Page 47 of The Holiday Honeymoon Switch
“You’re good at this,” says Holly.
Bebe shrugs, but looks pleased. “I used to be a stylist in the big city, then I traded in my Prada for a simpler life here in Krimbo. I don’t miss it, but it is fun to get clients glammed up once in a while. I assume this is an outfit for the Snowflake Dance? Only event for miles that requires any sort of fashion sense—and most people in this town don’t seem to get the memo.” She adds a rhinestone cuff bracelet to the ensemble and steps back, nodding her head. “You’ll be the belle of the ball. Give me two shakes, and I’ll steam the clothes for you, freshen them up a little.”
Once Holly has changed back into her sweats, Bebe disappears into a back room and quickly returns with the outfit and accessories tucked into a garment bag.
“Twenty even,” she says. “Cash preferred.”
“I can’t believe all this is only twenty dollars,” Holly says. “You’re sure?”
“Absolutely positive. Now, you enjoy—and I’ll probably see you there at the dance. I’ll be the one in the golden caftan pushing the punch on everyone! Happy holidays!”
As Holly returns to her car, her phone chimes its textnotification. She smiles because it’s Aiden:Did Bebe sell you on the gold caftan she had in the window last week?
Holly smiles and texts back,Nope, she’s saving that for herself.She pauses, then types,What time are you picking me up?
See you at seven, he replies within seconds.
Can’t wait.As the reply text whooshes its way into oblivion, she feels that electric frisson again—and instead of fighting it, she decides to go with it.Just for now, she tells herself,I’m going to live in the moment and see where it takes me.
The Snowflake Dance theme is “Winter Wonderland”: Ropes of tinsel crisscross the high school gym ceiling, each one woven with a bounty of fairy lights. The floor sparkles with glitter that appears to have been tossed everywhere, and there are real Christmas trees in every corner, filling the gym with the festive scent of pine. “Wow,” Holly breathes. “This is just…magical.”
Aiden smiles. “Isn’t it? The rest of the year, it’s just a regular school gym, but the dance committee really goes all out every year, and they do an amazing job of transforming it.”
“Are those trees from George’s?”
“Absolutely. A group of us went out there to help cut them down and drive them into town in our trucks. In the spring,we’ll plant seedlings and start the process all over. And we’ll mulch these trees, use them for people’s gardens.”
She smiles at his obvious excitement.
“Gorgeous, just gorge-ee-usss!” a familiar voice trills. Bebe is approaching, her golden caftan resplendent in the holiday lighting. She’s carrying a large, cauldron-like bowl. “Holly, wonderful to see you. And you, too, Aiden. I’ve just finished mixing up the first batch of snowflake punch. Try a glass, let me know if I’ve missed anything?”
Aiden puts his hand lightly on Holly’s back as they follow Bebe to a large table covered in Christmas cookies. There’s a space in the middle for the punch bowl, and Bebe sets it down, then reaches for two glasses, which she fills to the brim. Holly accepts a cup and so does Aiden. He taps his glass against hers and raises an eyebrow.
“Brace yourself,” he murmurs.
Holly takes a sip and has to force herself not to sputter it out.
“What do you think?” Bebe chirps.
“It’s…incredible. Really. What’s in it?”
“Trade secret. But do you think it’s missing anything?”
“It is absolutely not missing a thing,” Holly manages.
“Wonderful. Punch is up, everyone! Come and get it!”
“Take a cookie,” Aiden says in a low voice. “Actually, take two. You need a base of something in your stomach before you have any more of that punch.”
“What is in that punch?” she asks before she takes a bite. “Mm-mm.” She tastes the soft yet flaky cookie in her first bite, the sour and unexpected tang of the melted Jolly Rancher filling in the next.
“Good, right? And I don’t think the question should be what isinthe Snowflake Dance punch, but rather what’snotin it. Pretty sure Bebe just goes around town asking people for whatever they don’t want in their liquor cabinets, then dumps it all in a punch bowl and adds a few cloves, cranberries, and cinnamon sticks. She insists she uses a recipe, but every year it tastes different.”
Holly ventures another sip. “I think I taste brandy? But also gin.”
He takes a sip, too. “Definitely brandy and gin. Possibly also Kahlúa?”
“Frangelico. Crème de menthe. How many of these do you think it’s safe to drink? Because it’s actually kind of growing on me.”
