Page 78 of Mistlefoe
The only proof that there ever was a Christmas fair is a few strands of golden tinsel strewn on the carpet here, some red glitter there, a few green leaves over there. Even my harsh breathing echoes in the vast emptiness.
“What are we going to do?” I whine.
Conor tightens his hold on my hand. “We won’t give up yet. Let’s see if we find anyone.”
“What for? Everything’s been cleared. We’re screwed.” I drag my feet after him and at first, it feels like we’re walking aimlessly until I realize he’s following the overhead signs that guide the way to some offices beyond a corridor.
It’s warmer here, which is the first sign of life we’ve found since we arrived. Conor struts like he owns the place, I don’t know if it’s because he’s been here before or if he’s just that determined to make this work. It must be a hardcore athlete thing, that of not giving up easily, and I’m so glad I have him to snap me out of my spirals. He did the same thing earlier when I was freaking out before talking with the executives, and if it hadn’t been for his encouragement I’d have collapsed under the weight of my own fear of failure.
The wall on the right opens to a counter and behind it sits an older lady clicking away at a computer keyboard.
At last, human life.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” Conor says with his most polite voice. “We work atSPORTYand we’re interested in talking about an event we need help with.”
Succinct message loaded with keywords that should get us some results. I could kiss the guy for his brilliance right now.
Slowly, the woman tears her attention from what we’re interrupting and she blinks up at Conor. “Wait, aren’t you Conrad’s grandson?”
“Uh, yes.” He glances at me, as if checking for any clues as to whether this is good or bad news.
“He did say his grandson works atSPORTYone time at bingo.” She rummages around on her desk behind the counter until she brings up a clipboard with a pen. “Fill in this interest form. Although you didn’t have to come all the way here, you know? You could’ve set an appointment online.”
“Actually, ma’am, um…” I clear my throat once her pointed stare turns to me. “I’m afraid we’re on an aggressive time schedule. We were hoping we could talk with someone now… or today. Any time today is fine.”
She scowls and pushes her glasses higher by the corner of one lens. “You’re lucky that today is a slow day, but I won’t guarantee anything until I talk with the boss.” Grunting, she pushes to her feet and turns away saying, “Be right back.”
“Right. Thank you.” As she disappears behind a door, I say to Conor, “I could kiss your grandfather right now.”
“How about you kiss me instead?” He tilts his head and taps his cheek right above the trimmed edge of his beard.
I shake my head. “How are you so calm?”
“Me? Calm?” He scoffs. “I’m about to pop one extra anti-anxiety pill.”
“Does this help?” I pull him lower by his arm and peck his cheek right where he pointed before.
The rascal turns his face right before I lean away, and steals a quick taste of my lips that makes my toes curl in my Uggs. “Oh, yeah. That’s the best medicine.” Conor smirks as he pulls away.
Fortunately—or unfortunately—that’s when thereceptionist walks back out. “You’re in luck. The boss is between meetings and she’ll see you now. Follow me.”
Conor raises a fist in celebration and I send me most heartfelt thanks up to the heavens. We all but skip after the older woman as she takes us down a narrower hallway, until she stops at an office door embossed with a woman’s name and the title Event Center CEO below it. She knocks on the door and a voice sounds from inside.
“Come in!”
The receptionist opens the door and motions us in. This time I lead the charge pulling Conor by his hand, and I stop in the middle of a nice office that overlooks the parking lot. The biggest contrast is that the inside is decked in so many Christmas decorations, this space could be its own fair.
“Please, take a seat.” The boss points at the chairs by her desk, and Conor and I scramble to do as bid. “What can I do for you?”
“Right, we—” My words die in my lips when I zero in on the woman’s face. Blonde hair, crimson lips, dark eyes, a heart-shaped face… somehow she rings a bell but I can’t pinpoint where I might’ve met her.
She’s the one who snaps her fingers. “Oh, I know you two! You were the cute couple who refused to kiss under the mistletoe. I take it you’ve changed your minds since?” She points at our joined hands.
My mind plucks the memory of her in a revealing Mrs. Claus costume a few weeks back. “You were at the fair.”
“That’s right.” She tosses her hair over her shoulder.
“I thought you were a booth owner,” Conor says, eyebrows raised.
