Page 82 of Merry Christmas, You Filthy Animal
“I don’t think you’re a jerk,” Storee says, causing both Cole and Atlas to stare her down. “What? I don’t.” Storee shrugs. “She’s clearly hearing information from someone who’s not telling the truth, and she’s trying to do right by them. I think she just needs to situate herself in the town a little more, and then she’ll make the right decision.” Storee winks at me.
“You see, I was thinking the same thing,” I say, pointing to my chest. “I don’t want to say it, because I’m supposed to not like this guy right here”—I jolt my thumb in Atlas’s direction—“but I don’t see why Uncle Dwight hates him so much.”
“Thank you.” Atlas slams his hand against the high-top table. “I’m a delight, right?”
“You’re... you’re nicer than I thought you would be,” I say. “Then you could be being nice to me because you think you can change my mind about the farm.”
“Can I?” he asks, so much hope in his eyes that it’s actually cute.
“I don’t know.” I sigh. “I don’t even know what I’m doing to be honest.” I lift up my cup and take a sip. “This is getting depressing. Maybe I should leave.”
“No, don’t leave. We want you here,” Storee says. “Right, boys?”
“I wouldn’t mind if both of them left,” Cole says, clearly wanting alone time with his wife.
“That’s fine. I can take off.” I down the rest of my cider. “Umm, perhaps there is a shuttle service off to the farm?”
“How about we get some water and walk it off?” Atlas suggests.
I look him up and down. “Just you and me?”
“I’d love that. Great idea,” Cole says and then takes Storee by the hand. “Have a great night.”
And before Storee can even get a word in, they take off, leaving me alone with Atlas.
“Wow, that was... that was a quick exit,” I say.
Atlas’s gaze trails after them. “Yeah, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him move that quickly before.” He brings his attention back to me. “Well, shall we?” He gestures to a booth that’s selling water, and I nod.
He purchases us a bottle each, even though I tried to pay, and then together, we head toward the river that runs behind Santa’s house and butts up at the base of the mountainside. I believe they call it the riverwalk. But it’s lit up this evening with even more lights than usual, forming a long tunnel of all different colored lights.
It’s beautiful.
“You grew up with this?” I ask, marveling as we approach the tunnel.
“I did,” Atlas says. “And oddly, it never gets old.”
“Really? You never get tired of all the Christmas decorations and music and the holly jolliness?”
He shakes his head. “No, because it’s a special time of the year. It’s when the most magic happens, and I like seeing everyone experience that magic. It’s one of the pleasures of working on the farm. Watching families pick out their perfect tree, making gingerbread houses, going on sleigh rides... petting the reindeer. I might live in that element, but for some people, it’s their first time seeing it, experiencing it, and I just love experiencing their joy.”
That makes me stop because . . . how?
How is this the same man that Uncle Dwight has said is a horrible human being? I don’t get it. The stories don’t align.
“You okay?” he asks.
“Just . . . confused,” I say.
“Why?” he asks.
“Because you’re just... you’re not what I expected.”
“I told you, you need to get to know me.”
“Yeah, you did.”
“And now that you are, what are you finding?”
