by Kennedy Fox
Michael kept singing as I shut my eyes against the pain in my leg. I could probably walk it off. All in all, I’d gotten off easy. My poor baby though. I didn’t want to see the damage.
Actually, I didn’t want to deal with any of the crap that was now in my immediate future.
Next time? I’d circle my own block when I wanted to get my jollies in my almost-new car during the winter.
A sharp rap on my window had me opening my eyes and biting off a sigh. A guy wearing one of those hats with buffalo plaid flaps over his ears pressed his face up against the glass as I turned down the volume on the music and then lowered the window halfway. “You okay, fella? I didn’t see you there as I was coming out.”
I cocked a brow. Considering the non-neutral color of my car, I completely believed that. “I’m okay, thanks. You?”
I didn’t know why I asked that. He hadn’t driven off the road, I had. Because of him. And also because I’d recklessly been doing thirty-six.
This was why I so rarely colored outside the lines. It never ended well.
“Fine, fine. You got yourself some trouble here.” He edged back to look at my crumpled fender, nose down in the ditch. “Want me to call Dare at Kramer and Burns Custom? He’ll get you fixed right up in a jif.”
This far out, my towing company would charge me a mint to come to my assistance. “Sure. I can call him.” I tugged out my cell. “Kramer and Burns Custom, you said?”
“Have to turn down that loud music if you’re going to call.”
I ignored him as I searched Google and called. If he considered “Holly Jolly Christmas” set on low to be too loud, I couldn’t help him.
And surprise, my good mood had fled at the same moment I’d crashed my freaking car.
“Good evening, Kramer speaking.”
“Is this Dare?”
“No, this is his brother, Gage. Whatcha need?”
“Are all of you named like romance heroes?” Shockingly, he didn’t respond. I cleared my throat. “I need a tow. I was referred by—”
I glanced at the window. The man and his ridiculous hat had disappeared. However, a cop was doing a U-turn to pull up beside me.
Fabulous.
“Anyway, can you come tow me?”
“Where are you?” His voice was appreciably cooler than when he’d answered the phone.
No one would accuse me of being wise, that was for sure. Made total sense to piss off the cavalry when I was well and truly stuck.
And I didn’t know where I was.
I squinted through the snowy windshield. There was a street sign at the end of the block, but it was snowing too hard for me to make it out. Luckily, I could ask Officer Friendly.
He knocked on the window with his bare knuckles. “Had some trouble, I see.”
“So everyone sees.” When he frowned beneath the brim of his standard issue hat, I forced my shoulders to relax. “I’m on the phone with the tow place right now.”
“Tell Dare Sheriff Brooks is on scene.”
“Dare, Sheriff Brooks is on scene,” I repeated into the phone, knowing I’d aggravate the guy on the end even more. I’d probably annoyed the sheriff too.
“Gage,” the guy on the phone said testily. “Since you sound like an out-of-towner, ask Brooks where you are, and I’ll send the truck out.”
What had happened to that old adage that people in small towns were so easygoing? Probably required me not being a dick to them, but in my defense, my unscratched two-month-old car was now a mess.
My younger brother, Lennox, had warned me not to buy something that would depreciate so quickly.
Cars aren’t an investment, Cal. Especially ones with a tawdry finish like yours.
Yeah, well, I’d clearly not listened. I’d loved my “tawdry” paint job that now would need to be retouched. And hey, bright side, with this accident, I’d done all the depreciating at once.
At least it had been minor. Shouldn’t take long to fix.
“”You still there, tourist?”
I frowned. Charming guy. “Why don’t you just talk to the sheriff, rather than me playing telephone?” I attempted to hand the phone to the cop, but he shook his head and made a gimme gesture with his fingers.
I unclicked my belt and wrenched open the door, thankful that it seemed to be working correctly. The car was tilted at an angle, but with some finagling and shifting, I placed my boot on the cracked upper edge of the ditch and stepped out with assistance from the sheriff. I shut my door as the sheriff gave me my next orders.
