Total pages in book: 41
Estimated words: 38786 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 194(@200wpm)___ 155(@250wpm)___ 129(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 38786 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 194(@200wpm)___ 155(@250wpm)___ 129(@300wpm)
Fortunately for her, Santa is quick, or she may have passed out. “Ho, ho, ho. Merry Christmas.”
Casey’s eyes bulge as she grabs my arm. “It’s him. It’s charity Santa from the restaurant. I’d recognize his deep rumble anywhere.”
“It’s not him.” I try not to sound disappointed. I miserably fail.
When charity Santa’s voice rings through Ravenshoe’s main street again, Casey stomps her foot down like she’s years younger than she is before saying, “I swear to God, if you don’t pull your finger out of your butt, I’ll… I’ll…” An evil expression crosses her face when the perfect threat smacks into her. “I’ll tell everyone you cried when I told you Santa wasn’t real.”
I stare at her like she’s a monster. That’s our secret. We’re not meant to share our secrets. If we were, I would have told Kelsey how Casey peed in the sandpit like a cat throughout kindergarten while sharing details about the tears I shed when my big sis broke my Christmas spirit.
I was willing to face a lifetime of embarrassment just to ensure Kelsey knew the handful of tears she released about the end of her engagement were perfectly acceptable.
When I realize the threat on Casey’s face is authentic, I say, “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Wanna bet?” She grabs the first couple she finds and shouts in their faces, “My brother cried when I told him Santa isn’t real. He was ten and still believed a fat man in a red suit came down the chimney every Christmas Eve!”
When she shares the same story with another three couples, I clamp my hand over her mouth before dragging her into the alley. Our parents are oblivious to our imminent tiff since they only seem to have eyes for each other.
“You’re damn insane. You know that, right?” I don’t wait for her to answer me. “You’re telling people I believed in Santa when I was a child because I won’t listen to your stupid notion that the charity Santa from your restaurant is the real Santa.”
“He knew about your wish, Zane. You never told anyone about that, not even me until after he disclosed it, so how did he know?”
“I don’t know! He just did.” I take a moment to calm down before confessing, “He also said I wasn’t ready and that I’d have to wait another year before trying again.”
Mindful of the cause of the dip in my tone, Casey drops her angsty expression while stepping closer. “Maybe he changed his mind?”
“He didn’t change his mind. I haven’t improved enough yet not to fuck it up. No one improves in a week.”
“Kelsey did.”
Just hearing her name hurts.
I didn’t realize how quickly she had snowed me under until the avalanche overwhelmed me.
Casey hits the nail on the head over and over again. “She found you that night, and wowed you so quickly, you broke every rule you made to protect yourself in under a minute. She saw the positive in being let go so she could pursue her dreams of her own company, and she didn’t let that ass steal the magic of Christmas when he stole her damn tree and decorated it with her decorations. She did all that, Zane. You were merely there for—”
“The ride,” we say at the same time.
Casey nods. “So although he may have believed you weren’t ready, maybe he’s realized you’re not the only person he should be visiting. Maybe he’s learned with you that it takes two people to make a relationship work, not one.” Tears wet her eyes when she says, “You didn’t want to help Kelsey overcome her heartache, Zane. You wanted her to help you get over yours.” When I can’t deny her claim—because it’s true—she smiles faintly. “She can’t do that if you stop believing. It is the magic of Christmas bringing you together.”
My heart thuds in my ears when a familiar jingle quickly follows her statement. “Ho, ho, ho. Merry Christmas.”
Santa’s chant this time around is fainter than the first. It sounds distant, like it is about to fade into oblivion.
Even Casey reaches the same conclusion as me. “Go. I’ll fetch our parents and catch up.”
“Are you sure?” My heart has already left the alleyway, but my feet won’t budge without some reassurance that I’m not about to make a fool out of myself.
Who over the age of ten still believes in Santa?
“Just go already!” Casey demands, pushing me out of the alley.
As she races for our parents, screaming that Kelsey is back, I sprint in the direction the Christmas chant came from.
I run and run and run until Santa’s greeting pierces my ears for the fifth time tonight.
At the top of the grueling St. Thomas hill, I spin in a circle, seeking a feisty Spaniard amongst the tourists that flood this region of Ravenshoe every day of the year.