Page 33 of How My Neighbour Stole Christmas
“Are there any other questions?” Bob asks, looking like he’s one hot chocolate sip away from passing out in his recliner.
When no one answers, he nods, his eyes drifting shut. “Then best of luck to you all. May the cheeriest and most skilled win.”
With that, we all leave our mugs on Sylvia’s tray and head out of the house, to an empty park.
“So,” Max says to Storee, “looks like your family went back home.”
Storee sticks her hands in her coat pockets as she glances around. “Looks like it.”
“Don’t worry.” He clasps my shoulder. “My good friend, Cole, will walk you back to your house since you’re both headed in the same direction.”
“Oh, I wasn’t going back home,” I say, wondering what the hell my soon-to-be-ex-best friend is up to.
“No?” He quirks one brow. “Then what were you planning on doing?”
“Uh…” I drag out, nothing coming to mind.
“That’s what I thought. Now be the gentleman you are, wear your sash with pride, and escort this lovely lady so she doesn’t have to walk alone on a dark, wintry night.”
I really shouldn’t have named him my holly jolly sidekick.
I should have known this is what he was going to do.
When I spoke of him being my sidekick, I meant in the pursuit of the Christmas Kringle title—not a wingman trying to set me up with the girl next door.
“It’s really okay. I can see from the pain on his face that he doesn’t want to walk me home,” Storee says. “I have no problem walking alone.”
“Nonsense,” Max announces in a cheery voice. “He’d be more than happy to.”
I would not, actually.
I would rather army-crawl my way home across broken glass ornaments.
He shoves my shoulder, encouraging me to take the lead.
I let out a heavy sigh. “Come on, let’s get this over with.”
“Wow, you can really feel the Christmas spirit pouring off him,” Storee says.
Max beams with pride as he looks me up and down. “Yes, he’s one of a kind.” He then salutes us and adds, “See you tomorrow, bright and early—we have some planning to do. And don’t forget your sash.” He pats my face. “Love you, pal.” Then he takes off.
A part of me feels that he’s going to get way more joy out of this than I am.
Now alone with Storee, I nod toward Whistler Lane, the street I live on and the street she’s visiting. “Let’s go.”
I take off at a brisk pace, forcing her to catch up to me. “You really don’t have to do this,” she says.
“It’s fine. I’m walking back home anyway.”
And then we fall into silence as we make our way across Ornament Park, where the turf grass is heated from below, keeping it in a constant state of Christmas green. The town took their time deciding if they wanted to put in the heated turf with drains, given the massive expense it would incur, but after some serious debates and consideration, Bob Krampus made the executive decision that it would be great for the town and the events they hold year-round to have the lawn open all the time rather than having it covered in snow. There was pushback, there was celebration, but all in all…I was on the team ofI don’t give a crap.
“So,” Storee says. “You know I have a hard time being quiet when I’m next to someone I’m familiar with.”
“Yes, learned that when you drove me away from my sandwich.”
“Drove you away from your sandwich? Uh, I remember it differently. Leaving was your choice,” she says.
“You were insufferable.”
