Page 90 of Kiss the Girl
When Santa reached the edge of the town square, Mayor Derby was waiting for him in a pantsuit and a shiny top hat, which she lifted and waved. “Welcome to Santa Claus and all our Creekville friends and neighbors. Santa, would you do us the honor of opening Christmas Town?”
Then, like every mayor before her, she handed Santa a brass key as large as a trumpet, which he put into the Christmas Town switch. “On three, Mr. Claus,” and then everyone counted with her. “One, two, three!”
Santa turned the key and Jeff Brume, the head of the parks department, quietly threw the real switch at the same time to send the streetlights, flood lights, and town Christmas tree lights all blazing to life.
Evie gasped, then clapped so hard that her palms must have stung even through her thick mittens, delight written all over her face.
“Wow,” Paige said, looking over it all. “This is amazing.”
The crowd surged forward to spread through Christmas Town, and I swept a glance at all the other booths to see how we measured up. Verdict: very well. Our Seuss booth was distinctive while still fitting in with the cozy Christmas vibe. It was easy to see what our theme was too, while with some of the others I’d have to wander closer to be able to tell. Ours was fun and eye-catching, and I thought it had a pretty good chance of winning the blue ribbon.
I was a civilian in all of this until Tabitha got here, so I contented myself to wander with my parents, watching my dad closely for signs of exhaustion since he’d worked all afternoon too. But he didn’t flag at all, looking like he’d never been sick a day in his life.
We stopped at booths to sample Christmas pickles and peppermint fudge, admire handmade quilts and hand-thrown pottery, chat with friends and neighbors, and eat way too many cinnamon-toasted almonds.
When we got to the Cat in the Hat booth, my mom wrapped an arm around each of us as we took our spots at the back of a respectable line. “It looks good, Team Winters.”
“That was mostly Grace,” my dad said. “I’m going to miss you when you’re gone, kid.”
“I never knew there were so many ways to make red-striped hats,” I said. “There’s supposed to be two seniors and six other players on every shift, but it looks like they all wanted in on opening night action.” In addition to several blue-haired Thing Ones and Twos, a half-dozen red-and-white hats bobbed around inside the booth. There was the sun hat and the Rastafarian beanie, but also a traditional stovepipe, a newsboy cap, and on Noah’s head, an absurd cowboy hat, all striped.
Noah looked more keyed up than he regularly did, like he had when he was coaching in the district final and the team had insisted I come to see them play. Focused but happy, running the show but clearly getting a kick out of the kids.
He looked like I felt when I was at work. Not at Handy’s. At my real job, working on an intricate engineering problem, running the math and testing the materials to find new solutions. It was Zen even in chaos, and I knew it when I saw it on his face. This is where he was meant to be and what he was meant to be doing.
It was an uncrossable bridge.
The night had grown even colder, the air heavy with the puffs of people’s breaths. It had to be closer to thirty degrees than forty, and I shoved my hands deeper into my coat pockets and stepped out of the line.
“I think I’ll skip the hand pie tonight. I’m sure I’ll get my fill spending all afternoon in the booth with Tab tomorrow. I’m going to head home. It’s been a long day.”
“You sure, honey?” my mom asked.
“I’m sure.” Once we got to the front of that line, I was going to look like a Victorian London orphan with my nose pressed up against the glass of a bake shop, drooling over what I couldn’t have.
But it had nothing to do with pie, and everything to do with Noah.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Noah
Everything about this moment should have been perfect. The booth was doing well, people were complimenting the design and the food, and Dr. Boone had walked past and given a pleased wave.
The boys were working hard and selling pies like crazy, cracking jokes and being their usual dumb selves, one of my favorite parts of my job.
And itwasperfect when I looked up and spotted Grace in line with her parents.
But a few minutes later, she slipped out, and everything was less fun.
Less warm. Less entertaining. Less magic.
What was I supposed to do about that?
Chapter Twenty-Five
Grace
“Honey, I’m home!”
