Page 108 of A Very Merry Mistake

I’m eventually escorted back to the truck. “Do you know how to turn those high beams and wipers off?” he asks.

I shake my head.

“May I?”

“Please, be my guest,” I say, opening the door.

He reaches in and flicks a switch, then turns the end of the blinker for the windshield wipers. “There ya go.”

“Thanks. I’ll have to remember that. I was more concerned with focusing on the road.”

“I understand. Well, ma’am, after everything, I’m gonna give you a citation for speeding because it’s dangerous to be drivin’ that fast on these roads. One person crosses the line, and it’s a head-on collision. Many don’t walk away from things like that.”

“Okay.” I suck in a deep breath, glancing at the clock. The last thing I want to do is piss this guy off, but I’ll be lying if I say I’m not growing impatient. As I glance in the rearview mirror, I can’t see shit because of the ridiculous lights on top of the car.

Ten more minutes pass, and he finally returns. He spends another few minutes explaining my rights and how it’s not an admission of guilt. “Not to be rude, but where do I sign?” I ask, because I don’t need every detail.

The officer glares at me and continues as if I said nothing. Then I’m told to sign on the dotted line at the bottom of the electronic device. He hand over my speeding ticket and driver’s license, then tells me to be careful and to slow down. I give him a tight smile, then buckle.

Once he’s in his car, I put my blinker on and guide the truck onto the straight road I’ve been driving since leaving the airport. Not wanting to get pulled over again, I follow the speed limit signs.

When the Welcome to Merryville mural comes into sight, an overwhelming amount of relief floods me. I made it, but I missed the ceremony.

Getting here was the easy part. Now comes everything else.

CHAPTER 30

JAKE

Hank stands next to me as the gigantic Christmas tree in the middle of the town square is lit with colorful lights. The crowd cheers, and everyone is grinning, except me.

My father is onstage dressed in his full Santa garb, waving and pointing at different kids who are yelling for his attention. He’s more popular than any celebrity, and I’m proud of my dad. He works hard and can put a smile on his face in a snap of a finger. Each year, he makes people’s holidays special and brings joy wherever he goes. Goals, honestly.

The elves move him to his Christmas throne, where he’ll allow people and pets to take photos with him. Mom is around somewhere, but I lost track of her. She typically dresses like Mrs. Claus and joins him for public events, but she’s also judging the quilt contest that’s held at the town hall, so she may be over there.

Hank stands beside me and laughs when the elementary kids sing about Christmas trees and Santa Claus. The smell of fried foods fills the air, and we’re lucky it’s in the upper forties. Some years, it’s colder than this. Right now, though, it’s nice, but I’m also glad I wore layers.

“I think I’ve had enough. Are you headin’ to the bonfire or are ya leavin’ for the night?” Hank asks me.

“I’m not in the best mood, but I’m not missing out on our tradition. Plus, I promised Mawmaw that I’d do everything I normally do. And she’ll find out if I ditch, so I might as well just go.”

“Great. I brought an old friend,” Hank says, flashing me the silver flask with his name engraved on the outside. With a smirk, he shoves it back into the inside pocket of his jacket.

“Another tradition of ours.”

There are tons of food trucks, boutiques, and other local businesses selling goods at the festival. Usually, after the Christmas tree lighting, the town scatters to all the different areas. A live band plays in the gigantic circus tent, and the laughter echoes out. There are small carnival rides and games for the kids, too.

One of my favorite activities to celebrate the winter solstice is the large bonfire that’s set up in a contained area on the opposite end. It’s quiet and relaxing, and there are several long logs and stumps placed around it so people can enjoy the heat.

When Hank and I arrive, we’re handed a sheet of paper with a pencil. Each year, we write out the things we’re leaving behind and throw the page into the fire to solidify it and rid those things from our lives. I find a seat away from the small crowd.

“You didn’t write anything yet?” Hank asks, wading his up into a ball and tossing it into the flames. We watch the paper catch and then burn to ash. He hands me the flask, and I take a long pull from it, another tradition we’ve kept since we were teenagers.

“No. Feels like I could fill the page.” I hand the booze back to him. “Shit, what’s in there?”

“Fireball.”

I make a face. “Coulda warned me. Also, I’ve been thinkin’ about that bet. To keep my word, I’m gonna give you my bike.”

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