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“Why are you so violent?”
“Because you’re wasting my time mooning over whoever is on the other end of that thing.”
Like most people her generation, Flora didn’t trust smartphones. She still had a rotary phone hanging in her kitchen, one with a long cord that was so twisted up he was surprised she could hear anything through it. Fletcher had attempted to untangle it a few times, but realized it was pointless. Flora didn’t mind the chaos, so he’d let her live in it.
“I’m Rockstar Santa this year,” he told her, checking his phone for damage before opening up his gallery for the picture he’d saved. “I was thinking a long coat I can leave open.”
Flora adjusted her glasses and peered at the screen, a naughty smirk playing on her lips. “That Kurt Russell always had a special something.”
Fletcher made a face and took the phone back quickly. The picture of Kurt Russell from The Christmas Chronicles was a pretty good description of how he wanted his coat to look. Functional and sexy, because Fletcher was hoping Micah would like him in it.
“It doesn’t need to be that fluffy, obviously. I’m planning to leave it open in front.”
“Are you planning on going naked? I don’t think this town needs to see all of you hanging out.”
“Jesus, Flora,” he groaned and rubbed his forehead, dropping into the chair beside her work station. “Rockstar, remember. Jeans and a T-shirt.”
“Rockstars in my day walked around naked a lot. And moved their hips like they were humping the air. You doing any of that?”
Staring at her for a long moment, he tried to erase the visual Flora had put in his head. “I’m wearing clothes under the coat.”
She rolled her eyes and waved him off. “How long are we thinking?”
“Shins?
“You want it to be twirly?”
“Uh…sure?”
She rolled her eyes and sketched it out. Fletcher smiled as he watched her mumble to herself, forehead crinkling as her pencil moved smoothly across the page. When she was done, Flora grabbed her tape measure and stood up.
“Up you go, rockstar,” she said and directed him to stand in a spot that was free of furniture. He’d done this with her enough that he knew how it worked. Stretching his arms out and spreading his feet, Fletcher waited as Flora measured him. Once she was done, she waddled back to her chair and mumbled something again before setting her pencil down.
“I’ll also need a new hat.”
“What happened to the last one?”
“Gave it to a kid.” Fletcher winced at the glare Flora shot him. “He said something about not getting any gifts that year and I felt bad.”
“You and Hank…bleeding hearts,” she grumbled. “I’ll make you a few this time, don’t go handing them out to kids with sob stories.”
“I’ll do my best, no promises.”
Flora sighed, a heavy dramatic one that seemed to go on forever, before she was on her feet again. “Now be gone, so I can work on this masterpiece.”
“You’re the best, Flora.”
“Don’t sweet talk me, young man. I know your type.”
He chuckled as he wrapped one arm around Flora and squeezed her shoulder gently. “What type is that?”
“Charming all the older ladies because you think we’re into this wild untamed look.”
“You said you liked my hair like this!”
“Would it kill you to comb it once in a while? And that beard…do something about it.”
He pretended to look offended, but when Flora flashed him a playful smirk, he couldn’t stop his laugh from bursting out.
