Page 119 of Tangled In Tinsel & Knots
Santa and the driver are safe, standing at a distance, looking shaken.
Everyone is safe.
But the parade is completely stopped, and hundreds of people are watching, filming, posting to social media.
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Of course a fire happens on my parade. Of course.
“We need to get it off the route,” I say to Chris, my voice shakier than I want. “The parade needs to continue. We can’t just?—”
“I’m on it.”
He’s already striding toward Atlas, and I watch as they exchange quick words. Then Atlas nods, and suddenly all three men, Chris, Atlas, and the other firefighter, are positioning themselves around the charred float and pushing.
The float is enormous and heavy, but they move it, steering it toward a side street.
I rush forward to maneuver people out of the way, unhooking the rope barriers and directing the crowd back. “Please step aside! Make room!”
A few bystanders jump in to help direct foot traffic, and I could kiss every single one of them for their assistance. The men get the float pushed completely off Main Street into the side alley, out of sight of the parade route.
I jog over to Santa. “Are you okay?” I ask, scanning him for injuries.
“Fine. Just scared the hell out of me.” His voice is trembling. “One second everything was fine, and the next second it was on fire.”
“I’m so glad you’re safe.” I grip his shoulder. “I need you to do me a favor. Start walking down the parade route, waving like everything’s okay. Show everyone that Santa’s fine. Can you do that?”
He nods, some color returning to his face. “Yeah. Yeah, I can do that.”
“Thank you.”
I turn to the driver. “Stay with the float. I’m sending someone to tow it back to the staging garages for a full inspection.”
He nods mutely, still looking stunned, and then I put the call in with the team.
Atlas approaches, pulling off his helmet, and even stressed and covered in soot, the man is objectively gorgeous—strong jaw, dark eyes, the kind of presence that commands respect.
“Electrical fire,” he says without preamble. “Likely a short in the wiring or a faulty connection that sparked when it shouldn’t have. If everything was installed properly, this shouldn’t have happened. Needs a full inspection to determine the exact cause.”
“That’s going to happen,” I assure him. “I need to know how this could have occurred when everything was supposedly checked.”
“I’ll stay here and make sure there’s nothing else that might reignite,” Atlas offers. “You get back to your parade. You’ve got people waiting.”
“Thank you. Seriously, thank you so much.”
He nods and turns back to the charred float.
I make my way back to the viewing area where Chris is waiting, and I feel like I might throw up.
“Sometimes these things happen,” Chris says gently, reading my expression. “You couldn’t have predicted?—”
“But it’s on me.” My voice cracks slightly. “All of this comes back on me. The safety, the inspection, everything. This ismyevent.”
“And you handled it perfectly. No one was hurt. That’s what matters.”
“People are going to remember the parade where Santa’s float caught fire.”
“Actually, people are already talking about those adorable reindeer,” he counters. “I heard at least five different conversations praising that addition.”
