Page 65 of The Snuggle is Real
“Sometimes all you have is memories, but…that doesn’t make them any less real.”
“Exactly. Did you lose someone too?”
I shook my head quickly. “Not the same way. Just…someone who disappeared from my life. My dad. It’s more complicated, all tied up with resentment and guilt, you know? I don’t want to miss him, but I do, and then I’m sure he doesn’t deserve my love, but those memories—” I stopped abruptly. “I’m so sorry. It’s really not the same thing. My dad is alive somewhere.”
Ford tapped my foot with his. “Don’t worry. There’s no scorecard here. You’re allowed to grieve for that loss. Fuck knows I’ve grieved over LuAnne a time or dozen.”
“Right. Charlie’s mom. Do you still…”
“No,” he said gruffly. “That love died years ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
He suddenly laughed. “This is depressing talk for a date, huh? Let’s get another drink and play a silly game.”
I smiled. “Yeah. Too bad there’s not an ugly Christmas sweater contest. I’m going to get you into one of those yet.”
He chuckled. “In your dreams.”
I shrugged, because yeah, Ford Donnelly did sneak into my dreams now and then, no matter how I tried to keep him out. But if he was going to play along with the date that town gossip insisted we were on, I wasn’t going to fight it.
For one night, I’d enjoy this crush.
We got two more drinks—we each bought a round—and we laughed ourselves silly over the ridiculous charades, moaned with appreciation as we ate the gingerbread truffles on the dessert menu, and finally staggered outside into the cold, crisp night.
I didn’t want the evening to end. I was warm and boozy, a little too content to lean against Ford’s side.
“What now?” I asked, my evil little heart spinning fantasies of him taking thisdateto the usual conclusion.
Kiss me. Kiss me. Kiss me.
“It says here we get a sleigh ride around Santa’s Village as part of this date night.”
“Really?” I leaned over his arm to peer at the text on the festival vouchers. Because they were generally given out as door prizes, they often included a few extras.
“You want to?” he asked. “It’s kind of…”
“Kind of what?”
He hesitated a beat, but then shook his head. “Nothing. Let’s do it.”
There was a sleigh across the street, with two reindeer hooked up to it. Gus, the volunteer who’d driven the sleigh when I’d delivered Thanksgiving meals, waved.
Tonight, he was dressed in a top hat and coattails, looking as if he’d just stepped out of a Victorian Christmas in a Dickens novel.
“Merry Christmas!” he called as we approached.
“Hey, Gus! Great costume. Very snazzy.”
“Thanks, Mason.” He chuckled. “Are you two taking a moonlit ride?”
Ford handed him the festival ticket, and he nodded to the sleigh seat behind him. “Up you go. There’s a blanket back there. It may be a bit cold.”
“Thanks.” I climbed in, Ford right behind me, my nerves jangling as his thigh pressed against mine.
Perched in the sleigh, we had an amazing view of the Christmas lights flickering all along Christmas Boulevard.
Gus clicked a few times and bells jingled as he shook the reins. The reindeer took their first lumbering steps.