“Tell Dare you’re near the corner of East Lake Road and Grange.”
I repeated the information into the phone and managed a “thank you” before Gage hung up on me.
Wasn’t hospitality supposed to be a thing in small towns? I was beginning to think I’d been lied to.
First, Santa Claus was real. Then, small towns are wonderful, cozy places filled with lovely people.
The sheriff stepped back and eyed me up and down as he dipped his thumbs into the pockets of his trousers. “You’re not from here.”
Before I could reply to that incriminating statement—why it was incriminating, I wasn’t sure, but there was no mistaking his tone—a float on the back of a flatbed truck rolled by, complete with a inflated bouncy house-style Santa’s Workshop festooned with twinkling Christmas lights and little animated elves climbing up and down ladders. The truck’s driver blew the horn at the sheriff, and he waved, calling out a “Hey, Red, looking good,” as the vehicle continued down the street at a speed approaching my own pre-crash.
Falling snow wasn’t much of a deterrent around here. He’d better hope he didn’t encounter Buffalo Plaid Hat Guy.
I looked around. Said guy and his truck were long gone.
“So?”
I pocketed my phone. “So what?”
“You’re not from here,” he repeated. “What’s your business in Crescent Cove?”
“What, am I not allowed to drive through without a laminated pass? You should’ve asked the guy who pulled out in front of me why he couldn’t watch where he was going.”
The sheriff glanced at my awkwardly angled car, already gathering a healthy coating of snow. “Looks like you can’t either.”
I balled up my fists in the pockets of my long tweed coat. I shouldn’t flip off the sheriff in a town I wasn’t familiar with.
Problem was, I really, really wanted to.
“I was just out for a drive,” I said defensively.
“Did you have a drink before you got behind the wheel?”
“No, but I wish I had.” Okay, that definitely wasn’t the right thing to say. It wasn’t even what I’d meant. Exactly. “I mean, I should’ve had a drink and stayed home, rather than venturing out in this weather.”
The sheriff crossed his arms over his quilted vest, pinned with some badge-looking thing he probably could’ve gotten at any dollar store. “Let’s see some ID.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake. How about ticketing the guy who caused me to slide?”
“Do you see him?” He made a show of looking around. “I don’t.”
“He stopped to talk to me, and then he left. How is that my fault?”
“Plate number?”
“I didn’t see his plate.”
“Description of the vehicle?”
“A big brown truck.”
“UPS?”
“No, a SUV.”
“Make and model?”
“I didn’t have time to see all that. Big and boxy.”
“Oh, well, now I can find him, no problem.” He stared at me. “ID? Take it out, nice and slow.”
“It’s like I’m in an episode of Law and Order, if it was set in not-quite Mayberry.” Shaking my head, I withdrew my wallet, took out my college ID, and handed it over.
He tipped back his hat. “Professor?”
“Yes.”
“What do you teach?”
“Mythology and Applied Lessons in—”
“Go
od enough.” Clearly disinterested, he returned my ID and nodded at my car. “Explains the bright yellow.”
I tucked my ID away. “It does, does it?”
“License?”
“Are you kidding me? If I was out joyriding, I wouldn’t have come here.”
“I’ll have you know Crescent Cove is known the state over. At this rate, we’ll be known throughout the world.”
I pulled out my license and gave it to him. “For what? Obnoxious floats?”
His jaw clicked as he studied my license. “Small-town charm and…”
“And what?”
“Procreation,” he said in such a low voice I almost didn’t hear him.
I didn’t have time to ponder that inexplicable statement because a tow truck pulled up beside my car. A tall, bearded man in a baseball cap hopped down and flashed me a friendly smile that indicated he was not Gage Kramer and possible not even from this “quaint” Cove at all. “Hey there, I’m Dare Kramer. You are?”
“Callum MacGregor,” I said as we shook hands. “Thanks for coming out so fast.”
“In this weather, I figured you didn’t want to be standing around. Hi, Brooks. How’s that baby of yours?”
Brooks narrowed his eyes and said nothing. He was a charmer, this one.
