Page 62 of Mistletoe All the Way

He rolls it up, tucks it in his pocket, and says, “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Yes. Yes, I would.

What exactly does Noah plan to do with the ribbon? I wonder as I dig into Noah’s grandmother’s mushroom risotto. Will he, I don’t know, take it to bed? My thoughts bump into one another again and now I’m wondering if I put all the ribbons away. I’m definitely going to have to double-check.

But I’d better focus on the lunch conversation, not on after-dark innuendo. Once I’ve taken a bite of a chanterelle, I ask his grandparents what they plan to do once they’ve settled in San Diego. Noah’s grandmother tells me she’s already found a surfing instructor.

“And maybe I’ll join my lovely bride on the waves,” Hank says.

Stephen’s brow knits with worry. “Surfing, Gramps? You sure about that?”

Noah’s grandmother shakes her head. “I swear, Hank, if you hurt your knee again surfing, I’m going to have to say I told you so, so hard.”

Hank offers her a confident smile. “I won’t, June. I swear I won’t.”

“You’d better not,” Stephen says as he slices into a piece of asparagus before turning to his grandfather. “But if you do, don’t worry. I’ll come help you again.”

“I know you will, kid,” Hank says with real affection.

Noah snaps his gaze to his grandfather. “You hurt your knee? What happened?”

His grandfather waves a dismissive hand over his plate. “I was putting the horses away in the barn, and my feet got tangled up, and I fell. It was no big deal.”

“You didn’t tell me. You should have told me,” Noah says, setting his fork down with a decisive clink.

“It was a few months ago, and he was fine. Just needed to ice his back for a bit and take some ibuprofen and have some TLC,” June puts in. “And Stephen helped out the whole time. He was the front man for Silver Bells—greeted customers and oversaw the guys in the barn.”

I burn. Dammit. That was nice of him, and I hate that Stephen has a good side.

“Least I could do,” Stephen says with an It was nothing shrug before diving back into his risotto.

Noah must swallow down his pride since he says earnestly, “Appreciate you doing that.”

“You can always count on me,” Stephen says, his eyes on his grandparents as he delivers a promise he can likely keep. “You’ve been there for me, that’s for sure. Wouldn’t have been able to make it through that rough patch without you.”

I sit up straighter. So Hank knows about Stephen’s past troubles?

“Businesses hit hard times,” Hank says to him. “It’s how you get through it that matters. And you did, with hard work and determination.”

I steal a glance at Noah, who seems to be doing his best to keep a neutral expression even as his forehead crinkles.

“Learned it from you,” Stephen says.

I don’t disagree with their grandfather. Businesses do hit hard times. And how you weather the storm matters. I just can’t help but wonder how Stephen’s weathering storms—above the board or under the table.

As we finish eating, I wish I could say my thoughts return to what Noah’s going to do with the ribbon that was in my pants, but now they’re locked on Stephen. Have we been wrong about him? Is he simply the helpful grandson? An affable guy who likes to lend a hand?

When lunch ends, Stephen thanks June, then says he needs to head to work.

“Nice seeing all of you,” he says, then offers a friendly wave and takes off.

The door snicks shut. That’s a relief, but still, I’d better cover my tracks in the barn just in case I left a ribbon behind.

“Darn,” I say in the kitchen as I’m setting a dish down next to Noah. “I think I dropped my tampon case in the barn.”

No one questions women about period supplies.

Ever.