There’s even a banner hanging proudly across the path declaring the Reindeer Games happening on December 27th.
I glance around, watching people mingle even with the frigid temperatures and the snow still falling. But it’s weird. Even though the snow if falling in a consistent, never-ending wave, it doesn’t seem to be accumulating on the ground.
“If it’s always snowing, how is there not more snow on the ground?” I ask as I hold my hand out, catching snowflakes in my gloves.
“Honestly, I don’t know the answer. I’d say it’s part of the… magic of this town, but I’d be guessing.” He shrugs. “You could probably ask Estelle. She’d know more.”
Magic? Estelle? A whole town that justisn’tburied in snow because of… vibes?
My eyebrows pull together. “You’ve never wondered why we aren’t under seventy feet of powder right now?”
He hesitates—not a long pause, just enough to make me notice—before giving another easy shrug. “Maybe when I was a kid. But life got busy.” His tone shifts, softer but closed-off. “Lots of training. Lots of expectations. Not much time to question things.”
I blink at him. Training? Expectations? For what, exactly? None of this makes sense, and it’s sending little confused sparks through my brain.
“Oh.” I offer a half-smile. “That’s… kind of sad. You don’t even have time for movies? Games?”
He gestures toward the sign above us. “Reindeer Games is the only time we do something outside routine.”
My footsteps falter. “I’m sorry—Reindeer Games is awhatnow?”
He smirks, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Just… competition stuff. A way to see how you stack up with the others.”
“Others?” I echo. “Like coworkers? Rivals? A fantasy football league I don’t know about?”
He gives a non-committal hum.
I nod along even though my brain is screaming that none of this is normal. The way he’s talking… he sounds like hebelievesit. Like this isn’t an elaborate joke or some Macy’s employee commitment to the bit.
“So,” I say slowly, searching his face, “do you… dress up like reindeer and challenge each other? Or something like that?”
“Something like that.” His smile dips into something brooding, thoughtful—like he’s carrying whole worlds he’s not willing to set down yet.
And suddenly I’m aware all over again that I barely know this man. But I want to.
We walk in silence, passing small storefronts with an array of goodies. Just like any small town, there’s a massive building in the middle of the square with its very own towering Christmas tree in the courtyard.
The home decor shop’s windows are lined with bright red and gold Christmas decor, snow frosting the edges of the window, as a bright sign blinks proclaiming the best deals in town.
The clothing store, appropriately named Frosted Threads, has a stunning ball gown in the window. Its dark green bodice flows to the ground in an elegant way. It’s line with holly berries and deep green leaves along the bottom of the skirt. The bodice has gold threads weaving between the leaves and berries, with a sweetheart neckline. It’s a stunning gown that took a lot of time to create.
We turn next to the store heading down the sidewalk towards what looks like a bunch of houses when I spot a large red light blinking into the sky above an inn. I can’t help but snort when I see the name. Alright, this town really is a living Christmas town.
Right below the beaming red light is a large white wooden sign reading “Red Light Inn, May All Travelers Find Their Way Safely Home.”
“You guys really dig this whole Christmas gig. I know I love the holiday, but you guys make me look like an ameatur, that’s for sure. I bow down to the Prince of Sugarplum, you exceed even my love for the holiday.”
He grimaces as he ducks his head slightly. “Yeah, you could say that.”
We don’t say much else to each other as we walk the path towards the homes. They are all cute and unique. They give off a sort of gingerbread house vibe with their brown walls, snow, and lights glowing along the roof line. It’s adorable and I kind of want one myself.
When we turn down a street with only nine evenly spaced out homes, I look up at Ryatt. He’s been rather quiet, and I’m worried about why.
“One perk of being one of the nine, you have a street all to yourself until you retire.”
“Okay…”
We walk to the first home and Ryatt turns us up the sidewalk. It’s a deep brown with a large window on the right side of the door and a smaller window on the left side. The bushes lining beneath the window are evergreens trimmed perfectly into rectangle shapes. His lights hanging around his house are in the straightest lines I’ve ever seen.
