by Marnie Blue
“What? Where are you going?”
“This is too good. I’m going to call Cisco and find out how much longer he’s going to be. We’ve got to catch this for our piece. I’ve got no service, though. Stay here.”
She took off through the crowd and up the stairs.
Before Justin could even start to worry, she’d returned with Cisco in tow. “Look who I found talking to Sandra the macramé lady!”
“Dude,” Cisco told him. “That’s some serious knot work. She showed me her website.”
“I don’t want to know,” Justin said, holding up his hand. “It’s bad enough I now have some of her crochet.”
Cisco grinned as he readied his camera. Meanwhile, Lilly began an animated conversation with Roger and Fred. Justin wanted to listen, but he got distracted watching a group of teenagers make their way through the crowd. By the time he realized it was the church’s naive and polite youth group and not a gang of rowdy troublemakers, Lilly was approaching him holding a familiar and much-hated red velvet suit.
Crap. “Please tell me that’s not what I think it is,” he muttered.
“Surprise! Yes, it’s a Santa suit. Roger said you can borrow it. And I think this one will fit you better than the one you have for work.” She held it up. “It belongs to the church—smells better than yours, too.” She smiled.
“Great. I’m so happy,” Justin groaned sarcastically.
“You should be. Now go.” She thrust the costume at him. “We’ve got plenty of time before dinner, and this will help my piece! Spontaneously Santa!”
“That just sounds wrong,” Justin grumbled. It was wrong.
“Think of the children, Justin! Think of the positive public relations vibe this will give. Cop Kringle responds to a call for action by suiting up at a church bazaar!” She shook the costume. “It’s like a gift! We can’t waste this opportunity.”
She was right. As much as he wanted to deny it, everything she said was true. It would put a good light on the department, and it was an opportunity to build a bridge to the community. And besides…the children.
“You’re killing me, Lilly.” He lifted the suit from her hands.
She squeaked and jumped up and down with excitement, then leaned in to give him a quick hug, leaving him flushed. “I knew you’d do it. Justin, you’re the best. Now hurry. People are starting to line up already. Pastor Pete is waiting for you in the doorway—he’ll show you where you can change.”
When he finished putting on the costume and went back to the common room, the line for the green screen was already snaking around the perimeter and clogging the traffic to the craft tables. Great. As much as he wanted to do this for Lilly—and the children—if the realization that he was trapped in a basement in a crowd before he donned the suit hadn’t heightened his stress, this was over the top.
Worse, they were all looking at him, expecting him to do something. He hoped it wasn’t talk. Justin’s throat grew dry. Not again…
“There you are.” Lilly appeared, pushing her way through the throng, her red hair shining like a beacon of light in the darkness. Justin started breathing again. “You’ve got to see this. It’s incredible.”
“What? More crafts?” He focused on the warmth of her hand on his arm, the way it made his skin tingle and his heart expand.
“No. This!” She pulled him to the front of the line and gestured at Fred and his laptop, set up on a table; attached to the camera, it transformed the green screen into a scene. Currently, it displayed a blizzard in front of a sparkling pine tree and a dancing snowman. In front of the tree was a lawn chair. “That’s where you’ll sit.”
“Well. That’s…” He didn’t have enough adjectives. “Interesting.” A lawn chair in the snow?
“I know! I mean, of course, I’ve seen this technology before, but not in this context. I think it’s charming. Fred is a wizard.”
“I solemnly swear I am up to no good,” Fred responded absently, his eyes on the screen.
“What?” Justin frowned. “What do you mean by that?”
“Never mind,” Lilly said, and patted his arm. “Come on—get into the chair.”
He let Lilly lead him to the lawn chair; as he sat, he watched her run back to peer at the computer screen. “Oh! I wish you could see this. Fred turned the chair into a throne. You look amazing.”
“Great.” Justin sighed.
“Okay, Roger,” Lilly called. “Let ’em in!”
By the end of several hours, Justin had experienced the gamut of awkward childhood moments. He’d had children cry on him, wet on him, cough on him, and sneeze all over him. He’d even—in the case of a wobbly, newborn infant—been projectile-vomited on. He’d listened to requests for all kinds of toys, and more than one pony.
