What the hell did we walk into?
A hand brushes mine, causing me to jump. Looking downward, it’s just Everett. I turn to face him as Ifidget with my sash.
“You okay?” he mouths.
I nod, and he forces a smile.
“Can I help you with the crown?” he asks.
“Oh…yeah…sure.”
He places it on my head, and then I help him to do the same.
“Wonderful!” She claps her hands together. “Okay, so where were we? Oh, yes. The rules.”
She pauses for a split second, walking over and retrieving a clipboard and a pen from a different pink-haired woman.
“If I contacted you, then your business was selected to participate in the competition this year as one of our seven finalists. If you weren’t contacted, there’s always next year, and I encourage you to try again.” She pauses, fanning out her long cardigan as if it was the train of a dress. “Whatever you choose to enter must be presented to the town today and cannot be changed. Our king and queen will be judging your creations on appearance, taste, and overall Christmas cheer on Christmas Eve, so choose wisely.”
Everett glances towards me and swallows hard, and I wish being here came with some sort of ability to communicate telepathically with him, but alas, it doesn’t, and I have no idea what he’s thinking.
He shifts uncomfortably in his chair, and his crown begins to slide off the top of his head.
“Oh, shit,” he says, a little too loud, earning a chuckle from a few townspeople as he attempts to catch it. He succeeds in stopping it from falling, but it’s no longer centered atop his head.
“You good?” I whisper, reaching up to help him straighten it.
“Yeah.”
“Aren’t you two just the most precious couple,” the pink-haired woman trills. “Aren’t they precious?”
More applause comes from the crowd, and she looks over at us with a proud smile. Her purple eyes find mine, creasing at the corners, and my pulse begins to quicken as I realize who she is. With absolutely no doubt in my mind, I smile back.
“Thank you, Stella. You’re too kind.”
Chapter 18: The Christmas Cup
Everett
When I opened the door of the diner, the last thing I expected was to step inside a place that looks like some type of Christmas bomb exploded or to be catapulted into the middle of the town’s annual Christmas competition. Over-the-top doesn’t even begin to describe what I’m looking at or what I’m hearing.
My stomach sinks when Claire calls the woman running the meeting Stella. She seems a bit too happy we’re here, and with every curve of her lips, uneasiness settles over me.
I have a bad feeling getting back to New York isn’t going to happen today—or any day soon for that matter—but I’m doing my best to take note of everything she says in case there’s a clue on how to get us home.
“Anyway,” Stella continues, turning to face the crowd, “this is all in good fun and a friendly competition. On the day of the Christmas Extravaganza, our king and queen will judge each of the entries and name the winner of The Christmas Cup. Are there any questions?”
She pauses for half a second.
“No? Good. If your business is participating in this year’s festivities, please stand when I call your name and tell us what you plan on entering.”
Her finger runs down the paper pinned to the clipboard and then she surveys the audience. Extending her arm, she points to the only familiar face in the crowd. “Chip, let’s start with you.”
He stands, removing his hat. “Thanks, Stella.” Despite the way he’s dressed, I’m surprised to find he doesn’t appear to be much older than me.
“The Chocolate Bar’s entry will be my famous peppermint bark,” he continues. Gasps circulate through the crowd, and I glance over at Claire who just shrugs her shoulders.
“You can’t enter your peppermint bark,” a woman around his age scoffs, standing and causing everyone to look in her direction. She’s one of the two who waved when we entered. She has dark brown skin, and her black hair is down, twisted into small braids. A tiny silver hoop is pierced through her septum, and she’s wearing a bright orange sweater that contrasts against all of the pastel colors around us.
