Page 29 of Under The Meh-stletoe

"Being witchy!"

"Doing what you can to help people. Joy, though, that's a stretch. Things can be difficult."

"I have a fantasy." I frowned.

We stopped at a red light. The streets were empty, no other cars in sight. But he didn't drive through the crossing.

He stared at me, eyes open wide. Pupils widening. "You have a… fantasy."

"Yeah." I glanced at his lips, then back at his steady eyes. "You know what would be amazing?"

"Mhh?"

The simple sound sounded strangled for some reason.

"Getting a spray can and writing Christmas Can Suck It on a wall." I cackled.

"Oh." He snorted. "You fantasize about vandalism. Interesting."

That made my laugh turn wilder. "Yes! I will never admit this to anyone, but I do wonder what it would be like to just open my mouth and let things come out as I think them."

"You can actually try, you know." He went back to driving, long past the time the lights had turned green. We approached the main square.

"Maybe. But until I do… I'll fantasize about being mean with spray paint."

He laughed. "That's what you call mean?Christmas can suck it?"

"Well… okay. Yeah. It's not mean. But it's my fantasy, okay?"

"Okay." He parked the truck by the square, on a side perpendicular to the lit-up Christmas tree.

"What are we doing?"

"I'm going to make your dreams come true."

I stilled. "Wait. What? How—"

"Come on. You're half-way drunk. Aire no pega again, right? This will be fun."

I smiled at his cute, slightly incorrect Spanish. He grinned back, and the locks that had opened earlier fell right to the floor.

He got out of the truck and rummaged in the back; I got out and followed unsteadily.

"What are you doing?" I stood next to him.

The truck bed had a metal box with tools, and Daniel rummaged in it. "Ah-ha! I knew I had one in the truck. Do you see this?"

He held a spray can up to me.

"We're not actually doing this, are we?" I crossed my arms, a little bit because of the cold, and a lot so I wouldn't reach for the can.

"Yes, we are." He grabbed me by my arm and pulled.

I resisted a bit; his hand slid down my forearm until he held my hand. He linked our fingers like it was nothing, no big deal. And pulled some more. Until I had no choice but to follow him again.

How far would he take me, if I let him?

He stopped at a crossroads, leaving us smack in the middle. The streets remained empty; we were alone. Only the streetlights and stop signs kept watch.