It had taken every bit of his training to stay calm and to keep ho-ho-ho-ing when every nerve in his body screamed that he should run.
The thought of O’Rourke in a bunny suit sustained him. Somewhat. But mostly, the only reason he stayed in the chair was for Lilly. She and Cisco worked the crowd, interviewing families and crafters, and somehow making people laugh and enjoy their experience even more. It was a gift of hers, something he’d always appreciated. After a while, Justin discovered if he focused on her, he forgot how miserable he was—and he began to have fun, too.
As the crowd began to wind down, close to the time they needed to leave for his mom’s, Cisco approached him. “Hey,” the cameraman said with a big grin.
“If you want to sit on my lap, the answer is no,” Justin told him. “I can’t feel my legs anymore.”
Cisco laughed. “No. It’s about that mistletoe trellis.”
Justin had forgotten about it. “Have you talked to Lilly about it?”
“Not yet. I will. She’s coming over in a minute.”
Justin’s breath caught. Not again. Not another kiss. They’d determined never to kiss again. “Do we have to?”
The cameraman frowned. “Are you serious? You don’t want to kiss her?”
“It’s not that,” Justin told him. “It’s just…” That I want to kiss her too much.
“Hey, I’ll kiss her for you. I mean, I know I shouldn’t say that. Workplace harassment and all that. But Lilly—she’s a little fox, know what I mean?”
Rage filled him. No, not rage, Justin realized suddenly. Jealousy. Crap. This couldn’t be. Lilly wasn’t his to be jealous of—or for. But still… “I do,” he said. It was another reason he shouldn’t kiss her. Even though it didn’t mean anything to anyone else—it meant everything to him.
Or more than it should, anyway.
“Okay. I’m here. What’s up?” Lilly approached them.
“You and Saint Nick over here need to get to that mistletoe thing. Go on,” Cisco told them. “Before they take it down.”
“Oh! No…that’s okay,” she said. Her eyes, big, green, and worried, met Justin’s. “We don’t need to kiss again.”
“People like it,” Cisco said.
“It’s old news. Been done already,” Lilly countered.
“Sheila says the station’s getting email. Viewers want to see more mistletoe kisses. I called her.” Cisco shrugged.
“You did not!” She put her hands on her hips. Lilly Squirrel. Justin had to look away before he burst out laughing in spite of everything. Or maybe because it made it hard for him to easily decide that no matter how much he didn’t want to kiss Lilly, he wanted to kiss her even more.
“I did. You were talking to the dog sweater lady.” Cisco raised the camera. “Come on. I’ve already talked to the YouTube dude and told him we were going to do it.”
Justin peered over at Fred, who was on his phone and gesturing wildly. Either he was having an argument with someone, or he was really excited. He wore a big smile, though, so Justin was pretty sure it was the latter situation. “Crap,” he muttered.
Lilly bit her lip and crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t know…Justin and I have decided not to go that route, Cis
—”
“I wanted to thank you!” The plant lady—Meg—appeared out of the crowd. “Fred is so excited. This will win him more subscribers. He’s been trying to get over 20,000, and this might do it!”
“Twenty thousand? People?” Justin blinked.
Meg nodded. “His channel is monetized. Every click—every watch, every share—brings in money to the charity he set up. His YouTube channel is about kids with disabilities overcoming obstacles. The money it raises goes to the nonprofit he and Roger started.” Meg leaned close. “Roger’s really smart. He creates adaptive equipment for wounded warriors. What their nonprofit does is match up the veterans with disabled kids—kind of a mentor-buddy program. Though we’re not always sure who mentors who. It’s inspiring.” She looked proud.
“It must be.” Lilly looked inspired, for sure. “Justin, we have to do it.”
He couldn’t say no. Not with everyone waiting for him to answer—including Cisco, who had the camera running, Justin was sure. If he said no, it would put a bad face on Cop Kringle. Especially because refusing made it appear as if he didn’t want to help disabled military vets and kids, too. That wouldn’t be good public relations stuff at all. In fact, if anything, that would go more viral than anything he and Lilly had done so far.