Dare didn’t seem deterred. “Caught the short straw today, huh?” He clapped the sheriff on the back. “Last I saw, Christian was on patrol.”
“He’s out too. All kinds of yahoos around tonight with the festival, and some of them can’t stay on the road.” With a narrowed-eyed stare for me, the sheriff returned my license. “I should give you a Breathalyzer.”
I shrugged and put it away. “Do what you wish. It’d be a waste of your time, as I haven’t had a drink since, at best guess, June sixteenth.”
The night Hudson, my youngest brother—by seven and five minutes respectively from the other two triplets—had celebrated getting his degree in graphic design. He was considered the free-spirited one among my brothers, other than my own edgy sideline in drawing and painting.
Drawing and painting itself wasn’t edgy, ignoring the whole starving artist thing. And I definitely was not starving after some of my recent commissions. But my choice of subject occasionally skirted the line for some.
Or unskirted, depending on my subject’s state of undress.
Unusual faces and locations captured the bulk of my attention, so those were what I painted most often. It just seemed more notable the few times I’d painted a woman’s form in a more natural way.
Well, notable to my family. The public at large didn’t know who I was. I did my work, cashed my checks, and enjoyed my anonymity.
“We’ll skip the Breathalyzer for now,” the sheriff said, although he didn’t seem happy about it.
Dare rubbed his gloved fingers over his bearded jaw. “She’s a beaut. Shame she got scuffed up, but we’ll get her in and out quick for you, with the holidays and all.”
“Oh, thanks. I really appreciate that.”
“Our shop does custom work. We’ll fix her up so she looks better than brand new. Later on, how do you feel about racing stripes? My brother and Tish and their team do some damn fine work.”
“Hmm. That might be an idea.” Since I hadn’t gotten off on the best foot with his brother, I’d probably end up with a middle finger painted on the fender, but why not give it a shot? “I’d like custom rims too.”
“They’d look sweet with a ride like this. Tell you what, I’ll bring it in and see what Gage and Tish think before we write you up a quote. We’ll set you up with an appointment for the custom work in the new year. Or we can—” Dare broke off as yet another ginormous float went by, this one consisting of a huge gazebo decorated with Christmas lights. A sign proclaimed it courtesy of August and Kinleigh’s Attic.
A flurry of honks went off as the driver moved into the opposite lane to pass our collection of vehicles on the side of the road, much to the sheriff’s consternation.
“We need to get this car out of here. Talk at the shop. You keep it moving once your vehicle is ready.” The sheriff pointed at me. “I don’t want to hear about you causing another ruckus in town.”
“I wasn’t aware I’d caused a ruckus to begin with, but I’ll take it under advisement.” By this point, I couldn’t do much other than shake my head.
At least I’d get an even more tricked out vehicle come the new year, even if it was at considerable cost. I could afford it. My account was nicely padded, and my agent thought a few more pieces would sell soon.
If I ever made it out of small town, USA. Hopefully, without a ticket. I wasn’t even sure for what.
Sheriff Brooks would think of something.
“Okay, let’s do this.” Dare smiled. “You’ll be on your way sooner than you think.”
Ninety minutes later, I finally walked out of the auto shop. The snow was still thick and steady, but the townsfolk didn’t seem to mind. The shop was just a bit down the street from what seemed to be a town square of sorts near the lake. The wide snow-covered lawn was covered with different food and game booths as well as the holiday floats I’d seen, plus a few others. People roamed around with their mittened hands clutching cups of cocoa, talking and laughing, accompanied by excited kids and scampering dogs.
Somehow I’d driven right into a Hallmark Christmas movie.
There was even the gazebo that had clearly served as the inspiration for the float that had glided past my damaged car. The real thing was even more grand as it gleamed in the darkness, strung with miles of lights and with a tree sparkling inside. Families clustered into the space to surround the tree, their laughter carrying on the crisp breeze. Someone pitched a snowball at a woman in the crowd, and she shrieked and rushed down the steps to build a snow arsenal of her own.
