Page 18 of Mountain Man in my Stockings
"Getting there." I wanted to say more—that meeting her felt like part of that figuring out—but Jack Weston's voice boomed across the room.
"All right, folks! Who's brave enough to kick things off tonight?"
The bar buzzed with energy as Earl Jenkins stood, heading for the bulletin board with surprising spring in his step.
He selected a blue stocking, pulled out the slip, and groaned. "'Sing karaoke to your favorite Christmas song.'"
Cheers and catcalls erupted.
"Well, hell," Earl muttered, but he was smiling. "If I'm doing this, I'm going all in."
Someone fired up the karaoke machine. Earl scrolled through the song list with exaggerated care.
"'Jingle Bell Rock,'" he announced. "Nancy's favorite."
The opening notes filled the bar. Earl grabbed the microphone like it might try to escape.
"Jingle bell, jingle bell, jingle bell rock!" he belted out. His voice cracked on "rock," shooting up an octave before plummeting back down.
Eve was already laughing.
"Jingle bells chime in jingle bell time—" Earl squinted at the screen, lost his place, and made up new lyrics on the spot. "Dancing and prancing in jingle bell... square!"
"It's 'Jingle Bell Square!'" someone yelled.
"That's what I said!" Earl shot back, never breaking stride.
He butchered every note, invented half the lyrics, and at one point just hummed for a solid ten seconds because he'd completely forgotten the words. When he hit the final "rock" with theatrical gusto—at least two octaves off-key—the bar erupted.
"Free drink!" Earl announced, taking a bow so deep I worried he might not come back up. "And I'll have you all know Nancy said I had a beautiful singing voice!"
"Nancy was a saint!" Trish called out.
"Damn right she was!" Earl laughed, collecting his bourbon from me with a wink.
Eve was wiping tears from her eyes. "That was incredible."
"A year ago, Earl wouldn't even come in here,” I commented. “Now look at him.”
"What changed?"
"Decided life's too short to sit at home alone." I watched the man rejoin his table, laughing with the other regulars. "It’s great to see him showing up, being part of something. I think the Stocking Pull has helped break him out of his shell."
"It must be wonderful to have a community like this.” I caught the hint of wistfulness in her voice as she nursed her beer.
The evening picked up momentum. Trish strode to the bulletin board next, selecting a green and gold stocking with the confidence of someone who'd never met a dare she couldn't handle.
She read the slip and cracked her knuckles. "'Arm wrestle someone and win.'"
Her eyes scanned the room, landing on a ski instructor built like he bench-pressed mountains for fun. "You. College boy. Let's go."
He looked up from his beer, amused. "You sure about that?"
"Terrified," Trish said flatly. "Table. Now."
They squared off while Jack cleared space and the crowd gathered around, already taking sides.
"You know the rules," Jack announced. "Best of one. Winner gets bragging rights."
