CHAPTER EIGHT
When we reach ‘Santa’s Sleigh’—an eight-seater SUV—I insist on climbing into the very back row. I’m squished between Kasie, her long legs pressed firmly against mine since she can’t stretch them out, and an elf named Ben, who has the worst case of manspread I’ve ever seen. Despite my certainty I’m going to have knee-shaped bruises on both my thighs later tonight, it’s worth the discomfort to avoid Hugh’s searching eyes.
Those eyes. How did I not recognize them when he came in to meet Meredith? In all fairness, I’d been paying more attention to her, not wanting to seem like I was staring at the gorgeous guy I assumed was her boyfriend. Still, it had taken every last ounce of courage, along with the scraps of my dignity, to carry on with our plans for the night and not fake a sudden, debilitating illness.
Hugh had tried to pull me aside after Meredith’s big reveal, but a bunch of people came in right then saying they were ready to leave. My offer to drive myself was met with Meredith insisting I come with them. “Trust me, it’s easier to carpool,” she told me as she ushered me into a changing room so I could de-elf. “If Hugh ends up driving you home, I’ll make sure you have help getting your car back tomorrow. I know it probably sounds super cheesy, but we all look out for each other here.” Cheesy or not, her words rang true, and it made the cold feeling in my stomach ebb a bit.
That feeling returns as we pull into the parking lot of Connelly’s Pub and everyone starts climbing out of the car. Kasie reaches back to offer me a hand, and I gratefully grasp it as I do a half-slide half-leap from the high back of the vehicle.
“Grace personified,” I mutter.
Kasie giggles, looping her arm through mine. “Vehicles like that arenotmade for cute lil’ shorties like you,” she says, giving me a squeeze. “And their back seats aren’t made for amazons like me.”
A few more cars full of Village employees pull up and people spill out into the parking lot. Hugh holds the door to the pub open for all of us, and I avoid his eyes while aiming a quick smile in his direction as I pass through. The lower level appears to be a restaurant, so I follow everyone upstairs. We emerge in a huge open space with a bar at one end, tables in the middle, and a dance floor on the far side. Between the size of this place and the number of people from the Village, I might be able to avoid Hugh.
Once we’re all gathered, Hugh calls, “First round is on me tonight,” causing a cheer to go up among our group. Meredith finds Kasie and me and offers to brave the bar to get our drinks. Kasie requests a margarita, and I decide on a banana daiquiri. Meredith heads to the bar while Kasie takes my hand and leads me through the tables where people are eating and drinking. Loud voices mix with mid-volume music as servers in short plaid skirts or tight black pants circulate with trays. We reach the back wall and Kasie pushes through a door into a smaller area. The music is the same volume in here, but the general noise level is lower, probably because this room only has a few people milling around one of its three pool tables.
Kasie motions toward a huge booth with a semi-circle bench. I go in first, sitting where the bench curves. Meredith comes in a few minutes later, followed by a group of people including Hugh. Her hands are empty, so I’m guessing our drinks are on the tray Hugh is carrying.
Meredith slides into the booth next to Kasie while Hugh sets the tray on the table. There are four glasses, along with the most enormous platter of loaded nachos I’ve ever seen. I expect Hugh to sit next to Meredith, but he plops down on the other side and inches over until there’s about a foot of space between our bodies. Several other people come in carrying trays and proceed to crowd into the booth until I’m squished yet again, this time between Kasie and Hugh. At least he doesn’t seem to be suffering from a case of manspread. He even murmurs a quick apology as he shifts closer to me.
When the booth is full, everyone raises their glasses and toasts to Santa’s Village. Hugh offers me a small smile as he clinks his glass against mine. I must be unconsciously studying the clear, bubbly liquid in his glass, because he says, “Sprite.”
I nod in understanding. He eyes me as if waiting for more, and I realize this is my chance to move past my embarrassment. To prove I’m capable of an exchange that doesn’t lead to me wanting to crawl into a hole.Be nice and make conversation, I tell myself. “You don’t drink?” I suppress a cringe after the inappropriate question pops out of my mouth. It was all I could think of!
