Page 55 of Christmas Wishes

I grabbed my phone and showed him a recent video I’d made to give him a better idea. He probably didn’t actually care all that much, but I was proud of it. Riggs smiled at a few of my snarky comments.

“You’re really good at this.” Nothing packed a stronger punch than a sincere compliment from Riggs. Jesus.

“Thanks. Do you use Instagram?”

“More of a scroller than a poster.”

“What’s your username? I’ll follow you so you can follow me back and see the bad videos too.” I mostly wanted him to see the photos of me in a skimpy bathing suit from my last sunny vacation.

“I’ve also had a few other ideas,” I said as I searched for the username he gave me. I wasn’t sure why I was bringing it up, except that I trusted Riggs. He wouldn’t bullshit me.

“Like what?” I watched him grab his phone and follow me back. Having that minimal connection to him in the post-vacation world made me happy.

“Time for the masks to come off.” I removed Riggs’s mask and leaned in to massage the remaining cream into his skin in slow circles. “I’ve used a few of Evie’s products and want to highlight products made by queer- and BIPOC-owned small businesses like hers. I’m thinking about putting products through a few tests and experiments. Another idea—this is silly—is creating video tutorials of matching makeup looks to crochet projects. Assuming I stick with it.” The “it” being videos or crochet. Or both.

He remained silent as I talked, but his eyes never left mine. They peered deeply into mine like he could see dark corners of myself that I’d been ignoring for ages.

Once I finished rubbing the cream in, I had no excuse to keep touching his face, so I let my hands drop. He pulled my mask off and repeated the process on me, his thick fingers moving gently.

I fell a little in love with Riggs at that moment.

“That’s a great idea. If there’s anything I can do to help, please let me.”

The back of my throat burned. “Thank you.” The words came out rough.

I squirted a dab of hand cream in my palm, then did the same to his, and rubbed it onto my hands and forearms.

“So, tell me more about the festival events coming up. The main Lights Up thing is Saturday, right?”

He grunted, but instead of leaving it there, he followed it up with words. “It is. There’s a parade of floats covered in lights on Saturday. After that, the winners of the town light contest are announced.”

I remembered seeing something at Jitterbug about sign-ups to participate in a light contest, but I hadn’t been sure what it was. “What do people do to win?”

He groaned. “All the people who keep calling me to ask if I can fix the issues with not being able to add more lights? It’s that. People decorate the hell out of their homes for the residential category. Businesses and organizations do the same for other categories. That’s what I’ve been helping Doris do at the senior center. Then people go around town and vote for their favorites.”

“Is it a majority vote? It seems like it would get competitive.” I’d driven around Juniper Ridge enough to know it was probably visible from space every December.

Riggs let out a dark laugh. “They now require email verification, and everyone gets one vote because there have been some issues in the past with people flooding the system with votes for themselves.”

“People are wild.”

“You’re telling me. The storm might force the cancellation of a couple of events this week. I hope the cottages aren’t among them.”

I tossed a treat to Joule. She quickly snatched it and kept an eye on us both as she ate it. “What are the cottages?”

He grabbed a treat from the bag and tossed it to her. She stared at his for several long moments before deciding it was safe. “Tiny houses for kids to play in. They’re a mix between a giant dollhouse and those shed structures in the parking lots of big-box hardware stores. Local businesses and organizations usually sponsor them, each with a different theme. There’s a game or toys inside each one too.”

“Aww. That sounds so fun. I would’ve loved that when I was a kid.”

“It’s grown a lot over the years. Usually, people are putting final touches on those this week, and with the storm coming in, that might not happen.”

I frowned. “I hope it does.”

“Me too. They open the day of the parade and stay open through New Year’s.” Riggs was such a softie under his steel-toed boot exterior.

I drained my cocoa. “Ready for the next phase of pampering?”

“Sure. What’s that?”

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