Besides, if he were caught on camera refusing to kiss Lilly, his life would become a living hell. It didn’t take much of an imagination to picture the daily hoots and catcalls from the cops in his precinct. Never mind the rest of the city.
He just hoped it was worth the hell his life had become, wanting Lilly so much and knowing he could never allow himself to have her.
“All right.”
With that, the crowd kind of swept them along, in behind the desk to the green screen—and the mistletoe trellis. Justin tried to ignore the audience lined up to watch as he got under the white plastic structure, decorated with white twinkle lights and mistletoe balls. Instead, he focused on Lilly.
She seemed just as intent, her gaze set on him. She gave him a tight smile. “This is like a setup for prom or something, isn’t it? Except, of course, you’re not wearing a tux.”
“No. I’m wearing an old fat guy suit.” Justin tugged the curly beard down under his chin. It was a much better beard than the one on the station’s Santa suit; it didn’t smell bad, for one thing.
“Can I tell you a secret?” Lilly’s cheeks colored. “Remember when you went to your junior prom, and you took Abby White?”
“Barely.” He took a deep breath as she put her hands on his foam-padded hips. Justin wished he could feel them, their warmth, the way she moved them or tightened her fingers…
“Well, I do,” she breathed. “I was so jealous. I wanted you to ask me so badly.”
“You did?” Justin felt like kicking his seventeen-year-old self. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I gave you all kinds of hints. You were too dense to notice.”
“I guess I was.” What a moron. Had he been blind or just stupid? Both, probably. He’d been both.
“Well, it doesn’t matter now,” she said. “Because I’m here with you, and who knows where Abby is?”
Justin put his arms around her and pulled her against him; he couldn’t feel her because of the suit’s pillowed stomach. But it didn’t matter, as long as he could touch her lips with his own. One more time. “Who cares?”
He dropped his mouth to hers.
Her soft lips tasted of peppermint—of course—and chocolate. He pulled her as close as the padded suit would allow. This was it—the last time he’d ever kiss Lilly. Justin lifted his mouth away slightly—only slightly—so that her soft exhale curled over his cheeks and chin. Once, twice, three times, he brushed his lips against hers, a soft caress. She opened her lips. Just this time. This last time. Make it count. Their tongues tangled. Tingles spread over his body; he pulled her closer. She melted into him and he into her. He never wanted to let it end.
All too soon, he became aware of the applause and the sounds of the people in the basement common room. He opened his eyes and ended the kiss.
His heart cried out. But there was nothing he could do. Except what he knew was the right thing. Justin stepped back and let Lilly go.
Chapter Eleven
As they pulled into the driveway, Lilly’s musings about their shared last kiss evaporated in a rush of gold-tinged memories. The Weavers’ house hadn’t changed much over the years, and his mom had maintained the same holiday traditions, right down to the same plastic angels and nativity scene set up under the winter-bare dogwood tree in the front yard.
As usual, a plastic toy soldier stood guard next to the Holy Family, flanked by a jolly, plastic gingerbread man.
Some light-up candy canes and carolers stood on the other side of the nativity; a poorly painted donkey with one eye gazing toward the end of his nose, the other toward his ear, stood between them.
“And lo, the shepherds saw the babe beneath the star. Featuring an amateur production of The Nutcracker and a giant living cookie. ‘It’s a miracle!’ they proclaimed. And they saw that it was good, but freaky as heck,” Justin announced as they went up the front walk.
“And it is,” Lilly said. “I love your mom’s display. I always have.”
“It’s weird,” Justin said, but without any bitterness, and she could tell he was as pleased as she was to see the odd assortment of lawn ornaments. “Oh, look. There’s Rudolph, lighting the manger of the baby Jesus with his shiny red nose. ‘And God said, “Turn it down, Rudolph, the infant Lord needs to take a nap now.”’ Seriously?”
“We should get your mom an inflatable Santa for Christmas,” Lilly said. “Maybe one with blowy arms, like the kind outside a car dealer.”
