Page 15 of His Candy Cane (Sweet Treats 1)

I pat her hand.

“I know. There are a lot of crazies out there, even here in our little town.”

My girl nods gratefully, but then turns to me.

“But why are you going to be at the City Council meeting?” she asks. “What’s going on that’s so important? Are you really going just to protest this nativity scene? Should I go?”

I laugh. I’m going because I’ve just gotten in my first batch of organic supplements, and I’m applying for a permit to sell them in a new shop in town. Of course, the supplements will also be sold from behind the counter at the gym, but I also want something more serious. I don’t want these supplements to seem like homemade remedies that a grandma concocted from a witch’s brew. I want them to be legit, with a real store, and real branding, because that’s the only way they’re going to take off.

As a result, I purchased a small store space downtown, and we’re setting up shop. I’ve already hired an employee to work retail, and the contractor’s there right now getting things ready for our Grand Opening. But I haven’t told anyone yet, not even Maisie, because I need a license to operate first. That’s going to be taken care of at the next City Council meeting, and I can’t wait to let her know the news. I’m practically bursting with excitement but manage to hide my pounding heart. I want it to be a surprise, and I want to see my girl’s face lit up with joy as I embark on my new venture.

“I figure there will be some interesting things at the next City Council meeting,” I say in a vague tone. “I’ll tell you more about it later, when it’s not so cold.”

Maisie’s about to say something, but then we come upon the grandest display of all. There’s a huge Santa in his sled perched on the roof of a two-story house, with one arm raised in the air to say hello. Eight reindeer outlined in sparkling lights prance before him, and buzzy Christmas music plays from hidden speakers.

“Oh my gosh, this is so amazing!” squeals Maisie. “Look, there’s fake snow too!”

Sure enough, the homeowner has hidden snowblowers among the bushes, and geysers of white confetti float into the air before swirling around and settling about our shoulders like the real thing.

“This is so awesome!” my girl laughs, her face turned up to enjoy the snow. “I love it.”

I can’t resist the temptation and spin her around to press a tender kiss to that pink pout.

“I love you, sweetheart, and being here with you means everything to me,” I say.

She melts before my eyes, leaning into my kiss as her lashes flutter shut.

“I love you too, Patrick,” she whispers. We savor this romantic moment, but then Maisie surprises me by breaking free and scampering off.

“Wait, what are you doing?” I ask, dumbfounded. “What’s going on?”

She giggles while waving for me to follow.

“Come on! I just noticed that Santa’s arm stopped waving, and we need to fix that.”

I squint up into the night sky, and it’s true. Santa’s mechanical arm, which previously had been swinging back and forth in hello, has stopped moving. But it didn’t stop in mid-air. Instead, the thing swung down so that it’s dangling across his body at a weird angle, looking like he’s got a disjointed elbow.

“The elves will be very unhappy if Santa can’t wave, not to mention the children who aren’t going to get their gifts this year,” Maisie calls from across the lawn. “Come on!”

I start jogging towards her, looking around us.

“Yeah, but what are we going to do? Shouldn’t we just inform the homeowner? They must have tools or something to take care of this.”

But my curvy girl doesn’t hear. She’s circling the edge of the house, staring up into the sky. We move further and further along the side of the house until we’re right by the back gate. Then, to my surprise, Maisie pops the latch open and slips into the backyard.

“Come on,” she beckons. “I see a fire escape over here.”

I pause. What private home has a fire escape? I thought people slid down gutters and skidded over roofs when their houses were on fire. But evidently, this handsome Federalist mansion has a real fire escape, although it isn’t much more than a rickety metal ladder extending from the roof to the garden.

To my dismay, Maisie’s already starting to climb.

“Wait,” I stammer, rushing over to stand by the metal ladder. “What’s going on?”

“Come on, slowpoke,” she says merrily. “What are you waiting for?”

As I watch, mouth agape, the beautiful woman ascends at least twenty feet in the air, agile as a chipmunk. She’s sure on her feet, and strong and flexible too. Silently, I curse my personal training. I must have taught her that during our mock-boxing sessions. At the very least, I gave her confidence in her physical abilities, because as I watch, Maisie swings off the ladder and hoists herself onto the roof. She’s now twenty feet in the air above me, grinning down while gesturing with a mittened hand.

---