Page 70 of Not Your Average Vixen
“And you had a lot. You ate almost the entire bag. The kid was a little freaked out when we got to Kringle Acres,” Soren added.
She tore back the curtain. “So, we did make it there?”
“Oh yeah.”
She closed the curtain, then shut her eyes, thinking.
“I remember seeing my sister, Tom, and his entire family…and a whole bunch of Santas. Is that right?”
“That is correct. And you sniffed a rolling pin, talked to an egg, and stole a funnel cake,” Soren continued.
She stared at the mini water tornado spiraling down the drain, pathetically apropos of her life, as the fuzzy pieces of the night came back to her.
A camera.
Dots of sparkling lights dancing in the darkness.
Fairies.
And…oh crap!
A spasm of anxiety rippled through her chest like a bomb hitting a pool of water. “The Abbotts must hate me! Lori must be livid!” she said, lowering herself to sit in the tub under the spray.
Footsteps caught her attention as Soren entered the bathroom, his outline visible through the shower curtain.
“Nobody knows you were baked. At least, I don’t think they do. Tanner told them you were suffering from altitude sickness, and then I got you out of there,” he said, his voice taking on a gentler note.
She rested her head on her knees. “Do people with altitude sickness talk to eggs and steal cake?”
“That would be funnel cake, which you wolfed down like a champ. And no, people stoned out of their minds talk to food and engage in petty theft.”
She glanced at his form on the curtain. “Why did you help me?”
He ran his hands through his hair. “What do you mean?”
She sighed as rivulets of water trailed down her body. “Isn’t this what you wanted—for the Abbotts to hate the Dasher sisters, and cast us off, so you can run off with your best friend and a gaggle of bimbos?”
Soren didn’t reply right away, and she glanced up to see the man’s outline had slumped a fraction.
“I want Tom to know that he doesn’t have to make any rash decisions,” he answered with a somber edge.
“By ruining his wedding?” she shot back.
He straightened. “By whatever means possible.”
She stood and wiped the water out of her eyes as another piece of last night’s puzzle came to her. “You kissed me yesterday.”
“Yes, but only because you were molesting a Hershey kiss, and I had to make you stop,” he grumbled but not as grumbly as usual.
She shook her head, her gaze locked on his form. “No, I remember that kiss. There was another one.”
She closed her eyes as a flash and a pop echoed through her mind.
“We also kissed in a photo booth,” he conceded.
“That’s where we were,” she said as the evening came into focus.
“It was a lapse in judgment,” he answered, still without the usual bite.
