Page 37 of There's Only One Sleigh
It isnotfine.
Once we start trying to organize the floats, trucks, tractors, one school chorus, various sports teams, farm animals, and more, I don’t see Whitney again until three minutes before the police chief is supposed to lead us out of the parking lot. I wouldn’t say she’s hiding, exactly, but it was difficult to find her pressed against the side of the engine, away from the crowd.
“Are you shirking your duties?” I tease, making her jump.
“Rob, you wouldn’t even—” She throws up her hands. “A goat kept trying to eat my sweater. Two men got in an argument because apparently one guy’s diesel exhaust or something stinks and wouldn’t switch places. And either one family has a set of septuplets or I sent the same girl back to the chorus float at leastseven times. One more time, and I was going to duct tape her to it.”
“Long, dark hair, with penguins on her scarf?” She nods. “I sent her back three times myself.”
“Jerry is afantasticSanta, though,” she says. “I had my doubts about the padding, but he looks incredible.”
“He loves doing it, too. And if you want to see it all, you can join the family on the sidelines. I can tell you where they are.”
She tilts her head. “I’m not riding in the fire truck with you?”
I definitely want her next to me. No question. “You don’t get to see much of the parade when you’re in it. The school chorus sings from the back of the inn’s float, and there’s a lot of other fun stuff to see.”
Her eyes crinkle when she smiles. “I’d rather ride with you.”
“Okay, then.” Having her look at me like that hurts with an intensity I’m not sure I’ll survive. I need to keep things light and pretend I’m okay. “It’s probably a good thing you didn’t wear that elf costume. You climbing up into the engine would have been a show Charming Lake talked about for generations.”
Even though she looks more frazzled than I thought was possible, she laughs. “Is there a prize for the best display?”
I move closer to her. “Not officially, but as the organizer, I’m sure I could come up with something.”
The chirp of a cruiser siren makes my shoulders drop. “Time to roll.”
She follows me around to the other side of the engine. “I don’t think we’re ready.”
I open the door and gesture for her to climb up. “We’ve done what we can. Believe it or not, once we start moving, everybody kind of falls into line.”
She looks skeptical, but she climbs into the cab. “This is really high up.”
When I climb into my seat, she’s looking around in fascination, taking it all in. “Do me a favor and don’t press any buttons.”
“But think of all the fun stories about the year the city girl was in the fire truck.”
I laugh, shaking my head. Once the parade starts rolling, though, I have to pay more attention to what I’m doing, and less to my very-sexy-in-that-sweater passenger. It’s actually a little nerve-wracking driving a thirty-thousand-plus pound vehicle at a slow speed through what looks like the entire community. There’s a reason the tow truck—decked out in LED lights with Christmas rock blaring from its speakers—is assigned to the spot in front of me. At least I can see it.
We have the windows down, both of us waving. And periodically, I do a couple of short bursts with the horn to signal to the parents of little ones I’m about to let the siren wail.
When we near the booth I was looking for, I get Whitney’s attention and point. “See that booth? No matter what, donotmiss out on Mrs. Johnson’s snickerdoodles. I probably should have written that in your notebook for you days ago.”
She side-eyes me. “Nobody writes in my notebook but me. Anyway, Mrs. Johnson, like your lieutenant?”
“Yeah, she’s Tim’s mother. There have been fights over her snickerdoodles, no matter how many she bakes in advance.” He chuckles. “Okay, not exactly with fists flying, but there’s been some pushing and shoving and very unfortunate name calling over the years.”
“Got it. My first stop is snickerdoodles.”
I think about how I felt when I saw her this morning, turning to face me wearing that ridiculous sweater, holding two coffee cups and her face lit up, and my heart aches.
Once she’s gone, how long will it be before that feeling of being a couple fades? When Beth hands me a coffee, how much and how long will it hurt that there’s only one?
Then there’s a sudden stop because somebody’s dog slipped their collar and has decided its job is to herd the FFA’s prize-winning cow away from the parade.
As I wait for them to get the scene under control, I look over and find Whitney staring at me. Her expression is serious—thoughtful, even—and I’m not sure what that means.
But when our eyes meet, she smiles, looking gorgeous and festive and happy, and I don’t ask her what she was thinking about.
