Extraits

I was a mess. I knew it. My sister knew it… and made fun of me about it. The customers knew it, especially Martha, Pastor Kenny's wife, since she was still in the bathroom picking ice cubes out of her bra from where I tried to hand her her iced coffee and basically punched her directly in the double Fs, because I was trying to see around the long-ass line to the giant window that showed the street.

It had started as excitement and quickly turned into obsession, checking the damn street every minute or so to see if I could see anyone I recognized from the sugar-sweet, made-for-TV Christmas movies I basically obsessed over every year from the beginning of November until the middle of January.

Especially Blake Sunday. I would give up the alcohol and cussing if I could just get a glimpse of Blake Sunday. At least, that's what I told Jesus this morning during my breakfast prayer, but I was pretty sure he knew I was full of shit, so I really didn't feel like I should be held responsible if I didn't keep my promise. He knew how I was. We had an understanding.

I hadn't believed the rumor at first, thinking all the hilarious assholes in this town who knew of my Christmas movie obsession––people like my sister, my cousins… and my grandma––and liked to tease me about it, had made it all up just to see me lose my mind, just so they could rip it away from me and crush my spirit, but the mayor had confirmed it about three months ago, and I had actually started happy crying in the middle of the town meeting. It was true. They were actually filming a Christmas movie here in Hidden Springs, set to air next Christmas.

We'd finally gotten a lull in customers, and Emma had pretty-much banned me from anything that involved liquid, so I decided it was probably time to rearrange the dessert case. I opened the sliding plastic door, reaching in to empty a couple of trays on to others, happily surprised to see that the peppermint pretzel bites were pretty-much gone. I lifted the first tray easily enough, but the second tray got wedged on the slide, and I couldn't seem to free it with one hand. The resulting tug o' war probably would have ended horribly if my sister hadn’t yelled, “freeze,” which was accompanied by the sound of the sleigh bells ringing on the door.

"Back away from the case before you end up at the bottom of a dessert avalanche," she said through gritted teeth. "I swear, boy. You done lost it today."

I sighed, straightening to face her, my mouth opening to say… many rude things, and to remind her that we both grew up in the same fucking house, and neither of our parents threw done in the middle of a sentence like a fucking hillbilly, when a throat cleared on the other side of the counter.

Right, we have a customer.

I turned to face the man with a fake smile on my mouth, while my eyes were still focused on my sister, promising a scolding for a later date, so it took me a moment to realize my life had changed forever. "Hi, how can I…" I swallowed hard, and I felt a breeze on my optic nerve.

Well, shoot. There goes my weekend plans to drink a gallon of eggnog and masturbate to the sound of Blake Sunday, learning the true meaning of Christmas. Also, Blake Sunday was somehow even hotter in person. Like, I'd totally shoulder the elderly out of the way for the opportunity that had been laid before me… which might be why I froze up like an idiot.

"Hi." His smile was absolutely earth destroying. I could practically feel it breaking apart beneath my feet. He shrugged one shoulder. "I was annoying everyone and got sent on a coffee run. Is there any chance you have lattes?"

"Uh… I…" I think there might have been air in the line. Someone––not naming any names, but the Almighty had some 'splainin' to do––forgot to bleed the brakes when it came to my brains and that moment. "You want… a big one?"

I indicated the cups with two hands like I'd never used my arms before in my life and continued blinking at the man like I was trying to stir up a breeze with the sheer power of my eyelashes.

Logan smacked me on the back like I was one of those faulty old televisions while stepping up beside me. "He didn't ask about your dick size, Deck."

"What?" My head snapped around to my mouthy cousin, wondering why the hell he was talking about di… penises, but he was looking down in front of me… where my two stupid hands were bracketing my junk like I was offering it up on a damn game show. "Oh!"