Around twelve we get a small reprieve and Amara and her friend take advantage. They run off to find food. I swear, five minutes after they leave, a crowd forms out of nowhere and we get swamped. Thankfully, Wren’s homegirl who was with her at the bar that first night is in the line. Wren spots her and waves her in. She walks in with a man a few steps behind her.
“Okay, friend! You are doing your thing,” she gushes.
“I know. I’m going to sell out in another hour, maybe two at this rate. You came to work?”
“Hell no. You got this big cowboy here to help.” She smirks then turns to me. “I’m Reece, her best friend, and I know who you are, Meleck.” The way she says my name lets me know that she and Wren have definitely had convos about me.
“What’s up?” I say and she smiles. Thankfully, she jumps in and helps until the line gets under control. When it’s clear, she calls out to the man with her. “Baby, the bag,” she says while waving her hand. He walks over, we acknowledge one another, then she hands a bag to Wren. “You know I had to bring you and Amara something. Those hoops she wanted are in there.”
“Thank you, bestie,” Wren says before hugging her. “And you know I got you too.” Wren reaches under the table and pulls out a large, red gift bag. When she hands it to her friend, she gushes then looks inside. “Your favorites are in there plus the new one.”
“I just had to check. Thanks, boo.” They hug again. “You staying for the tree lighting?” she asks.
“You know it. But I’m definitely going to be sold out way before.”
“Then shop and eat until then.”
“We are,” Wren assures her friend, then looks at me.
“Alright. Well, I’m leaving. Text me. We’re about to go make snow globes,” Reece says.
They hug again then Reece leaves. When she walks past me, she smirks then smiles. Wren starts to say something but the lady in front of the table clears her throat. Wren gives her the attention she’s seeking and makes the sale.
By three, both tables are clear and Wren is officially sold out. I break everything down and take it all back to the truck. Then we head back to the market to chill, find something small to eat, and stay for the lighting of the town’s Christmas tree by the mayor.
Chapter 14
Wren
This year’s tree is a little bigger than normal. It stands fifty-three feet tall and is beautiful as usual. We leave right after the performance by the children’s choir and thelighting of the tree to take Kimmie home. Amara talks our heads off the entire ride home, excited about the rest of the night.
Every year after Jubilee, my dad would cook us a big breakfast while we talked about Jubilee, then we would each open one gift. That hasn’t changed and we are cooking our traditional breakfast now, all of us, even Meleck. Because I know firsthand that he can scramble the hell out of eggs, he’s cooking them. Amara is flipping the blueberry pancakes and I’ve already cooked the hash with fresh corned beef, cubed potatoes—white and sweet—onions, and green peppers. I’m reducing jam now, for syrup.
“How many pictures did ya’ll take in the Mistletoe Memories?” I ask Amara as I look at her stack of photo-booth pictures on the table.
“We stayed in until they forced us out,” she reveals while grinning. “We’re cute though.”
“Ya’ll are too cute.” I pick up one photo strip of just her then hold it up. “I’m keeping this one.”
Her head flips back so damn fast. “Maybe. Let me look at all of them first, after we eat.”
“I can wait.”
“I didn’t like the tree this year,” she says before removing the pancakes from the griddle pan.
“Why? I thought it was really pretty,” I say.
“It was all white. It needed some color.” After placing the plate of pancakes on the counter, she adds, “Are we ready to eat? I’m too hungry.”
“My eggs are done,” Meleck announces as he turns the burner off.
“We can eat,” I say.
“Good. Let me get these champagne glasses so I can get my drank!” she exclaims as Meleck looks at me with a perplexed look on his face.
“Mimosas are also part of our Christmas Eve breakfast for dinner. She knows I got my first one at fifteen. So she has been waiting on this all year,” I say. Then I step to his right side so he can hear me clearly and whisper, “Don’t worry. I’m barely going to put champagne in hers.”
I grab the cranberry juice and champagne from the fridge along with butter and ketchup. While Amara fixes our plates, I prepare the mimosas in the red tinted flutes we use for today. Before taking our food and drinks into the living room, we toast.
