Page 95 of A Not So Merry Rescue
“And when do they take them down for the season? Must be a sad day.”
“January second, the most dreaded day on Winterberry’s calendar.” Again with the chuckle, this one deeper than the last, the timbre becoming familiar and comforting.
“I can see why. This display is brilliant. Is it the same every year?” Questions flood my brain, like when I’m researching a topic for a book and need to know every detail before I can write.
“It’s similar, but the visual changes. Some buildings get different colors. Some years, there are more white lights than colored ones, more of a theme. Depends on who’s in charge.”
I tear my eyes away from the magnificence and stare him down. “What kind of person gets to be in charge?”
A twinkle fills his right eye. “There’s an election in July. Anyone can submit a proposal, and then the town committee selects a top five and the citizens vote. It’s highly competitive, as you can probably imagine.”
I let the information soak in, my brain working on follow-up queries. But first. “You ever win?” He waves his arm in front of him, and the gasp jumps from my throat. “This was yours?” I squeak, barely able to speak over my excitement. My gaze volleys between the decorations and Beckett, the magnitude of what he’s telling me staggering. “Beckett. This is amazing. How long have you been planning it?”
A flash of red crosses his cheeks, illuminated by the outdoor lights. “Too long to admit.”
I go to force him to answer, but I think better of it and shut my mouth. “Fair.” I wonder, “Is this your first victory?”
“Yes. Town rules. You’re only allowed one win. You can submit every year, but once you’re deemed the winner, you’re done. For life.” He punctuates the last word, like it’s a life sentence in a penitentiary instead of not being allowed to enter a holiday lights contest. His smile and enthusiasm haven’t dimmed, triumph wafting off.
“That’s so cool. I love how it’s fair for everyone.” I look out the windshield, taking in the display with a fresh perspective.
The way the lights around the candy shop blink in a pattern, almost as if they’re dancing to an inaudible tune.
Oversized plastic candy canes attached to each streetlamp.
The strands of lights strung from one side of the street to the other.
It’s breathtaking and simply fascinating, a spectacle to admire. Knowing the man behind the design elevates my already heightened emotions.
“I think it’s later,” I whisper, and I’ve never seen Beckett react so quickly.
28
beckett
The last twenty-fourhours have flown by in a whirlwind.
Sex with Willa last night differed from all the other times. A slower pace, less frantic, more . . . lovemaking. I won’t admit that to anyone else, but yeah. Last night was not two people having casual sex. It wasn’t one-sided, either. She felt it, too.
In the way her eyes shone with affection, the kaleidoscope of colors breaking through.
In the way her expression was softer, yet full of intensity.
In the way she clung to me. Not in desperation but comfort. Familiar. Loving.
If I have my way, it won’t be the last time we come together, but there was definitely a “goodbye” vibe.
This morning, we went to Mom and Dad’s for brunch. I couldn’t help but observe how she seamlessly fit in, what a great addition she’d make to our family, especially when Mom surprised her with a gift. Willa accepted it graciously, not letting the fact she had nothing in return make her feel guilty.
These thoughts have to stop.
She’s not currently mine, nor will she ever be. We’re toodifferent. She’s not from here. The holiday break isn’t “real life” but a fantasy.
Temporary.
The weather was warm enough for a stroll down Main Street at dusk when the lights come on. If I thought she came alive last night during our drive, it was nothing compared to her reaction to seeing them up close, walking among the brilliance. An air of wistfulness wafted off her, and she shed a few tears in Elias’s memory, but she wasn’t upset. Her hatred of all things Christmas seems to have dissipated with her breakthrough in coming to terms with her feelings. I’m not sad about it at all, and my ego is plenty full of itself about being the one to change her tune.
As if I should take full credit for it. In no way is it all because of me, but I like to think I had a large part to do with it.
