Page 33 of Crossing Into Brooklyn

I finally laugh. At least I’m breathing again. For the moment. What do I do now? One thing I know, once love makes itself known, it’s nearly impossible to banish. That doesn’t mean she ever has to know. “Let’s get that coffee. I need some caffeine before we ambush Santa.”

Brooklyn laughs and loops her arm around mine. She’s not going to make life easy. Focus on Santa.

***

“I think you’ve been holding out on me,” Brooklyn says.

“Me?”

“Yes. You.”

This ought to be good.

“I figured it out,” she tells me.

“My gift-buying skills?”

“And your Santa-coercing ability,” she adds.

“You think so?”

“Yep. It also explains all these fantastical realms you create.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You’re an elf.”

I cackle. Literally.

“Go on. Deny it,” Brooklyn challenges me.

“I don’t think most elves are a size fourteen.”

“I don’t think size has anything to do with elfhood.”

“Elfhood?”

“What do you call it?”

That’s it. I need to find a place to sit before I pee my pants.

“Why are you laughing?” Brooklyn asks me.

“I think you should be the one writing fantasy novels.”

“Are you saying you’re not an elf?”

“Would it matter if I denied it?” I ask.

“No.”

I laugh harder. “Can we please find a place to eat?” And pee.

“Since you won the bet, you choose.”

“I don’t care as long as there’s a bathroom.”

“McDonald’s?”

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