People applauded like I had just won an Oscar as I slowly wound my way through the tables toward the stage.
A dark-haired woman in an elf costume snapped a picture of me shaking hands with Dave.
“I’ll donate this to be re-raffled,” I told Dave.
He gave me a dark look and covered the microphone. “This is the eighth fucking Christmas we’ve had this thing in the raffle. It’s been sitting in my guest bedroom ‘cause no one else on the Christmas raffle committee will take it. I’ve had it. Get it out of my sight!”
I picked up the snow globe, which was so large I needed both arms to lug it back through the crowd.
“I hate this holiday,” I muttered to myself as people snapped pictures of me with the monstrosity.
“Where is my chair?” I snarled when I rejoined my siblings.
“He’s hangry,” Oliver remarked and bit into his deep-fried cinnamon bun.
“I can buy you some more food,” Belle offered.
“I don’t want your Christmas food. I want my chair. Where is it?”
Oliver pointed at where Merrie and another girl were sitting. The reindeer lay on the ground a few feet away, accepting treats and pets from children excited to see one of Santa’s reindeer.
Merrie was sipping a mug of strong-smelling hot chocolate piled high with whipped cream and a literal Christmas-themed donut on a straw stuck in it for decoration.
I set the snow globe on the metal table with a clang and prowled over to Merrie.
“I’m drowning my sorrows in truffle hot chocolate. Go away and ruin someone else’s Christmas,” she said, not looking up from the mug.
“You stole my chair.”
“And you stole my Christmas joy.” She leaned in and took a bite of the donut. Frosting lined her mouth. She licked it off with a flick of her tongue.
I absolutely do not find that attractive.
Merrie leaned on her elbows on the table.
Is she doing that with her tits on purpose?
“Chairs are first come first serve. You can’t reserve seats; it’s a Christmas market rule.”
She pointed at a hand-painted sign on one of the temporary light poles that had been posted in the seating area.
I blew out a breath. I couldn’t stand her.
“Why aren’t you at your shop?” I asked, changing tactics. “Shouldn’t you be there collecting pennies to pay your rent? Or,” I added, “did you give up? Being a businesswoman too hard for you? It’s not all Instagram posts and motivational quotes. You have to actually work, you know.”
“I’m on break,” she said shrilly.
“Starting to see the truth that you shouldn’t be wasting space in my building?”
“You’re the worst, and you don’t deserve that snow globe.”
“I didn’t even want that snow globe,” I barked at her. “You’re the type of person who would want a god-awful piece of Christmas kitsch. Here’s a deal. If you break your lease tomorrow, I’ll give you this snow globe as a going-away present. When you lie in bed at night, you can think about how your little Christmas ornament shop failed.”
Splotches of red stained Merrie’s cheeks.
“If this truffle hot chocolate didn’t cost fifteen dollars, I would throw it all over you. Though maybe not since you’d just take off your shirt and subject everyone to your very unimpressive chest.”
9
