“I’m calling it Grumpy Santa. It’s a TikTok. And Instagram. Just for fun. I bet people would love you.”
“Your mother won’t like that.”
“Then it’ll be our secret, as you like to say.” Benny grinned as his little fingers flicked over that screen like he was playing an instrument.
Gracie might do her level best to keep technology out of those ten-year-old hands, but Red knew it was a losing battle. The kid was a prodigy and Red loved him more than he loved Gracie’s creampuffs.
They spent more time outside, the mid-day sun making it bearable. They added a garland to the nearby pine tree, adjusted light strands, and positioned the sleigh just so.
Through it all, Benny had that phone out, and Red got into the Grumpy Santa bit. How could he not? Benny egged him on, and it was admittedly kind of fun.
He even let Benny drape an old jingle bell collar around his shoulders for effect.
The cold air bit at Red’s cheeks, but the sight of Benny’s joy—the way he danced back and forth, checking every angle like a miniature stage manager—warmed something deep in his chest.
“You really think this’ll help the lodge?” Red asked.
“I dunno,” Benny said. “If people come, they’ll stay longer and take sleigh rides. If they stay longer, they’ll spend money. If they spend money…” He inched the phone to the side and grinned. “It’s puppy time! Trust me, Grandpa. This could work.”
He did trust the kid, believe it or not. His granddaughter Nicole was as smart as this little lad, too. Understood advertising and public relations—whatever that was—and things they never needed at Snowberry Lodge before but obviously did now.
As they were finally walking inside, Benny gave him back his phone, looking up at Red with that expression he’d come to know and love for ten years.
He’d never had a son, just two sons-in-law—one died, and the other was a flight risk living in Vermont. And neither of his daughters gave him a grandson, though he adored Gracie and Nicole, his granddaughters.
But then Gracie made a mistake and, like it sometimes happens, from that mistake came the greatest blessing—his namesake, Benedict.
A great-grandson who was well worth the long wait. Red loved him more than he could love any son, and he’d do anything for the kid. Including untangle lights and pretend to be grouchy Santa or whatever Benny called him.
“I like your can-do attitude, Benny-bean,” he muttered, a little overcome with affection for the boy.
“And I like your grumpy face,” he countered.
“I guess I could be nicer, huh?”
Benny shook his head. “Nope. You’re the only Santa I’ve ever known. You’re Santa to me, Grandpa Red. The best Santa in the world.”
That hit the old man right in the ribs.
He looked across the property at the big roof of the Snowberry Lodge, lit with the afternoon sun. His father built that roof, and Red had repaired it more times than he could count.
His daughters were raised inside those walls. He’d kissed Cora, his one and only, for the last time outside the mudroom just a few hours before she had a heart attack and met her Maker.
And here he was, pretending to be Santa for a kid who owned Red’s whole heart.
“They didn’t tell me,” Red said softly.
“What?”
“About the lodge being in trouble. MJ, Cindy, Nic, and Gracie.”
“The womenfolk, you call them,” Benny reminded him. “You always say, ‘It’s you and me against the womenfolk, Benny-bean.’”
Red chuckled at the dead-on imitation of his old-man voice.
“Maybe they didn’t want to worry you,” Benny suggested.
“I’m old, not fragile,” Red muttered as they walked into the house.
