Page 58 of How My Neighbour Stole Christmas
“Break a leg…please,” Cole says with a grin.
“Lose a testicle…please,” I say as I reach up and drag my finger over his cheek, wiping a large smear of green off his face.
Atlas gasps next to us. “Ah, she ruined your makeup. It took me ten minutes to get that right.”
“Looks like you have a minute to fix it,” I say, feeling all the confidence in the world now.
I wait to make my entrance, and I can hear them shuffling around trying to fix Cole’s face as Bob introduces me. Head held high, I pose myself with shoulders tilted back, hands clasped in front of me, and while Taran rolls out the window, I walk onstage with elegance, not tripping once. The crowd cheers.
And as Ornament Park quiets down, the music starts playing and I position myself at the window, looking slightly up to the sky. Judy Garland’s beautiful voice rings through the speakers while I mouth the words. I can feel the sentiment in the air as everyone’s attention is on me. Chills break out over my arms as the lightest of snow showers starts falling across the park, adding perfectly to the moment, and as Aunt Cindy is rolled up onstage, tucked into a pile of blankets, she holds out her hand to me and I take it through the window, singing to her now.
From the corner of my eye, I catch a few people dabbing at their eyes, and when the song is over, the crowd erupts into the loudest cheer of the day.We’ve won this competition as well.
For the final cherry on top of the already first-place cake, I lean in and press a soft kiss to Aunt Cindy’s cheek before standing up and waving to everyone. With a final flourish, I hurry offstage, wanting to get into the warm tent as quickly as possible while Taran takes care of Aunt Cindy.
Nailed it.
I absolutely nailed it, and I’ve never been prouder of myself than in this moment.
Nothing, and I mean nothing, will be able to take this away from me.
I got over my fears.
I performed.
I made Aunt Cindy proud and—
I come to a halt right at the entrance of the warm tent as I take in the scene unfolding.
Both Atlas and Cole are standing in front of me, sans coats…and shirtless.
Atlas is in a tiny pair of brown shorts, shoeless, his ripped chest and hard nipples on full display along with his dog ears dangling over the sides of his face.
And then Cole…
Oh.
My.
God.
Cole.
He…he looks unreal.
Wearing a pair of brown lederhosen with red stitching—which I saw the other day in Antlers Antiques—his ripped, yet green, chest is on full display. Thick, muscular pecs, trimmed chest hair, bulky shoulders, and carved arms…my God. And I have no idea what kind of makeup work Atlas did, if any, but Cole’s stomach looks like it was carved out of clay, the definition of each ab so prominent that he’s going to have every human in the crowd wanting to reach out and see if he’s real.
Not to mention, the lederhosen are short, showing off his impressive thighs and calves.
But it’s the green all over his body that’s sending me because somehow, it’s highlighting every ripple of muscle he possesses, every curve, every contour. And I hate to admit it, truly…truly hate it, but holy shit, he’shot.
The two of them together look like Christmas Chippendales, ready to strip down and give everyone a show. And I’m in the crowd, ready to watch.
“Cole, you’re up,” Bob shouts.
Cole steps forward, but then stops right next to me. “Get a good look?” he asks, shocking me right out of my green-muscle trance.
“Yes,” I say, chin held high, not wanting him to see one ounce of my appreciation for the view. “And it’s confirmed—you look like a jackass.”
