Dane’s ears go pink.
Absolutely. Adorable.
I squeeze his hand. “Don’t worry. We’ll be so bundled up, they won’t recognize us.”
“Have you seen Reindeer Square yet?” Mrs. Briggs asks.
“People over places,” I reply.
“Tell me there’s not a statue,” Dane says.
Mrs. Briggs grins.
So does Mom.
And Lorelei.
Our grandmothers?
Theycackle.
Dane winces.
I squeeze his hand harder. “It’s okay. We don’t have to come back here ever again if you don’t want to see a statue of us.”
“There’s not a statue,” Mom says. “You don’t have to threaten to never show your faces again.”
“Whatisthere?”
“Something . . . else.”
That’s ominous.
I look at Dane.
His smile is more on the resigned side, but I love all his smiles, and I love how frequently I catch him wearing one. “Let’s get it over with and see what they did.”
“Wait for us,” Lorelei says. “We’ll close up early.”
The grandmas insist we let them finish their game so that they, too, can come along.
Almost an hour later, with Dane, Chili, and me all getting hungry, we finally make it to Reindeer Square.
It’s lit up almost as bright at Times Square, but instead of a skating rink and a giant tree, the square is full of the snow globes.
There’s a path cut through the snow to lead us through the display of snow globes, but the best part—the very best part, the surprise—are the guides for the path.
They’re all the statues that either of our families have decorated over the years.
The elves and snowmen and reindeer and other creatures that were in storage, except for the ones Dane and I used in our own snow globe.
Which is in the very center of the square, under the gazebo.
It’s modified, though.
Instead of just the Silvers’ snowman holding my family’s elf with snow swirling around inside, my family’s elf is holding the engagement ring, and Dane’s family’s snowman has my wedding dress draped over one stick arm.
And there’s a plaque affixed to the base of the snow globe, illuminated for easy reading.
