I dragged myself up then helped Santa to his feet. The parrot was attacking his shiny black boots.
The reindeer sneezed, sending a spray of cake and frosting all over Santa.
“I can’t work like this!” Santa raged. “I cannot work like this. I was on Broadway.”
“We’ll just set the throne back up,” I pleaded. “Can someone get Santa some cookies?”
“And a whisky!” someone in the crowd yelled.
“I refuse to put up with this disrespect,” Santa said, taking off his spectacles and the big red velvet coat. He handed them to me.
“I quit!”
8
Matt
“That was a shameful display at the bake-off,” my younger brother Oliver called as he stepped off the train at the Harrogate station. The historic building looked like the Grinch just dumped his whole haul there. Garland was slung from the ceiling like a Christmas jungle. There was a whole family of animatronic human-size mice in Christmas outfits singing warbling ‘50s Christmas tunes.
“You need to get in the Christmas spirit,” Oliver said, punching me in the shoulder.
I slung an arm around his neck, putting him in a headlock. He laughed, and I grabbed his suitcase and pushed through the crowd. The train station teemed with tourists and people from the surrounding area who had come to Harrogate to experience the Christmas festivities.
“I can’t believe Belle didn’t let you out of the competition,” Oliver remarked as we walked into the cold evening.
“Really? You can’t believe it? Our sister is a hard-ass.”
“She’s not that bad.”
“Because she still thinks you’re a baby. Just wait until you graduate college in the summer. The switch will flip, and suddenly you’re an adult, and she spares no empathy.” We headed toward my penthouse in a converted factory.
“Yeah, making you do the bake-off with your cheating ex and her side piece is about as coldhearted as it gets,” Oliver said.
“I picked up barbecue,” I told Oliver as the doorman waved us into my building. “You said you had some business ideas you wanted to run by me, so we can look at that as well.”
“Can you take that upstairs?” Oliver asked the doorman then offered him a tip.
“You can take it yourself,” I said, confused.
“I’m going to the Christmas market. They have bacon mac ‘n’ cheese and fried cinnamon rolls.”
“We are not going to the Christmas market,” I said, annoyed, as I followed my younger brother back outside, where a Christmas marching band almost ran us over.
“Why is there a parade?” I said aloud.
“Get in the Christmas spirit.” Oliver elbowed me.
I trailed him as we headed back into the thick of the Christmas market.
“Raffle tickets!” a man in a nutcracker costume hollered. “Support tonight’s charity, the Harrogate Children’s Fund! Get your raffle tickets.”
“I’ll take two,” Oliver said, handing the guy a ten-dollar bill and scrawling our names on the tickets. My brother handed one to me.
“I don’t want that.”
“The Harrogate Twitter feed said the prize was a giant snow globe. How could you not want that? You can display it in your office.”
He looked around the stalls. “Where are the deep-fried cinnamon buns?”
