“Oh?”
I peer at her through slits. “Why does that surprise you?”
She can’t meet my gaze. “He…He’s, uh, a stranger, really.”
“A stranger, hmm?”
Her cheeks flame red, like two little Rudolph noses. “Well, I…I met him the other day. Briefly.”
“Was it?” I ask. “Brief?”
She squeezes her eyes shut and takes a breath. “We also had dinner together.”
“And did you have a good time?”
When she finally looks at me, there’s a brightness to her face I haven’t seen in a long time.
“I did,” she says, barely above a whisper.
“Doesn’t sound like he’s much of a stranger to either of us then, does it?” I wrap my arm around her shoulders and give her a squeeze. “I’m glad you’re here, Mom.”
Her face softens. “Don’t think you’re getting off that easy, young lady. You pulled a fast one on me.”
I grin and loop my arm through hers. “Why don’t we just call it even?”
“The winnerof this year’sDo You Want to Build a Snowmancontest is…” The mayor of Loving pauses for effect. “The Butts Family!”
“What?”Rose’s voice slices through the air, bringing everyone’s attention to her. She throws her hands up. “I’m just saying what we’re all thinking. This competition’s rigged.”
Several people from neighboring teams nod and clap their agreement.
“Small-town politics,” Lucy mutters.
Willow stifles a laugh. “Or maybe it’s because our snowman looks a little” —she lowers her voice so Noah and Emily can’t hear— “phallic.”
“Oh God, it does,” I whisper, clasping a hand over my mouth.
Our snowman ended up with no arms and two large wads of bubble wrap at the bottom to add additional support because he kept toppling over. Even the Santa hat we put on him at the last minute couldn’t save him.
“I think it adds a little something, if you ask me,” Rose says. “Jolly Old Saint Dickolas is standing tall.”
Ben snorts. “One might even sayerect.”
“Butts family,” the mayor continues, “you can come collect your hundred-dollar gift certificate to Lovebird Brews.”
“I get to take you back there this week,” Ron says to my mom, and my heart lurches. “If you ask me, I already won.”
“What’s next on the agenda?” Kayla asks as the volunteers come around to collect our snowmen.
“The karaoke contest starts in half an hour,” Ben answers.
I sense my mother stiffening at my side, and I touch her arm.
Dad used to love the karaoke competition. He looked forward to it every year, and he always had to have a spot right by the stage. For as much as he loved to watch, he never actually competed.
But Mom did. Every year, she sang just for him because he loved it so much. Because he loved the sound of her voice. I haven’t even heard her hum since Dad passed away. Not in the kitchen, not in the car, not anywhere. When Dad died, the music in our lives did too. One second, we were singing along to our favorite song. The next, we were right in the middle of the best part when it just stopped, never to be heard again. The words linger on the tips of our tongues, but the melody is always out of reach.
“What do you say we all hit the refreshment stand?” Oliver asks. “I noticed The Southern Bean is serving coffee up there.”
