Page 22 of Mountain Daddy
We bundle up. Eat breakfast. Keep things polite, normal, safe. Or we try. Every time our hands brush or our eyes meet, heat sparks under my skin.
By the time we get to town, the sun is already starting to set behind the mountains. Christmas lights sparkle everywhere. Kids run between booths. Music drifts through the air.
It feels like stepping into a snow globe.
Celia walks beside me, close enough that my knuckles brush hers every few steps. Not close enough to be suspicious. But close enough to kill me slowly.
Elsie runs ahead, weaving through the crowd until she reaches the small Santa booth in front of the general store.
“Santaaaaaaaaa!” she cries, barreling into the line.
I groan. “That’s Henry Dahl behind the beard.”
Celia nudges me. “The gossip guy from the hardware store?”
“The same,” I mutter. “He knows everything about everyone.”
This was a mistake.
Elsie climbs onto Santa’s lap while Celia and I stand a short distance away. My arms cross over my chest. My heartbeat spikes.
Hank Dahl peers down at Elsie with a fake-ho-ho expression. “Well hello there, little miss! What would you like for Christmas this year?”
Elsie beams. “I already got what I want.”
Santa chuckles. “Oh? And what’s that?”
She points directly at Celia.
And then at me.
And then, very clearly and very loudly, says:
“Daddy and Celia are going to get married.”
My soul leaves my body.
Celica freezes beside me. People turn. I swear I hear a distant record scratch.
Santa blinks. “Oh?”
Elsie nods proudly. “They love each other. They kiss and everything.”
Kill me now.
Celia’s face goes bright red. I can’t breathe.
Hank Dahl leans forward, whispering loudly enough for the next three towns to hear. “And how do you know that, sweetheart?”
Elsie grins wide. “Because they’re already sleeping in the same bed.”
Everything stops.
The music. The wind. My heartbeat.
Hell, probably the entire goddamn state of Alaska is on pause to gape at us.
Celia sways beside me.
