She gave him another kiss, and headed down to make chicken noodle soup.
CHAPTER TEN
The afternoon light streamed through the large windows of the ice rink, casting long shadows across the lobby as Lincoln finished lacing up the last pair of rental skates for the Morrison family. Eight-year-old Bridget Morrison bounced excitedly on her toes while her younger brother Tyler clung to their mother’s hand, eyeing the ice with what looked like a mixture of excitement and fear.
“Remember, stay close to the wall until you get your balance,” Lincoln advised, handing Bridget her skates. “And Tyler, there’s no shame in staying on the rail. Even professional skaters started somewhere.”
Mrs. Morrison smiled gratefully. “Thank you so much. It’s their first time skating, and I have to admit, I’m almost as nervous as Tyler is.”
“You’ll all do great,” Lincoln assured her, watching as the family made their careful way toward the ice. “And I’ll be right here if you need anything.”
The rink had been busier than usual for a Thursday afternoon. The December weather had been particularly snowy and stormy that week, driving more families indoors, and Lincoln had been steadily renting skates and giving impromptuskating lessons since ten that morning. But it was the kind of busy that he loved—the rink filled with laughter ringing out over the Christmas music, children wobbling across the ice with determined expressions, parents calling out encouragement from the sidelines, friends sharing pizza and singing off-key.
He was just making sure the skates that the last family had turned in were put away when he heard footsteps. Looking up, he saw Nolan McCoy walking his way, his mail carrier bag slung over one shoulder and a small stack of envelopes in his hand.
“Afternoon, Nolan,” Lincoln called out warmly, pleased to see him. Despite the man’s well-known aversion to all things festive, Lincoln had always found Nolan to be good company—straightforward and reliable, with a dry sense of humor.
“Lincoln,” Nolan replied with a nod, approaching the counter. “Got some mail for you. Nothing too exciting, I’m afraid—looks like utility bills and what might be a vendor catalog.”
“The glamorous life of a small business owner,” Lincoln said with a chuckle, accepting the mail. “Thanks for bringing it by. How’s the route treating you today?”
“Neither snow nor wind nor rain,” Nolan said with a chuckle. “Although I have to say, the amount of Christmas cards I’m delivering is getting a bit ridiculous. People seem to start earlier every year.”
Lincoln grinned. “The rest of the town should make sure to send some of those cards to you. Liven up your place a bit with a little Christmas cheer.”
“Absolutely not,” Nolan shook his head. “That’s fine for everyone else, but I’ll be just as happy when all this festive nonsense is done for the year.”
Lincoln chuckled. “Speaking of Christmas, I don’t suppose you heard about the Secret Santa thing that’s going around town?”
Nolan’s expression immediately shifted to something resembling mild horror as he rolled his eyes. “Oh, please tell me you’re not about to try to rope me into some holiday cheer nonsense.”
“Nah,” Lincoln said with a laugh. “Just something that Mabel and Vanessa have cooked up for everyone. They seem pretty excited about it, and so is everyone else. A bunch of people have already drawn names, I guess.”
“Of course they are.” Nolan snorted. “Everyone in this town goes nuts for any new holiday shtick that someone comes up with.”
“All right, Grinch.” Lincoln shook his head. “Is there anything that could make you like Christmas? There’s gotta be something. The food? The time off work? The excuse to give people gifts?”
“Absolutely not,” Nolan said firmly. “Christmas is loud, expensive, overly sentimental, and it makes perfectly rational adults act like children hopped up on sugar. I fail to see the appeal.”
Lincoln smirked. He had a feeling Nolan would change his mind one day. After all, just look at George Lowery. George definitely had never hated Christmas—he couldn’t, since he ran the tree farm—but he also had never been into big holiday festivities. Mabel had managed to change that, no problem. But he knew better than to say that out loud. “Fair enough,” he said instead. “Can’t say I didn’t try.”
“You and everyone else,” Nolan groused good-naturedly. “So who did you end up drawing in this Secret Santa business?”
Lincoln felt heat rise in his cheeks almost immediately, a reaction that caught him completely off guard. He cleared his throat, trying to sound casual as he answered. “Oh, um, I pulled Imogen’s name. Imogen Sanders, from the chocolate shop.”
Nolan nodded, and Lincoln was glad that he hadn’t seemed to notice Lincoln’s slightly flustered response. “Oh, nice. She makes some good chocolates. Maybe she’ll draw your name and you’ll get some of those as your gift.” He chuckled. “What are you going to get her?”
“I’m not sure yet,” Lincoln admitted. “I want it to be something thoughtful, you know? Something that shows I put some real consideration into it.”
Nolan snorted. “It’s just a Secret Santa gift. But you’ve got time to figure it out. When’s the big reveal supposed to happen?”
“This weekend. So not really that much time. But I’m sure I’ll figure it out.”
“That’s a quick turnaround. Not much time for anyone to figure out what they’re getting. I’d have thought they’d plan it for the town Christmas party or something.” Nolan shrugged. “Kind of weird.”
Now that Lincoln thought about it, itwasan oddly fast turnaround time. Mabel and Vanessa had been clear that everyone needed to make sure they exchanged gifts that Saturday, saying that if people did it at different times, word would get around town and people would start figuring out who was left. The annual town partywouldhave made more sense, but he was sure they’d had some reason for it that he just wasn’t thinking of right then.
They chatted for a few moments longer before Nolan adjusted his bag on his shoulder and said he’d better get back to it. Lincoln waved as he headed out, then went to help a pair of kids get their skates turned in, his mind lingering on the Secret Santa.
