Her Naughty Holiday

“My lovely brilliant wonderful daughter left her phone here. I have been commanded to fetch it and overnight it to her mom’s house.”

“Ruthie left her phone here? I thought she had that thing surgically attached to her hand.”

“Yeah, me, too. And didn’t I specifically ask her if she had her phone and her charger?”

“You did. Right after asking her if she had her meds.”

“Okay. Glad I have a witness for this so I know it’s one hundred percent her fault.”

“All her fault,” she said, trying not to laugh. Erick and Ruthie were hilarious together. Ruthie was comically sullen around her father, who was comically sullen around his daughter. They snarked at each other so well one would think sarcasm was the only language they both spoke. But it was impossible not to see how much Erick loved his girl and how much Ruthie adored her father, even if they did constantly harangue and harass each other. She called him “Pops,” which he hated, and he called her “Ruthless,” which she hated even more. Clover found it all endearing and entertaining. She wished she could tease her own parents like that.

“Ruthie said her phone’s in her desk but she might have locked it in there.”

“I’ll get my key,” Clover said. He followed her back into her office and Clover took the key off the wall hook. “You know, it is really not like her to leave her phone. She okay?”

“She’s fine. She probably has it. She’s probably pulling some kind of prank on me by sending me back here. There’s a real possibility there’s a snake in there,” Erick said. “I know my daughter and she knows I hate snakes.”

“I know her, too. So stand back. I’ll protect you. Ready?” She stuck her key in the desk drawer lock.

“I hate snakes,” Erick said.

“Set.”

“Really hate snakes.”

“Go.” She opened the drawer and saw... “It’s her phone.”

“No snakes?” Erick had his eyes shut so tight it looked like he was in pain.

“No snakes. She actually forgot her phone. Wow.”

“Maybe she is coming down with something. I hope she’s not sick. You think this is a sign of a brain tumor or something?”

“She seemed fine today.”

“Okay. I’ll get going, then. According to Ruthie, I have to find a twenty-four-hour UPS store and demand they ship this to her overnight and the driver has to be hot, not normal hot—UPS-driver hot.”

“That is a very specific request.”

“Is Sven UPS-driver hot?” Erick asked as he stuffed the phone into his coat pocket.

“I have no idea what Sven looks like. Your daughter is trying to get me to hire a male escort this week because my family is coming to my house for Thanksgiving.”

Erick lifted his chin and cocked an eyebrow.

“You all do Thanksgiving a little differently than most people.”

Clover laughed. “Oh, no, we do it the traditional way. Too much food and tons of criticizing family members for their life choices.”

“Who’s the target?”

Clover pointed at herself. Erick barked a laugh.

“You? The target?”

“Me. The target.”

“I don’t buy it. Why you?”

“Why not me?” she asked.

“Because you own and operate your own business. You know more about plants than anyone in this entire state. You’re respected by your employees, even my daughter, who doesn’t respect anyone or anything, and you’re...you know.”

“What?”

“Easy on the eyes,” he said.

“I am?”

“My eyes aren’t complaining,” he said. “Just saying, my mom’s always trying to get me to shave. She hates beards. But Ruthie won’t let me shave it off.”

“Why not?”

“One of her friends made the mistake of telling Ruthie her dad was ‘hot.’ Ruthie said I either had to grow a beard or wear a bag over my head.”

“The beard was the right choice.”

“But you don’t have a beard from what I can tell.” He narrowed his eyes at her face and Clover turned left and right, giving him a good look at her nonexistent beard. “Nope. No beard. No reason to pick on you for anything.”

“They’ll find a reason. They always do.”

“I have a cousin in jail for bouncing checks, my grandfather’s favorite hobby is sitting on his porch shooting his rifle at crows, and my aunt raises pygmy goats inside her house so, you know, your family should count their blessings.”

“I’m thirty. I’m not married. I’m not dating anybody. I have no kids. I could have a billion dollars and be crowned Queen of the Mountain and that still wouldn’t be enough for my family.”

“Ah...that explains Sven.” He nodded sagely.

“I’m about ready to hire him to play boyfriend for a week if it’ll shut my family up about my biological clock for one day. Which reminds me—you free this week?”

“You asking me to be your Sven?”

Clover laughed. “No, I was actually asking you if you could fix my deck.”

“Oh. Well, yeah. Sure. Big job?”

“Two loose boards and a broken slat.”

“What color stain?”