His lips twitch, reminding me of the way that same movement made his Santa beard dance. “I do every now and again. Not usually on work nights, and definitely not on Fridays when I have to host breakfast with Santa the next morning. Not sure the parents would be too impressed if Santa showed up with a hangover.”
I laugh, reminded again about the peppermint schnapps Santa. “Smart move.”
My attention is drawn away when people start exiting the booth. I look to Meredith, who says, “The guys are going to play pool. They all pretty much suck and it’s hysterical to watch. Want to come?” Before I can respond, she peers around to my other side and wiggles her eyebrows at me. “Or do you want to stay here?”
I knew she hadn’t missed the awkwardness between Hugh and me at Elf Central. She probably thinks I have a crush on him, or maybe she has that matchmaking gene some people seem to have.
“I’ll come watch.” I bump her leg with mine, urging her to move along the booth since everyone else on her side is already gathered around the pool table. When her back is to me, I turn to Hugh, remembering my silent promise-slash-reprimand to talk to him and not act like an awkward weirdo. “Thanks for the drink,” I say, raising my daiquiri.
He gives me a small nod. “Any time.”
I slide out of the booth and join Meredith on a line of stools against the far wall near the pool tables. The people who were in here before have cleared out, leaving the room full of Santa’s Village employees. Despite there being three pool tables, everyone crowds around one. Teams are chosen from those who want to play, and the rest of us are spectators. Maybe once I rest my aching feet for a bit I’ll see if anyone wants to play a game with me.
It only takes a few minutes to understand why so many people have gathered to watch: the group of guys playing is absolutely hilarious. What they lack in skill, they make up for with their banter, lobbing insults at each other, using underhanded techniques to distract whoever is taking a turn, and just generally being ridiculous.
“It’s like comedy hour,” I say to Meredith after awhile.
She wipes tears of mirth from her eyes. “I know. We keep telling them they should take their act on the road, or at least apply for a spot at comedy night at that place downtown.” She looks past me and raises her chin, her smile growing wider. “And it’s about to get even better.”
Kasie walks into the room balancing a tray full of shot glasses. One of the bartenders I spied earlier in the main room follows her in, carrying a second tray.
“Time for elf shots!” Kasie calls.
The pool table is abandoned and everyone crowds around the big booth. Meredith motions for me to follow her, and I do, albeit reluctantly. I don’t mind having the occasional drink, but shots have mostly been off limits for me since an incident in college I really wish I didn’t remember.
I never had a drop of alcohol until I reached legal drinking age at nineteen. My aunt and uncle were so strict, I was rarely allowed to go to parties during high school. On the rare occasion I did, I didn’t dare try so much as a sip because I was certain my aunt would somehow know in that bizarre, almost psychic way of hers, and I’d be grounded for the rest of my life. When I started attending parties in college, I eased into drinking…except for one time when I got a bit carried away during a drinking game and ended up vomiting on the front steps of the house where the party was.
Meredith squeezes between people and plucks two shot glasses from the tray before returning to me. “Want one? It’s a signature drink the pub let us create a couple years ago. It’s creamy and pepperminty and delicious.” When I hesitate, she quickly says, “No pressure. I’d be happy to go get you another daiquiri or something non-alcoholic.”
God, she’s sweet. She reminds me of Bridget in some ways. Thoughtful, upbeat without being annoying, and just an all-around good person. I love that she’s not pressuring or shaming me. I’ve been at countless parties where people call me a prude when I don’t drink, even if I’m the designated driver, or try to push drinks on me despite telling them no. I learned a long time ago not to care what people think and not to let their ignorance bother me. After the week I’ve had, though—hell, after the last few months I’ve had—it would be nice to let go and have a few drinks. I’m a responsible adult now, not a kid trying to impress people.
“Thanks.” I take the glass, and at Meredith’s signal we both down the liquid. She was right, it’s delicious. Whatever my expression is, it makes her laugh.
