Page 96 of A Love Like Christmas Time
“Blocked my parents.” She grins proudly.
“Well done.” I lean down and steal a quick kiss. “And you feel okay about that?”
“Oh, I’m elated!” Her eyes positively sparkle with relief. “And check this out!” She pulls the bag open and lets me take a peek inside. “Andrea gave me a candle. We need to set some cookies aside for her.”
“That’s pretty,” I say and nod softly. This conversation is giving me whiplash. But if she says she’s okay with cutting off her parents, I won’t pry. At least until she gives me a reason to doubt it.
Instead, I stare at the contents of the paper bag. I’m not exactly a candle guy, but it sure looks like it was a lot of work. “When are you going to burn it?”
“I can’t burn it,” she says outraged, as if I proposed throwing it away. “It’s way too pretty to burn.”
“It’s a candle.”
She shakes her head. “This is much more than that. It’s a sign that Wayward Hollow has accepted me as one of its own, represented by Andrea. I must keep this offering intact and sacred forever.”
“Alright, alright.” I chuckle, lifting my arm. Immediately she slips under it and hugs me.
“Ugh, I’m freezing,” she complains and shakes her head. “All that suffering and we’re not even going to win this thing. At least Nic won’t either.”
“What makes you say that?” I glance at her, surprised. Just this morning she tried to convince me we’d take the imaginary trophy home and was already brainstorming themes the Christmas market could have next year.
“Because Kieran-” She narrows her eyes. “That sneaky little bastard is wearing a sexy Santa costume and having people do shots with him.”
Lauren ends the hug and reaches for her hot wine. “If it weren’t so genius, I’d be really fucking pissed. I’m ninety-five percent sure he’s going to have the worst cold ever from tomorrow on, though.” She shakes her head. “If he wins, it’s at a sacrifice, and I can respect that commitment to sticking it to Nic and me.”
“A sexy Santa costume?” I ask for clarification. That already sounds cold as fuck.
“Oh yeah. Tight red pants that leave nothing to the imagination and a red coat that’s barely buttoned, nothing underneath but his tattoos. The women were eating it up with more drool than gray jogging pants can elicit, I tell you.”
“Damn. I didn’t think he’d go all out for this.”
“Neither did I.” She blows on her wine before taking another sip. “I can’t believe he didn’t tell us.”
If it weren’t for a half-naked Santa, I reckon we would have had a decent chance. While Lauren was away, quite a lot of people stopped to check out the gingerbread hearts, undeterred by my resting murder face.
Lauren slides her arm around me again, and we watch the crowd get scarcer. The cold creeps beneath my thick winter jacket and past my thick wool socks.
“Around two-thirds of our total gingerbread stash is gone.” I mutter, watching a child climb up one of the snow piles. “I’m sure tomorrow we’ll sell the rest of it.”
“Thank God,” she mumbles. “I already saw myself munching on gingerbread until Easter.”
The last box with our leftover gingerbread is packed, and I put my hands on my hips, rotating my torso, trying to stretch. But my limbs don’t quite move the way I want to. I’m completely stiff thanks to the coldness.
Damn. Standing in the same spot for hours isn’t great for my back, much less in the middle of winter.
I lean back and look up at the dark sky. The occasional scarce snowflake dances through the air, settling on my jacket before melting within seconds.
Someone is watching me. I can feel it. There’s an unmistakable tingle in my stomach, and I sense eyes drilling into the side of my head. When I get back up, I follow the sensation, and my eyes fall on my mother. She’s standing by the gazebo, leaning against one of the beams, surrounded by an aura of sadness.
“You should go talk to her,” Lauren says softly and squeezes my hand. “They’re leaving soon, aren’t they?”
“Right,” I agree and clear my throat, trying to dissolve the knot of emotion lodging in my esophagus.
“Do you want me to come with you?” Lauren asks, but I shake my head.
“No, I can do it… but—” I take a slow breath, as deep as my lungs allow. “Wait here for me? Please?”
“Of course. I’m not going anywhere,” she promises, giving my hand another reassuring squeeze before letting go.