I smiled despite my general irritation. I’d been told I’d be able to pick my car up probably tomorrow, thanks to the hefty rush fee I’d paid. We’d scheduled the custom work for the new year.
At least I’d already secured lodging. After a recommendation from the shop, I’d called to reserve a room at The Hummingbird’s Nest bed and breakfast down the block. The sprawling inn overlooked the frosty gleam of the lake and the Christmas hijinks going on nearby.
There was certainly plenty to inspire me here—even if cozy holiday scenes and frigid winter landscapes weren’t my typical subject matter—but I didn’t have any of my supplies. I definitely didn’t have my laptop. Handily, I could take photos and sketch in my on-the-go app if I wanted to capture anything until I got back to my studio at home.
In the meantime, I’d just grab a slice of pizza from Dare’s and Gage’s dad’s booth, Robbie’s Pizza, at the winter festival. I’d heard it was the best in town. Of course Dare was entirely biased, but my growling stomach was willing to take his word for it.
Gage had neither confirmed or denied. He’d just written up my work order silently while giving me a healthy dose of side-eye worthy of my students.
Further cementing my daredevil status in town, I crossed the street outside the crosswalk and headed into the middle of carnival madness.
I bought two slices of cheese pizza and a bag of fried dough that steamed my glasses. Then I looked around the crowded square for a place to sit—or lean, since there was a half wall just beyond the gazebo attached to the pier. I found a spot and ate while I stared at the sprawling homes that lined the lake, their lit windows so homey and comforting in the snowy dark.
Something twisted in my chest that felt suspiciously like yearning. I didn’t mind spending time alone. In fact, due to my large family, I’d grown to appreciate solitude. But being in the center of a happy crowd at Christmas reminded me that hey, there was more to life than teaching and grading and sketching and painting. More than Sunday dinners at my parents’ house filled with friendly or not so friendly squabbling, depending on who was in a mood that week.
The holidays were coming up, and since I’d turned down my best friend Bryce’s path
etic attempts to set me up on a blind date with one of her friends, I’d likely be alone.
Again.
“Hey, mister, you dropped your fried dough.” A young girl with a dark ponytail and braces held out the bag of warm fried dough I hadn’t realized I’d dropped.
I took it from her and smiled. “Thanks. Hey, do you want a piece? I can’t eat it all.”
But she was already walking away, back to her family.
Swallowing a sigh, I turned toward the gazebo and stared at the gigantic tree, its boughs weighed down with tinsel and ornaments. On the other side of the gazebo someone had hung a large sprig of mistletoe, and a woman stood beneath it, gazing up at the thing as if she couldn’t understand what it was.
Or as if she was waiting for someone to kiss her.
Tufts of her light-colored hair—maybe pink?—stuck out in every direction from beneath her knit hat, as if her long braids had started unraveling in the wind. Her cheeks were ruddy from the cold and her unbuttoned coat flapped in the breeze, revealing a long, soft-looking dress. I couldn’t decipher many other details about her, other than the lipstick-red scarf tossed jauntily over her shoulder.
She was cute. Maybe even beautiful if I could’ve made out more of her features in the darkness.
I threw out my empty plate and strode toward the gazebo steps, clutching my bag of fried dough as if it was a bouquet of roses.
I stopped on the top step. This was stupid. What was I even doing in this town? As soon as my car was ready, I’d drive away and never look back—except for coming back for my custom car work appointment. When I was in the mood for company, I was all about enjoying Syracuse’s city scene, visiting nightclubs and trendy eateries downtown. Most of the time, I simply didn’t bother.
I definitely didn’t approach random women in gazebos on a snowy night too close to Christmas, when my loneliness tasted like chalk in my throat.
Then she looked over at me and smiled, and I couldn’t have stopped the forward motion of my feet if I’d tried.
I forgot the fried dough. Forgot the moms and dads and eager kids swarming about, pushing and nudging to get where they were going. That nameless woman drew me like the North star, a jewel glimmering in the darkness.