“Because that would unite the theme she’s got going on here so well.” He looked disgusted, but Lilly could see a glint of humor in his eyes. Her heart beat a little faster.
“Oh stop, Justin. Don’t you realize how wonderful this is? It’s eclectic. It’s fun, and it makes you smile just to look at it.” Lilly paused on the top step. “You want to know about my parents’ holiday display? They hire people—people, not anyone they even know personally or anything—who come and put lights on all the bushes and trees. And then the day after New Year’s, different people come and remove all the lights. Boom. Holiday over. No sentimentality, no meaning, nothing. At least your mom’s display means something.”
“That she’s got no taste?” He looked over his shoulder at the display.
“No. That she loves Christmas. And she’s got a sense of humor, too. Unlike some people, who shall remain nameless. Justin.” Lilly tossed her hair over her shoulder and rang the doorbell. Behind her, Justin made a raspberry noise.
The door opened. “Oh my gosh, Lilly! Justin! Come in. Come in.” Mary Weaver held out her arms to Lilly for a hug. It was only natural to fall into them and let herself be surrounded by the love she’d always craved from her own mother but never received. Not this warmly or easily, anyway. Victoria Maddox’s hugs were always from a distance, and her kisses met with the air just above your cheekbone, in case you wrinkled her clothes or smudged her makeup.
Mary Weaver, however, had no such reservations—only love. “I’m so glad to see you!”
“I’m glad to see you, too.” She pressed her face to Mary’s shoulder. Mary always smelled the same, of gardenias and ginger—the combination of her favored perfume. To Lilly, it was how a good hug from a mom should be scented.
“Didn’t you see her a few weeks ago?” Justin let himself in.
“It was too long ago,” Mary said. “And you! Where have you been? Let me look at you.” Justin’s mom stepped back to look him up and down, then embraced him again. “I never see you enough.”
“I’ve been busy,” he muttered. Lilly shook her head. If Mary were her mom, she’d see her all the time. How could he not want to be with her—she was everything a mom was supposed to be. “Besides, I brought you a plant.” He pointed to the poinsettia
Lilly held.
“We brought you a plant,” Lilly said, determined to take at least a little of the credit.
“Of course you did,” Mary said, lifting the poinsettia from her arms. “And isn’t it a beaut? I’ve got the perfect place for it, too. Oh! Look at the glitter. It’s so festive.”
“Told you so.” Lilly stuck her tongue out at Justin.
He stuck out his own tongue in return, then winked and blew her a kiss. Lilly’s stomach flip-flopped. Somehow, by stepping foot on this property and seeing his mom, the tensions—real or imagined—between them had eased. She hoped things would stay that way.
…
Justin followed the women into the kitchen. While they clacked on and on about the stupid plant, he looked around. Things never changed at his mom’s house.
After his father’s death, it was too painful to be there. Too many memories. His dad’s recliner in the corner of the den—facing the television, of course—with the remote placed on the arm. Even now, he knew that remote would be there. It was a habit to put it there, Mom said, but seeing it perched on the arm as if waiting for Dad to come in, plop down, and flick on the sports channel of choice—too painful. Even the thought of walking toward the den required a deep breath and a dose of courage. Or alcohol.
The kitchen and the dining room, on the other hand, were his mother’s domain. Her desk was set up in a corner of the dining room, and her current crafty project—whatever it was at the time—was usually scattered across the table’s surface and often spilled over to the kitchen island so she could work on it while she cooked.
The kitchen island was where she put the plant. “Pull up a stool,” she said. “Want some coffee? Tea? Hot chocolate? Oh, wait. I have a cider recipe I’ve been dying to try. Now that I have company, I can make it.” Mary rubbed her hands together with glee.
“That sounds great. Doesn’t it, Justin?” Lilly sat on one of the stools as instructed.
“Eh,” he said, not meaning it, but refusing to give in to the holiday hoopla on principle.
The front door opened and closed; they heard Hannah’s familiar footsteps. “I’m here! Don’t start without me.”