Page 190 of How My Neighbour Stole Christmas
“No, I’m getting this—you get me my pink ho shirt.”
“Or I can get both.”
“Or you can listen to me and just get the pink one.” She stares me down, and I decide to listen to her.
“Fine. But if you see something else you like in here, you tell me so I can get it for you.”
“I do see something.” She looks down at my crotch. “But I don’t think it’s for sale.”
I smirk at her. “Don’t worry, I’ll tie a bow on it for later and give it to you.”
“Oh yeah? You’re going to…give it to me?” She waggles her brows.
“And here I thought I could be the cheesy one.”
“Afraid to tell you, but there’s some cheese in all of us.”
“That…that’s a weird comment,” I say, causing her to laugh and then lean into me. I take her hand—she lets me this time—and we move over to the knickknacks.
“Okay, what about Beatrice? She’s in last place, right? I feel like there has to be a story behind why she’s doing so badly.”
“I don’t think there’s a story there. I just think she doesn’t get it. She kind of follows her own taste, and people might not like her…eccentricity.Not to mention she totally messed up her scene fromDie Hard. I think that was embarrassing for everyone to watch.”
“Yeah, you’re right about that. And her caroling performance was from a horror film. I swear I can still hear her monotone voice.”
“It wasn’t her greatest moment. She’s a hell of a veterinarian, though. Bob Krampus swears by her wart removal.”
“Wait, hold on, you said she’s a vet.”
I slowly nod. “Yup.”
A cute wrinkle forms on her nose as she tries to comprehend. “So why is she removing warts off Bob Krampus?”
“From what I heard, the first wart was an emergency visit, and no one was around to help but her, so she treated his ‘dangler,’ as he calls it—”
“Oh God, no details, please.” She shivers. “How do you even know that?”
“Well, he’s left multiple Google reviews and has told people around town. He always talks about it during the summer when he’s wearing his Hawaiian shirts. He shows off his elbows and tells us the tale of how she helped him.”
“That’s…that’s TMI. But also…Bob wears Hawaiian shirts during the summer?”
“Yup, because Santa is on vacation.”
“Oh my God.” She laughs. “You can’t be serious.”
“Very serious. He goes all in.”
“What’s going to happen when he’s…you know…too old?”
“His son has been in training for decades.”
“They have a son?”
“Yup.” I pick up an angel tree topper and flash it to her as a suggestion for a present. She shakes her head, so we keep moving through the store, toward the ceramic villages. “His name is Bob Krampus Jr., and he works one of the stalls.”
“Really? Which one?”
“The wooden toy stall. He’s carved every single one of them. Calls himself an elf.”
