Page 3 of The Art of Being Merry
My eyes trail after him, way longer than I can see, as he disappears through the front door. Except the huge picture window makes it easy to continue ogling the man, especially the way the jeans showcase his ass. How he carries himself with confidence. The merriment oozing off him.
Before he returns, I shake off the hold he has over me.
Running away from a husband doesn’t involve running to another man. Just another tally in my epic mistakes column.
But what a fine mistake Dax Nicholas would make.
1
clem
THE FOLLOWING DECEMBER
My car drives down Main Street slow as molasses, not caring how leisurely I’m traveling nor if I’m holding up traffic. However, I’d probably get a better view of the lights if I walked.
Yes, that’s a much better idea.
Speeding up, trying to ignore the first view of my handiwork, I pull into the first parking lot I find, kill the engine, and snake my arms into Willa’s winter jacket. You’d think I’d have my own by now, but call me thrifty. Not like she wears the damn thing.
I secure the wool cap on my head and stuff my hands into borrowed gloves.Dax’sborrowed gloves. A pair of my own is on my list, but it’s so far down, it might as well be the caboose on the holiday train. I blame living in chaotic turmoil for the last eleven months for all of my problems. Of which there are many, several I’m packing down for the next ten minutes to enjoy the spectacle of lights adorning Main Street.
Did I ever think I’d win this silly competition? Not in a million years.
Was I shocked as ever, almost as when I found out my husband had another wife? One million percent.
At Willa’s insistence, I entered on a whim, not thinking I’d have any chance of winning. Not since Merritt Nicholas won over thirty years ago has a newbie to Winterberry Junction won theChristmas lights contest. Had I known I’d win, I would have gone bigger. More extravagant. Though that might have decimated the win.
Stepping out of my new-to-me van, I tug the coat tighter around my body, almost wishing I had worn heavier pants. Snow pants even, if I had some. Not that there’s snow on the ground at the moment, but Vermont is fucking cold to this southerner, even without the white stuff on the ground. I seriously should have reconsidered my life’s plan when I had the chance.
I scurry to the sidewalk, taking in the lights on the first building I come to.
The theme is so simple, another reason I figured it would be the downfall. But apparently, the committee and the townsfolk of Winterberry Junction disagreed.
“A small-town holiday.” That was my starting point. In an alternating pattern, multi-colored lights adorn some buildings, giving the show more of a festive feel, while other buildings make use of white and yellow lights to make it cozy.
Each building has its own set of decorations to showcase the unique features of the particular building. My favorite is the old country store, decorated as if we stepped back into the 1950s.
Lights span across the road, “jumping” from one side of the street to the other.
A gingerbread family waves from the bakery. I don’t hide my snicker as I pass.
As I make my way down one side of the street, my smile grows wide, the brilliance of the plans I first designed on paper carried out in real life, mesmerizing.
No, astonishing.
Radiant.
The colors, the designs, the ambiance—all of it spectacular. I’m always proud of what ideas my creativity unleashes, of what art I create, but nothing as fabulous as this. It’s too bad I’m only allowed to win once. There are so many ideas already flowing for a future display.
Perhaps I could enter under one of Willa’s names . . .
Not even the notion of never seeing my design take shape again can ruin my high. No raining on my parade tonight or anyother night the illumination will be up. I plan to come back with the boys later tonight and every night until it comes down.
I had to see it for myself first, revel in the splendor, stroke my ego the first time.
“Damn, girl. This is some amazing work.” The words voiced to no one but myself, I pat my back.
I’m on the other side of the street now, still in awe of the majesty of the design. I had to do hours of research to contemplate submitting an entry. I’d say those hours were well worth the sleepless nights and early morning wake-ups.
