I took one.
“This will help you find your holiday cheer,” Ida assured me.
I took a swig and grimaced. “What is that? It’s disgusting.”
“It’s elf juice,” Eli said, taking a long sip of his drink. “It’s all the leftover Christmas-flavored vodka that no one bought from last year and topped with frosting. That’s what gives it the foam.”
“I am not okay with any of this.”
“It’s going to be fifty dollars,” Ida said, holding out her card reader.
“This Christmas market is such a fucking rip-off,” I muttered when we were far, far away from the stall. Ida was a very well-concocted senior citizen, and I still needed approval from the city for the expansion of my vertical farm. I couldn’t afford to piss off any of the locals.
“Tourists love it, though,” Eli said. “Besides, it’s Christmas!” He toasted me with the disgusting drink.
Christmas in Harrogate was extreme. The Christmas market stretched down the entire length of Main Street plus several side streets. Traffic was a mess, even early in the morning.
At least it was snowing. I had been in Harrogate since that summer, and I hated the heat. The cold was more my style.
“You buy your raffle ticket?” Eli asked me as we walked down Main Street, dodging tourists who wandered around in a zigzag pattern or walked five abreast so no one could use the sidewalk. It really put the Christmas market over the edge. Not to mention all the people that would randomly stop suddenly in the middle of Main Street to take selfies.
I strangled a curse as I almost tripped over a small dog in a white sweater that blended in with the falling snow while his owner posed for a picture.
“You’re ruining my shot!” the woman yelled at me, waving her phone around.
“Get out of the street,” I retorted.
“And a Merry Christmas to you,” she said nastily.
“You have to lighten up,” Eli told me. “This is Harrogate, a quaint small town. There’s a slower way of life here. Think of your blood pressure. Take a deep breath and drink your elf juice.”
“I’m calm,” I growled.
“I know you just had a very traumatic experience,” Eli began delicately.
“You know what I despise the most about the Christmas market,” I said loudly before Eli could start a topic of conversation that I wanted to stay buried.
“All these stalls sell the same stuff. That’s the third apple cider stall we’ve passed in five blocks, and how many stalls does one small-town festival need that sells Christmas candles?”
“Who doesn’t like a Christmas candle?” Eli said, picking up one and shoving it under my nose.
I sneezed. “It smells like a Christmas tree.” I sneezed again. “It’s terrible.”
The woman at the stall snapped her gum and motioned angrily to Eli.
“You need to get your friend out of here. He’s scaring away my customers.”
“Come on, Mr. Grinch. The raffle drawing is going to start soon. I need to buy a ticket. I think they might be giving away a giant inflatable Santa Claus. I want to sneak it into my brother’s house and surprise him.”
“He’s going to kill you,” I reminded Eli.
“It will be worth it.”
Eli herded me through the crowd toward the town square. I balked when I saw the grandstand and stage that were being erected.
“I think I’d rather just go back to the office,” I said.
Eli patted me on the back sympathetically.
