina nods. “Yes, I know her.”
My brows drop. “You do?”
“Lovely woman.”
“MaryBradshaw?” I emphasize the last name because how could there possibly be someone in Leavenworth with that exact made-up name—a town with only 2,300 people?
“Yes.” A frown crosses over Gina’s face. “I’m sorry to hear that her dementia is progressing.”
Dementia?
Lacee’s expression fills with concern. “I’m sorry too.”
“Thanks,” I mutter.
“Mary Bradshaw. Is she the one that moved in five or six years ago?” Bruce asks, taking the pan off the stove.
“Yes.” Gina rushes to his side, placing a hot pad on the counter for him to rest the pot on.
Thank goodness this Mary chick hasn’t lived in Leavenworth that long or else my cover would get blown.
Bruce turns to me. “She’s the actress, right?”
Actress?
I nod back at Bruce. It’s best just to go with the flow in situations like this.
“I bet it’s hard for her to adjust to living in an assisted home now,” he says.
Assisted home?
This just keeps getting worse. I used the nameMarybecause that’s a very Christmasy name. Next time I choose a random name for my fake mom, I’ll be sure to pick something obscure like Aghna or Minta.
