Page 13 of Knot what I want for Christmas
“Here,” she says, dropping them by my feet. “Try those on.”
“Are you sure?” I say, examining the boots. They’re clearly well made with a pretty white floral design up the sides. They look expensive and I’m known for my poor coordination. In my lifetime, I’ve condemned three pairs of expensive shoes to the garbage because of spilled drinks – and two weren’t even mine. “I don’t want to ruin them.”
“Absolutely,” she says. “Boots were made for wearing. And these are my lucky boots.”
She glances toward Mr. J who winks back at her.
“Lucky. What does that mean?” my best friend says with suspicion.
“I was wearing these boots the night I met your dad,” Mrs. J says, smiling at her husband.
“And she looked drop-dead gorgeous in them too.”
“Ew,” Annie says, “please don’t say you were wearing these boots when Clay was conceived.”
Mrs. J glares at her daughter. “Your brother was born two years after we were married, and you know that perfectly well, young lady.”
“I know,” Annie says, “just teasing.”
“These boots sound really special,” I say to Mrs. J. “I couldn’t wear them.”
“‘Course you can,” she says. “It’s good to spread the luck around. Besides, I haven’t had a chance to wear them in ages. What with Paul’s hurt knee, we can’t go dancing anymore.”
“I’ll still take you dancing,” Mr. J says, holding out his hand and pulling his wife toward him, spinning her around under his arm. She giggles and I realize just how in love Annie’s parents still are.
“Wear the boots,” Annie says. “Mom’s right. We could do with some luck.” She leans close to me and whispers right in my ear. “And you could do with getting laid? How long has it been?”
“Too long,” I mutter.
“Exactly!”
“Butyoushould wear them,” I protest. “they’re your parents–“
“They’re two sizes too small for me,” Annie yelps.
“And you need the luck too!”
Annie grins. “Nope.” I gape at her. “I’ll tell you about it later,” she promises, “Now come on, put them on.”
I pull on the woolen socks and then drop my feet into the left boot and then the right. I’m surprised to find, when I stand on my feet, that they’re incredibly comfortable. And not only that, they look really cute.
“Are you sure?” I ask Mrs. J one last time.
“Wouldn’t have offered them if I wasn’t,” she says. “Right, come on, Paul, get these girls out to the bar. They look too drop-dead gorgeous to be standing around in my kitchen.”
The snow looks even prettier as we drive out to the bar, all lit up by the headlights of Mr. J’s truck and reflecting the holiday lights of the few sparse properties we pass by along the way. After 15 minutes of bumpy track, we’re back on the main road, and then another five and we hit Silver Creek, the nearest town. The bar, theDirty Boot, sits on the far side which means I get a good chance to ogle this little mountain town as we drive through. There’s a grocery and a hardware store, a diner and what looks like a bakery with a giant gingerbread house in its window. We also pass a few houses, and they look a milliontimes more wintery and Christmassy than the houses back in Rockview with snow on their roofs, garlands hanging on their front doors and lights wound round the porches and the trees. I feel as if I’ve stepped right inside a Christmas movie.
Another a few more minutes, we’ve reached the other side of town and Mr. J is pulling up his truck outside what looks like a ramshackle old barn, the beat of music, laughter and voices already carrying across toward us on the cold air.
“This is it?” I say, leaning forward to peer out the window. “You got me all dressed up to come here!”
“Do not judge a book by its cover, Hollie Bright,” Annie declares, swinging open the cab door and jumping down.
She beckons me to follow and I do, thanking Mr. J once more for the ride.
“I’ll be here at 12 to pick you girls up – your own personal pumpkin – unless I hear otherwise.”
Annie threads her arm through mine and leads me to the bar, the music booming even more loudly with every step closer we take.
