Page 77 of Never Sleigh Never
Sue: What if they’re in one of those thruples? I learned about it on a TV show. It’s an interesting dynamic. But I don’t think I could do it.
Margret: Oh. Someone’s coming. Wait. It’s two people. The car just started up. They’re standing in front of the open door. I need better glasses. I can’t see.
Sue: What if it’s four of them? Would that be a quadthruple?
Leslie: Get the binoculars.
Margret: They’re kissing. I think. Or he’s putting a necklace on her.
Larry: Why would he be putting a necklace on her?
Margret: I don’t know. I can’t see.
Leslie: Who’s the guy?
Margret: She drove off. I’m pretty sure it’s Logan. If I squint any harder, my eyes will be shut.
Sue: It still doesn’t answer whether they’re in a thruple or quadthruple.
Clearly, we’re not very good at staying incognito. I slide my phone back in my pocket. “Fine. There may be something happening between Logan and me.”
“That’s not screaming at each other?” She arches a brow.
“There may be screaming, but it’s definitely not at each other. And I assure you it’s not a thruple.”
“Brie!” Willa screeches.
“Shhh!” Reaching over the counter, I slap my hand over her mouth. “I’ll fill you in later, but for now we’re keeping it quiet.”
“And obviously you’re doing a terrible job at it.” She laughs. “Girls’ night. And I want all the dirty details.” She holds out a paper bag. “Here’s your sandwich. Now go do amazing things, especially if you’re doing them with,” she glances around the diner and mouths, “Logan.”
“On that note, I need to get to the Holly Jolly Festival grounds to get ready for the cookie bake-off. I need to watch Mr. Saulter like a hawk so he doesn’t add extra ballots into his box.” I turn around and saunter toward the door.
As I head out, Willa calls after me, “Happiness looks good on you!”
Great. Now I’m grinning so hard my ears are probably blushing.
By nightfall, the cookie contest is over, and I’m up to my elbows in tablecloths and stray sprinkles. People get more competitive every year—royal icing, edible glitter, even stained-glass sugar cookies. I tug at a red cloth when a loud bang outside freezes me in place.
There’s another thud, even louder.
I shove into my coat and push open the door. Through the crack, I peer to my left and then to my right. A coal-sized lump gets lodged in my throat. Brad. The woolly menace himself is headbutting the side of the hot chocolate stand like he’s auditioning for a demolition derby.
“Brad! Stop it!” I yell, hoping he understands.
He peers up at me. I tilt my head. Maybe he does? He turns his head toward the snowmen from the contest and back to me. He baaas.
“Oh no. Don’t even think about it,” I warn as he turns toward the ski-goggle snowman. He baaas at me—mockingly, I’m sure of it, before flouncing toward the snowman. “Don’t do it.” I dash after him, the cold air stinging my face as my boots kick up plumes of snow. “Brad!” He stops next to the snowman and licks its torso. “Stop violating the snowman!” When I’m a few feet away, Brad bolts, tearing the hockey snowman’s arm clean off and licking under the arm pit. I lunge at him, but he dodges my advances. When did sheep become so sprightly? I take off in a sprint toward Brad, and he baaas and darts toward the feather boa snow queen. “Brad! Get back here right now!”
Headlights slice across the field of snowmen before coming to a stop on me. Relief floods me. It’s Logan.
“Is this a new holiday tradition?” he calls. “Running with the snowmen?”
“Brad’s loose!” I gasp. “He’s licking all the entries! Judging hasn’t even started!”
Suddenly, I’m shrouded in darkness. Speckles of light dance behind my eyelids with every blink. A door slams, and a few seconds later, Logan’s silhouette forms out of the darkness, jogging across the snow. “Where is he?”
“Using his ninja skills to evade me. But he can’t ruin the snowmen.”
