AllFreeNovel
Share Us
"Often am."
"So those jealous fuckers broke his shiny nose." He looked pretty mad at the other reindeer right then, and I loved the way he looked ready to throw down on Rudy’s behalf.
"I mean, we don't know that," I reminded him.
"And this is also a time of year when some folks really need to work to stay off the naughty list,” Santa said loudly, glancing down at us before looking back up at the crowd. "And for those folks who just can’t repress that naughty streak, I’d suggest they just try to hang tight and keep quiet, and hope Santa can find it in his big jelly-full heart to chuckle and look the other way." He looked down again, widening his eyes to make his point before looking back out at the people around the tree.
Callan and I stopped debating the scraggly reindeer and sealed our lips shut, watching Santa finish up.
"Without further ho, ho, ho," he shouted. "Light up that tree!" As he sang out this last part, a warm glow filled the bottom of the sleigh. We couldn't see the tree from where we hid, but I could hear the collective appreciative murmur of the crowd and I could see the shifting colors of the lights reflected against the sleigh's interior. The crowd broke into applause and Santa dropped onto the bench seat and then ducked down to talk to us.
"So, hey," he said, grinning through the big white beard. "I'm Wiley Blanchard."
"Callan Whitewood," Callan said, offering the man a hand.
"April Hall," I whispered, wishing he'd just go away.
"Blanchard," Callan said in a hoarse whisper. "Your family owns the distillery, right?"
"Yep," Wiley said, the hat flopping forward as he nodded. "Have for about a hundred years. You two should come see us. There’s a great bar there. It's a good place to…well, to do whatever you guys are doing here, I think."
"We're not doing anything," I said quickly.
"Right. Well." Santa/Wiley winked. "Nice to meet you guys." He pulled a card from his pocket and handed it down to Callan. I glanced at it, reading the words "Half Cat Distillery" printed over an image of a cat in some kind of wheeled contraption. Before I could ask about the cat, Santa was gone, climbing down from the sleigh and heading back out into the town square.
"I guess we sit tight for a bit," Callan said. At this point, we were both leaned against the side of the sleigh's interior, our legs stretched out before us. Callan's arm was still around my shoulder and I leaned into his side. Though this new intimacy was strange and my uncle surely wouldn't have liked it, I felt like Callan and I had been through something together now, survived, and I made no move to distance myself. Plus, Callan was warm and the air was taking on a more definite chill.
"I knew about the tree lighting," I said. "I just forgot it was tonight."
"Well, a person who abhors the holidays probably wouldn't make a special note about tree lighting."
"You're the one who wasn't planning to decorate your house for Christmas at all," I pointed out, poking him in the side and hoping to shift the focus from myself.
Callan laughed, but the sound wasn't altogether cheerful. "Yeah, well."
"I've got my reasons, but why doyouhate the holidays?"
He looked down at me then, the humor gone from his face. "I don't. Not exactly. But I asked you first."
I sighed and then twisted to rise up on my knees and peer out at the square. I felt like maybe I wanted to tell someone. Him, specifically. “I’ll tell you," I said, sinking back down. "But not here. It's too cold and it's not a quick story. And then you'll tell me."
"Fine, but I might need another drink for that."
"No worries," I said. I had moonshine back at the hotel. I sank back down and together we waited until the noise in the square had died down and most of the townsfolk had wandered away, back to warmer spots. "Come on. The coast is clear."
We slipped out of the sleigh, Callan stumbling a bit coming down the ladder. I noticed his face darken as he recovered, but I took his arm and smiled up at him. "Let's go to the inn," I suggested.
"More time in Santa's cottage?" Callan asked. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you actually have kind of an obsession for Santa-related things."
"Definitely not true," I said as we turned down the side street toward the inn. "It's more of a lack of other options in this nutty town. And I was thinking we could go upstairs." I paused and glanced up at him, realizing that suggesting he come to my room could be a little forward. "Privacy," I explained, hoping Annabelle and everyone else might be too distracted with the tree lighting to notice me dragging Callan Whitewood up to my room.
"Okay," Callan said, and we mounted the stairs and went into the inn, me leading the way to the elevator. I usually took the stairs up to my room, but Callan's limp had gotten worse over the course of the night and I was worried about him a little bit.
* * *
My heart was in my throat as I pushed open the door to my room and stepped inside, turning on the lights and then holding the door for Callan to follow. I hadn't intended to have company when I left the room earlier, so I did a quick visual scan to make sure there were no unmentionables lying out in plain sight.
There were not.
