Page 11 of Booked for the Holidays
“Lost track after thirty,” I say.
“I only have one. I passed out during the appointment and I don’t have the guts to go back.”
“Maybe one day you will.”
“Yeah,” she says, a resolute nod in agreement. “Maybe I will.”
“Good evening!” A man taps the microphone. His voice booms through the speakers, and I wince at the static. “Can everyone hear me? I’m Jamie Mulligan, deputy mayor of Park Cove. Sorry to call everyone here on such short notice. We received word a few days ago from an important publication about an exciting opportunity.Travel Living, the critically acclaimed magazine published throughout the states and in ten countries, recently ranked our town the top U.S. travel destination to visit during the holiday season!”
Jamie beams at us like we found the cure for cancer and won a Nobel Peace Prize. I resist the urge to roll my eyes and settle back on my elbows, getting comfortable for the snoozefest.
“In honor of the national ranking, they’re bestowing on us a prize,” he continues.
What kind of toolbag usesbestowingin casual conversation like we’re summering in regency London?
I really hate this dude.
“The prize is $100,000,” he concludes.
A ripple of excitement makes its way through the crowd. People scoot to the edge of their seats. Wine glasses pause mid-sip, Chardonnay and Bordeaux forgotten. Even I sit upright, making sure I heard him correctly.
A hundred thousand dollars?
That’s a big price tag. Life-changing money that could go to so many projects. Already, my mind goes into planning mode.
“It’s a contest created to foster camaraderie and unity,” the dude says. “The best decorated, most festive shop will be crowned the winner. You won’t be working alone, though. You’ll be randomly paired with another store. Between you and your employees, the two shops will have the chance to wow judges and take home the grand prize.”
Oh, fuck no.
There’s no way inhellI’m participating in this inevitable fiasco. Working with a group of strangers where we have to agree on shit and take time out of our day to hang up stockings stuffed with toys?
Absolutely not.
“The deadline for entry submission is Monday. The drawing for pairs will be on Tuesday. Judging will commence on December 22nd, and winners will be announced at a town-wide celebration on Christmas Eve!”
“Wow,” Bridget breathes out. “How exciting! I’m definitely entering our names. You are too, right?”
“No,” I answer curtly.
Her smile wavers, splintering in the corners. “What do you mean ‘no’?”
“I mean, we’re not participating. It’s not mandatory, and it sounds like my idea of hell.” The thought of tinsel and twinkling lights makes me grimace with distaste.
“Do carolers haunt your nightmares, too?” she presses. “You’re going to give up the chance to win a lot of money because you’re afraid of Frosty the Snowman?”
Damn her for being funny.
Damn her for being kind instead of cold.
Why the hell can’t she leave me alone? Everyone else does. They do it gladly, too, and here she is, stretching out a conversation with me when we have nothing meaningful to talk about.
I’ve had too much interaction with her in the last forty-eight hours, and I’m becoming…fuck. I can’t define the word. Agitated. But it’s not the usual contempt for my surroundings. The new concept buzzes my brain and makes my skin itch with… disappointment? Regret?
It’s like I’m letting her down in some way, crushing her hopes and dreams. I haven’t done anything wrong, yet the feeling is there, yelling loudly in my ears about how much of an asshole I am for making her upset.
I hate it.
I stand and brush away the blades of grass from the back of my jeans before this gets any worse. “Good luck, Bridget. I’m sure you’ll create a lovely winter wonderland experience. We won’t be joining.”
