Page 14 of His Candy Cane (Sweet Treats 1)

“I am,” she murmurs. “Holy cow, this is even better than last year.”

I smile and get out to help her out of the car. She grabs my hand before stepping onto the slippery sidewalk, and I let my gaze graze her figure with appreciation. She’s put on weight since we began our personal training sessions, and it looks amazing. She’s full-figured and sassy, and her tight jeans hug those wide hips. Her generous breasts are concealed beneath a heavy woolen peacoat, but that’s okay. I know I’ll see them later tonight.

But then she wobbles on the ice and grabs my arm.

“Steady there,” I chuckle. “You okay?”

Her face is flushed and the tip of her nose a bit red.

“Yeah, I guess I’m just a little off balance, that’s all. Plus, I felt a little sick last night. I hate to say it, but I think it was Mom’s stew. There was something about those beef cubes that didn’t agree with me.”

I chuckle and tuck her hand safely into my elbow.

“Stick with me, pretty girl, and you’ll be fine.”

She giggles and hugs my arm tightly.

“I know, because you’re my hero, Patrick.”

My heart expands. I love being this woman’s hero, and I’d ride through a desert to conquer dragons if that’s what it takes to keep Maisie by my side. We wander towards the lights and my love gasps again, her eyes shining with awe.

“Oh my gosh, look at that!” she squeals. One neighbor has done up their lawn like a Mad Teacups ride except that the teacups are Christmas-themed as they rotate around the lawn. Santa’s in one of the teacups, as well as a reindeer, an elf, a snowman, and Mrs. Klaus.

“That’s so imaginative!” she cries. “I wonder where they got the Mad Teacups ride from? Do you think they bought it from Six Flags or Great Adventure?”

I shrug as we continue strolling along the sidewalk.

“I have no idea but a lot of these folks are very handy, sweetheart. I bet they could build something like that themselves from wood, metal and nails if they had to.”

“Are you serious?” asks Maisie. “It seems like it’d be easier to buy it from a purveyor of amusement park rides. Does that even exist? Do Great America and Six Flags order their rides from a manufacturer?”

I shake my head.

“Beats me. They probably do. After all, you know the rock and roll memorabilia in various Hard Rock Cafes? For example, Gwen Stefani’s glittery jeans that she wears on stage, or Elvis’s guitar pick? All that stuff is from a catalogue.”

Maisie stops to stare at me, halting in her tracks.

“No way,” she breathes.

“Yes way,” I say with a quirk of my lips. “There are companies that specialize in this kind of gear. They buy concert memorabilia from artists and production companies and then sell it to restaurants like the Hard Rock Café, Planet Hollywood, and whatnot. It’s a real good gig.”

Maisie shakes her head in wonder.

“Who knew?”

I pat her hand.

“I know right? Hey, check this out. This one’s cool too.”

The next house over has set up a life size nativity scene in their front yard, except that everyone is a zombie. Joseph, Mary and the Three Kings are zombies, with ghoulish grins and skull-like heads. Only Baby Jesus is spared. He’s a pink-cheeked cherub in his bassinet, with a donkey looking over the fence at his peacefully sleeping face.

“Wait a minute, what’s going on here?” asks Maisie with confusion. “It’s not Halloween, so why have they reenacted the nativity scene with ghosts?”

I shake my head.

“I don’t know sweetheart, but I read an article about this spread in the paper. A lot of folks aren’t happy with this presentation because they feel it’s disrespectful to the Christian religion, even if Jesus is technically a zombie with the resurrection and all. People are lobbying for this one to be taken down.”

Sure enough, as we stride by the nativity scene, an older lady with a colorful hat accosts us with a clipboard.

“Sign our petition to get these terrible decorations destroyed,” she says, practically thrusting the clipboard at us. “This is no way to revere the Holy Father’s family! Sacrilege!” she almost screams.

A shutter at the house twitches behind her, but there’s no other sign of life. Mary and Joseph continue grinning their ghoulish smiles and Baby Jesus rests amiably in his manger. Maisie looks uncertain and a bit terrified, so I take the lead.

“Thanks, we’ll think about it,” I say. “I believe they’ll be discussing this nativity scene at the next City Council meeting, and I’ll be sure to bring it up then.”

With a nod, we pass by the woman, who’s turned to accost the next set of spectators. Meanwhile, Maisie holds tight to my elbow.

“Thanks for handling that,” she says in a slightly shaken voice. “That woman was a little scary.”

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