Page 60 of Fa-La La-La Land
Stella
The parade is first-rate this year. Probably the best one I’ve seen in years. Actually, it’s the only one I’ve seen in its entirety since I was about five. I’vebeenin every parade for the past twenty years.
I thought I’d be sad about being on the sidelines this year, but I’m enjoying playing spectator. Especially with Rhys behind me, his arms wrapped around my shoulders, commenting on every parade float. His observations and questions border on cynical, but when I laugh, he does too, and I can tell he’s having fun.
We’re both shivering, though, when the last float finally lumbers past. Nick, dressed as Santa, waves from his bright red riding lawnmower “pulled” by his Saint Bernard dressed in full reindeer costume, down to the red nose.
“That’s not a reindeer,” Rhys says flatly.
“Obviously,” I say before catching a mini candy cane Santa tosses into the crowd. “But his name is Rudolph, and he loves playing the part. Look how he’s smiling.”
Rhys huffs. “Dogs don’t smile.”
“Not at you. You have to smile at them first.” I catch him shaking his head and grinning.
“Yep! Just like that!” I point to his smile.
He quickly wipes it away but lets me grab his hand and tug him to follow Santa, who’s steering his sleigh toward his temporary lodge set up in the middle of the town square.
“Where are we running to?” Rhys asks.
“We need to hurry if we’re going to see Santa. The line gets long fast.”
He stops dead. “We’re doing what now?”
“Telling Santa what we want for Christmas.” I tug again, but he’s immovable, and we’re getting left behind by every kid in town.
“I’ll stand in line with you, but I’m not sittin’ on some bloke’s lap to tell him my wish list.”
Rhys reluctantly moves with my next tug, but he moves so slowly, I’m tempted to leave him behind. If this visit to Santa were about me, I would.
“You don’t have to sit on his lap. You’ll still get what you want, and you can ask him for anything.” I quicken my pace, but if I let go of Rhys’s hand, he’ll bolt. He’s twitchy as a deer during hunting season.
“I don’t want anything, La-La.”
Now I stop long enough to give him my most serious look. “Think of something, then. Since you don’t believe in Santa,someonewill probably need his help to pick out a gift for you.”
Rhys’s mouth lifts into a lazy grin. “Couldn’t thatsomeonejust ask me what I want?”
“Maybe that someone wants you to experience the magic of Christmas with her.”
There’s nothing lazy about his grin as he tugs me close enough to circle his arms around my waist. “How about we make our own magic?”
I narrow my eyes until my left one twitches. “Keep it up, Rhys, and you’re going to find yourself on the naughty list.”
He leans down with that slow-burn smirk that got him famous. “How ’bout we skip this line and get naughty together?” he whispers against my ear.
My skin prickles with heat. If he’s suggesting what I think he is, I’ve fantasized about that, too. Doesn’t mean I’m ready for it. I’ve got a lot more to cross off my list before I am.
I push him away and glare harder. “This is when I ask Santa for a letter from my dad. Nick is waiting for me. He won’t give it to me until Christmas Eve, but my asking is part of our tradition. That line is only getting longer, and we still need to help Mom with the tree.”
I tip my chin toward the line winding outside Santa’s hut, threatening to fill the town square.
Rhys’s eyes soften. “Sorry, La-La. I forgot about the letter.”
He squeezes my hand and takes off at a jog that’s hard to keep up with. By the time we reach the line, I’m out of breath, but Rhys doesn’t stop. He bribes kids and their parents to let us cut to the front.
The kids are thrilled by the fives, ones, and tens Rhys keeps pulling from his wallet, but the parents—most of whom I know—recognize exactly who’s bribing their kids.
