Page 35 of A Christmas Spark
Ten minutes later, they pulled up to Mabel’s cozy cottage. The two-story, quaint little house with freshly painted shuttersand a wraparound porch was decked out for Christmas, with garlands winding around the porch railings and multicolored lights twinkling from every eave. Animatronic reindeer munched non-existent grass in the front yard.
“I’ll just be a minute,” Mabel said, climbing out of George’s truck with Rascal’s carrier. “Keep the engine running!”
George drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he waited, taking in the sight of Mabel’s home. For all that they were good friends, he didn’t come by her house all that often. Last year came to mind—when he’d brought her a casserole while her wrist was recovering from the injury she’d sustained while pranking him. The house was one of the most decorated in Fir Tree Grove, which was unsurprising, but her taste was excellent, he had to admit. A large wreath with a red bow hung on the front door, and he could see the glow of what must be her Christmas tree through the front window.
Mabel emerged from the house a few minutes later, her arms free of both carrier and kitten. She bounded down the porch steps with surprising agility, silver bob bouncing with every step.
“Rascal’s all settled with her dinner and favorite toys,” she announced as she climbed back into George’s truck. “Now we can head to the bazaar without worrying about her getting into mischief. I hope,” she added with less conviction. From what George knew of the kitten, it was likely that there would be some mischief on Mabel’s return.
“Or shedding in my truck,” George added, putting the truck in reverse.
“Oh, please. A few cat hairs wouldn’t hurt this old thing.” Mabel patted the dashboard affectionately. “Let’s go.”
George knew the way, although he rarely stopped by the Christmas bazaar. It was far too busy and crowded for him, and he didn’t have any real need to go. But he had to admit, the view of the town as he drove to the center was lovely. The townitself was a winter wonderland, with every lamppost wrapped in garlands and lights. Every storefront was decorated, and snow dusted the sidewalks like powdered sugar on Christmas cookies, the drifts piled up on either side looking like sparkling icing. Pedestrians bundled in scarves and mittens strolled along Main Street, shopping bags in hand.
“Town looks nice this year,” George admitted, slowing as they approached the square where the Christmas market had been set up. Wooden stalls lined the perimeter, strung with twinkling lights and evergreen boughs, while vendors called out to passing shoppers. The market was a Fir Tree Grove tradition, with handmade gifts, special games and activities, and seasonal treats that lured locals and tourists alike.
“It does, doesn’t it?” Mabel said, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she smiled. “Henry really outdid himself. Vanessa said she saw him at the Holly and Ivy, with a whole neighborhood’s worth of Christmas lights.”
“Looks like he put them all up here,” George muttered gruffly as he looked for a parking spot, but there was no real grumpiness to his tone. He parked the truck, coming around to open Mabel’s door for her and help her down as he looked around the town square.
The Christmas market itself was a riot of color and sound that immediately made George’s shoulders tense. There was a din of chatter from vendors and customers, bells jingling from decorations, and Christmas music—“Deck the Halls”at the moment—playing loudly from temporary speaker. A group of children raced past, nearly colliding with Mabel and George as they walked, waving candy canes and laughing.
“Good grief,” George muttered under his breath as he surveyed the chaos. “This is worse than last year.”
“It’s festive,” Mabel corrected him, looping her arm through his and pulling him toward the crowd. “Come on, the cider stand should be near the center.”
George reluctantly allowed her to lead him deeper into the maze of booths and attractions. They passed a station where people were decorating gingerbread houses, frosting and sprinkles scattered across the table. Next to it, a woman was demonstrating how to make ornaments from pinecones, her hands moving deftly as she added glitter and ribbon.
“Hold on,” George said, pulling back as Mabel attempted to drag him toward a booth selling hand-painted Christmas village pieces. “I thought we were here for cider, not…” He gestured vaguely at the overwhelming holiday spectacle around them.
A group of carolers in Victorian costumes began singing “Deck the Halls” nearby as the music over the speakers changed, their voices competing with the recorded Christmas music already playing. George winced at the cacophony.
“We are,” Mabel assured him, although the mischievous glint in her eyes told a different story. “But it wouldn’t hurt to enjoy the market while we’re here.”
George frowned as he looked over at her. He should have known, he realized. Mabel was not a ‘one place and leave’ kind of person when it came to these things,especiallywhen it came to Christmas. This was practically prank-adjacent for her, dragging him here under the pretense of a cider tasting and then dragging him to other spots when it was too late to escape.
They passed a photo booth draped with tinsel and hung with oversized props—Santa hats, reindeer antlers, and giant candy canes. Two teenage girls emerged from it giggling, their faces framed by oversized ornament cutouts in the photos they clutched.
“No,” George said firmly when he caught Mabel eyeing the photo booth. “Absolutely not.”
“I didn’t even say anything,” Mabel protested, but her smile gave her away. It was as mischievous as always, and he found himself staring at it just a little too long. Her enthusiasm was infectious, he decided. He hated crowds and noise and clutter, but he wasn’tentirelyupset that he’d come.
“You were thinking it. And the answer is no.” George tugged his arm free of hers, stepping aside as a dad and his three children rushed by—the dad chasing the children. “About that cider?—”
“Oh look!” Mabel suddenly exclaimed, her eyes lighting up as she pointed to a booth nestled between a hot chocolate stand and a wreath seller. “That’s new this year.”
George followed her gaze and immediately shook his head. “No. Absolutely not.”
The booth was draped in red and green fabric with a hand-painted sign that read “Christmas Costumes and Memories!” Inside, a cheerful woman was helping a young couple into matching ugly Christmas sweaters while another attendant adjusted a camera on a tripod. It was like the photo booth, but somehow worse. There werecostumesinvolved.
He dressed up every year as Santa for Mabel, but that was different. He couldn’t exactly explain how, but it was. It was a controlled environment, for one, whereas this one was pure chaos. Also, he saw a number of more obnoxious costumes hanging up behind the photo screen, and he had a feeling that Mabel wasn’t going to be satisfied with Santa.
“Come on, George,” Mabel tugged at his sleeve. “It would be fun!”
“Fun is not the word I would use,” he grumbled, but Mabel was already pulling him toward the booth.When had he stopped being able to tell her no?
“Just one photo,” she pleaded as they stopped next to the booth, her eyes glittering with excitement. “For the Christmas spirit.”
