"What kind of stories?"
"Made-up ones. About the reindeer's secret love lives, about Mrs. Claus running the whole operation, about elves who got into trouble for being naughty." He smiles at the memory. "He had a vivid imagination. I don't know where I lost mine."
"You didn't lose it. You just buried it under spreadsheets."
"Maybe."
I lean against his shoulder. "Tell me a story."
"About what?"
"About us. Make one up."
He's quiet for a long moment. Then: "Once there was a man who forgot how to feel anything but responsibility. He built walls so high he couldn't see over them anymore. And then one day, a woman covered in glitter crashed through every single one. She bulldozed in, smashing his carefully built defenses into shreds."
My throat tightens. "What happened then?"
"He's still figuring that out." He turns to look at me. "But he thinks maybe she saved him."
"That's a good story."
"It's not finished yet."
I kiss him, tasting chocolate and peppermint.
Santa help me, I’m falling for my boss.
CHAPTER 6
We spend the afternoon playing in the park like children.
Justin shows me how to work the carousel, and we ride it together, the music echoing through the empty park. I pick the most ornate horse, my favorite one. He’s white with gold trim, and Justin stands beside me, one hand on the pole, watching me laugh as we spin.
"You're good at this," I say when the ride stops.
"At what?"
"Playing."
"Only with you. Before this weekend? I couldn’t tell you the last time I played."
We move to the ornament decorating building next. The workshop is where guests pay a small fee, pick out blank ornaments and paint the wooden shapes to take home with them. Cheap souvenirs. It’s a popular choice for parents when the weather gets cold or wet.
“This workshop was my grandmother’s idea,” Justin tells me. “There’s still a box of our yearly ornaments that we created in the attic. My mom kept the ornaments from next door. My grandparents? They treasured these.” Next door is the fancyornament shop with rows and rows of porcelain choices. Staff carefully write the name of each family member and the year on the purchased treasures.
“I like this workshop better. It’s more fun to decorate your own.” I gather unpainted reindeer and a couple of stars and set them on the counter with supplies, including a lot of glitter.
"We're making ornaments?" Justin asks.
"We're making memories,” I correct and hand him a paintbrush. "Don't think. Just create."
He stares at the brush like it might bite him.
"You're so tense," I observe, dipping my own brush in red paint. "It's just paint. It can't hurt you."
"I'm not artistic."
"You're just scared of being bad at something."
