“Sounds like us Americans need to get on board with this spiced alcohol thing because it’s cold as balls out here tonight!” Phil wraps his black winter coat tighter around him and blows into his hands. “Let’s get some hot chocolate and go find a warm place to hang for a bit while we figure out what to get Mom and Dad for Christmas.”
The three of us head towards Santa’s Eggnog Hut, happily surprised to see that the line is short. Most of the booths here have lines that wrap around each little vendor’s hut. A lot of people don’t realize that Santa’s Eggnog Hut also sells the best hot chocolate in the market. It’s a well kept secret from the locals so we can skip the lines and get a mug quickly.
Once we all have our drink of choice in hand, we spend some time browsing each of the small booths. Piper gets one of her friends an ornament with the town square painted on it. Phil grabs some more gingerbread cookies from Nana’s, and some homemade fudge from Terry’s Fudge Shop to go along with them. I head over to Conrad’s Rad Ornaments, unsure what I’m looking for, but I know when I see it.
He’s made the Iron Throne using his wood burning tools.
It’s painted with silver with accents of white and black to make the swords pop out more. He’s added a shiny glossy over it, making it look like the throne from the show. I gasp when I see it, and pick it up carefully.
“My daughter loves that show,” Mr. Conrad laughs gruffly from behind the counter.
“She’s got good taste,” I respond warmly. “It really is a great show, and this is one of the best ornaments I’ve seen you make.” We smile at each other as I bring the ornament to the counter to pay. He has another small tree sitting at the counter, and it’s decorated with more of the ornaments he’s made. An ugly laugh escapes my lips when I see a hot dog ornament hanging from the smaller tree, and I pull it off gently. “I’ll take this one too please.”
“The Iron Throne and a hot dog,” he chuckles, shaking his head. “Strange combination you got here.”
“It’s an inside joke with a—friend,” I tell him, praying he can’t hear the sound of my heart cracking from his side of the desk. I hand him my debit card and he hands it back, along with both ornaments wrapped up carefully. “Thank you, I hope you have a great rest of your night, Mr. Conrad.”
“You too, hun. Tell your Pop I said hello and that I’m counting down the days until we can go on a fishing trip again!” His laughter follows me as I walk further into the market, looking for my siblings.
I find them at the caricature artist’s booth, and I know exactly what they’re thinking when they wave me over to take a seat behind the easel.
“Okay, should we be mer-people? Or riding giant turtles?” Phil asks as I sit down.
“I told you we should be little elves!” Piper smacks his arm playfully.
I look at the designs that the artist has hanging around the booth, and a rueful smile paints my face when my eyes land on a cat one. “No, we are going to be cats, dressed in matching sweaters, and we can have Little E painted on one of our laps. Can you do that?” I ask the artist. He tells me he can. “The cat needs to be gray and he has to have a sweater that matches the rest of ours.”
Phil high fives me and Piper squeezes my arm. “This might be the best gift idea we’ve ever had. Dad is going to flip!” Phil exclaims excitedly.
“And Mom is going to be thrilled to have an updated photo of all her kids together,” Piper chuckles
I hold my smile as the artist does his thing, but my mind is stuck on the stupid ornaments I have wrapped in my bag…and the guy Ishouldn’twant to give them to.
The guy I shouldn’t be dying to see again tomorrow.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Spencer
Insteadofmopingaroundthe house after I dropped Piper back off at home, I decided to hit up one of my favorite watering holes: Blarney’s Pub. The owner, Pat, is a beast of an Irish man, adorned with the fiery red hair and a beard that he likes to decorate with different styles of braids. He pours a wicked Guinness and the fried food he serves up is literal perfection.
Nothing quite smooths over a self-induced broken heart like a platter of fried onion rings and the juiciest of fried mushrooms.
I take my usual seat at the end of the bar, drinking and eating in silence while watching the Panthers vs. the Packers game, when someone pulls the stool out from next to me and takes a seat. The bar is nearly empty, and I’m already in a foul mood. As I turn to ask the interloper to move down a bit, I’m met with the smug, smiling face of Kevin.
He calls the bartender over, and orders a Guinness and then reaches over and snags one of my onion rings from my plate.
“Look Bacon, I’m not in the mood for your shit right now,” I say in the most annoyed tone I can muster up, making sure he knows that I don’t want him here.
“Bacon? Really? That’s the best you can come up with? Weak sauce dude. Weak. Sauce.” He wiggles his eyebrows before shovingmyonion ring into his mouth.
I roll my eyes and choose to ignore him rather than fall into whatever baiting tactics he’s trying to pull on me. Like I said, my mood is not up for company tonight, especially from this fancy coat wearing jackass.
He reaches over to swipe another onion ring and I slap his hand away like he’s an errant child in need of scolding.
“Come on, dude. Lighten up,” he says as he shoves my shoulder.
“What part of I don’t want company did you not understand? I figured some big money pants douchebag like you would have some type of higher education, therefore you should understand the words that are coming out of my mouth.” I shoot him a dirty look and take a swig of my beer, letting the stout slide down my throat so I don’t pummel the man.
