Page 35 of Merrily Ever After
There is, of course, another line for the cheese, and I almost expect them not to have it by the time I get to the front, but they do, and the guy cuts me a big wedge while I stand there and disassociate.
“Here you go,” he says cheerfully once it’s wrapped. “Do you need a—”
“No,” I say. “No bag. Just cheese.”
“You sure? It can get a little—”
“Yes. Please. Thank you. Sorry,” I add as he hands over the cheddar. I keep an eye on Tiernan as I put it in the pouch with the rest of the stuff. The teddy bear no longer seems to be doing the job, and I have a feeling there’s going to be some frustrated tears coming my way if I don’t get out of here soon.
“Nowwe’re going,” I promise him. “We’re going and then we’ll be gone.” I know as soon as I say the words that I’m probably jinxing us both, and, sure enough, I hear a jolly laugh just as I hit the main entrance, delaying us once again.
Santa Claus.
The usually bare foyer has been transformed into a makeshift grotto and is decked out in red velvet and fake snow.
I eye the line of excited kids waiting impatiently and then glance at Tiernan, who is now slightly pink in the face, but obviously distracted by the promise of the man himself.
“Santa,” he says, pointing at the grotto.
“He’s not coming until your birthday,” I remind him, but he doesn’t seem to hear me.
“Santa,” he says insistently, and great. Okay. Sure.
“Excuse me,” I ask one of the sparkly-cheeked elves roaming the crowd. “How long is the wait?”
“There’s no more slots left,” she says, adjusting the green felt hat on her head.
“What about tomorrow?”
She smiles. “I mean there’s no more slots left at all. We booked up seven weeks ago.”
“ForSanta?”
Tiernan takes a deep, shaky breath, and I step closer, lowering my voice. “Are there any of Santa’s … friends around the city that you know of?”
Her smile doesn’t budge. “None as good as this one.”
“I can tell. But just between us, do you know anywhere where I might find—”
“We’ve won awards,” she interrupts, and I blink.
“What awards?”
“Silver medal in the Santa’s Grotto Championship. Third place in the—”
“There’s a Santa’s Grotto Championship?”
“Of course,” she says, completely serious.
“Then I’ll know to book early next year. But is there anything you can do to help a single mother with one working arm out?”
She appears to think about this for an inordinately long time. “You can have a goody bag,” she says eventually.
“Incredible. Thank you.”
“They’re twenty-five euro.”
“For agoody bag?”
