Reindeer and snowflakes adorned his red knit sweater. The sleeves had been pushed up to his elbows, exposing the black-and-gray swirls of ink beneath.Oh, baby.What I wouldn’t give to see those tattooed mitts wrapped around my throat. No wonder he wore fur-lined gloves when he was dressed as his alter ego.
Maybe if I was a good girl, Father Christmas would let me call him daddy.
“I think that’s a different movie,” I told him when I finally found my voice.
Those dark chocolate eyes of his sparkled with interest.
“I didn’t take you for aDie Hardfan.”
“I’m a Christmas fan.”
“ButDie Hardisn’t a—”
“Don’t say it,” I warned, thrusting a finger toward his face. “I will not abide John McClane slander.”
He held his hands out in front of him. “I’ll keep my slander to myself, then.”
“Well, well, well. Look who Santa dragged in.”
A familiar figure dressed in black and silver waved from the opposite end of the snow globe. It would have been impossible to miss her and her Tim Burton-esque getup amongst the wintery snowscape.
“Hi, Sloane.” I waved. “Good to see you again.”
“You, too.” She held the flap to the snow globe open as my friends shuffled inside. “Come on, Elle Woods. Into the globe you go.”
I quickly scurried over to join the rest in posing for a few photos—one with our arms awkwardly wrapped around eachother like high school prom dates, and another where we all tossed up handfuls of the fake snow sprinkled throughout while shouting, “Yippee-ki-yay.”
And all the while, Austin’s attention never wavered from mine.
After he snapped our photos and Sloane showed us how to download them using the custom QR code, I stepped off to the side. “I’ll meet up with you guys later,” I told Nora.
“Don’t rush,” she said around a wink.
Thankfully, the line for the photo booth had died down, probably because the movie was set to start any minute now. Austin removed the camera strap from around his neck and cozied up to my side.
“So . . .”
“So . . .”
“That’s some stylish footwear you’re rocking.” A wide grin spread across his face as he nodded toward my feet.
“Why, thank you.”
I knew he wasn’t talking about my Marc Jacobs pump. It had taken two spools of silver and gold ribbon, plus a full tube of puffy paint to dress up the Aircast, but I was determined to make the most of my temporary accessory.
“Alright, you two,” Sloane interrupted, snatching the camera out of Austin’s hand. “Into the bubble you go.”
“Oh god, no,” he protested. It was too late; Sloane was already shoving us both into the snow globe. “I don’t—”
“You don’t like having your picture taken, I know. But you owe me one for being here on what should have been my night off, so smile pretty.”
He reluctantly sidled up next to me in the pile of faux snow. From the looks of it, his hesitation had less to do with me and more to do with being on the opposite end of the lens.
“Wow, she wasn’t kidding. You really don’t like being in front of the camera.”
“Not at all.”
He blew out a breath and wiped his palms awkwardly up and down his side, almost as if he weren’t quite sure what to do with them. But that didn’t matter. I would be more than happy to show him what to do with his hands.
