“Wow,this place isa lot.” He blinks rapidly as his head swivels from side to side.“This must be what sensory overload feels like.” After anotherminute of casting his gaze around, he gives his head a little shakeand lifts his phone to snap a few pictures.
Shaking off hiswords, I say, “Can I ask why you’re doing a feature on this placeso close to Christmas? Bellevue Village closes for the holidays ina week and a half.”
“Believe me, it wasn’t my choice,” Cole says without looking atme. “I went in to pitch something completely different to mybosses, and they hit me with this assignment. Said if I could cometo Bellevue and get this piece ready to go for tomorrow afternoon,they’d consider my idea.”
I make a littlehum of acknowledgment, unsure what to say. I’ve seen my share ofpeople who clearly didn’t want to be here: partners who wereobviously dragged in against their will. Groups of teens and youngadults with high energy, mixed with one or two people whose facesare masks of boredom or disdain. Parents with indulgent,grimace-like smiles as their kids run around excitedly. TheGrinches have been few and far between, though, likely because mostpeople know what they’re getting when they come to Bellevue Villagein November and December: Christmas Central. Elves and garland,wandering Victorian carolers and twinkle lights. Christmas joy.Festive fun.
But unlike theregular occasional person who looks like they’d rather be anywhereelse on the planet, Cole is writing a piece about this place. Ifhis expression and the tense lines of his shoulders are anyindication, I have a feeling the theme of his article will besomething along the lines of ‘Come to Bellevue Village if you wanta massive headache, a case of overwhelm, and a lighter wallet’. Ican’t let that happen.
“Readyto move on?” I ask, my voice overly bright. He side-eyes me, butnods. “Okay, where should we begin? Are you hungry? Thirsty? TheVillage has several eateries, and there’s also a chocolatier and acandy shop if you have a sweet tooth. Oh, and the café has amazinghot chocolate, the best you’ll ever taste. Or we could check outsome of the shops. As you may know, Bellevue Village is onlyChristmas-themed two months of the year, so while some of the shopscater to holiday lovers, many are regular stores. If you have anylast-minute holiday shopping to do, I’d be happy to makesuggestions or help you pick things out.”
I’m rambling. I’vealways been a babbler when I’m nervous. Cole is looking aroundagain with that same curled-lip expression he had a minute ago, andhe keeps shaking his head and blinking rapidly.
“Whatever you think.” His tone is resigned, and he follows thewords with another quiet sigh. “I don’t have any Christmas shoppingto do, but I suppose it’d be good to highlight some of the stores,especially the holiday-themed ones.”
He mutterssomething that sounds like ‘even though that sounds like my idea ofhell’, but I ignore that part.
“How doyou feel about nutcrackers?” I ask.
One side of hismouth twists in a bemused half-smile. “I don’t have any strongfeelings about them one way or the other.”
Despite his wholepre-Christmas-ghosts-Ebeneezer-Scrooge vibe, his dry tone makes mewant to laugh. “Okay, well, I think we should start at theNutcracker Emporium. They have every kind of nutcracker imaginable,ranging from teeny tiny ones to ones as tall as you are. The shophas been a huge draw for tourists this year.”
He studies me withslightly narrowed eyes as I speak. His unwavering gaze makes mewonder if I have something other than glitter on my face. Finally,he says, “You really love this place, don’t you?”
“Yeah,I do.” Part of me wonders if I should elaborate, talk up theVillage in the hope it’ll make him see it differently or sway himto write something favorable, but I’m not sure it would help. Heseems determined to be a Scrooge.
“Nutcracker Emporium it is, then,” he says. “Lead on, SilverBells.”
And so I do. I seta meandering pace as we weave through groups of people and foodstalls. Cole keeps his phone in his hand and snaps the occasionalquick shot, but I’m doing most of the talking as I point outvarious things and introduce him to some of the elves wepass.
When we reach thecenter of the Village, I detour toward the giant Christmas tree.With so many evergreens scattered around the Village, I’ve oftenwondered if this place owns its own tree farm somewhere or if theiryearly purchases empty out an entire farmer’s stock. While they’reall beautiful, the twenty-foot high tree in the heart of theVillage is truly something to behold. Not only is it decked outwith thousands of colored lights, but its lower branches are alsofull of ornaments visitors are allowed to take home. Many peopledonate an ornament in exchange for taking one, while others leaveencouraging notes stuck in the branches. No matter where I’mstationed in the Village, I make sure to visit the tree at leastonce during every shift, and I’ve left a few of my own little notesin the branches.
Whenthe tree comes into view, I sneak glances at Cole’s face for hisreaction. If the way his eyes widen is any indication, I’ve finallyfound something evenheis impressed by. We stop on the outskirts of the square so hecan take a few photos of the tree. I watch as he crouches low tothe ground and angles his phone to get as much of the tree aspossible.
When hestraightens, he closes the camera app on his phone and pulls up hisnotes. I peer over his shoulder as he taps away, and just manage tocatch the words ‘Loud. Colorful. SO MANY PEOPLE’ before he hitssave and closes it.
I should keep mymouth shut and move us along, but his attitude irks me. It’sobvious he thinks this assignment is beneath him, but BellevueVillage—especially for the two months of the year when it’s aChristmas lover’s fantasy—is an attraction that brings in thousandsof people every year from all over the world. The self-containedvillage full of shops, eateries, rides, and games brings joy tocountless people. And I won’t let him shit on that.
“So areyou going for a jaded, cynical angle with your piece?” I askcasually. “Like ‘This place is for suckers, come here if you wantto waste both your time and money’?”
As soon as thewords are out, I notice a young couple strolling by, watching mewith wide eyes. I swallow a groan and plaster on a smile, notbothering to excuse myself to Cole before intercepting thepair.
“I’m sosorry you heard that,” I say, fishing in the giant pocket of myskirt where I keep candy canes, game tokens, and othermiscellaneous things I’m permitted to hand out at my discretion. Ifinally find what I’m looking for—a ten-dollar gift card that’sgood for any shop or eatery in the Village—and hold it out to them.“It was out of context and not at all how I personally feel aboutBellevue Village. Please enjoy a treat on me this afternoon orduring your next visit.”
To my immenserelief, they both smile. “No worries. We saw you around earlier andit’s obvious you love your job,” the woman says. “Actually, wewanted to get a picture with you before, but you were busy. Do youmind if we take one now?”
After they snap afew shots of the three of us with the giant tree in the background,I wish them a good day, and they wander off. With my back to Cole,I suck in a slow, deep breath, steeling myself for what’s ahead. Ifhe didn’t plan to write a scathing piece about Bellevue Villagebefore, he likely does now.
I spin on my heel,the bells on my shoes jingling merrily. Cole’s face is unreadableas I approach him. My brain is whirring with thoughts of what tosay when he steps forward and holds out his hand.
“Hi.I’m Cole.”
I automaticallyshake his hand, despite my confusion. “I…know?”
Helaughs under his breath and squeezes my hand before releasing itand tucking both of his hands into his coat pockets. He lookssheepish as he says, “I was hoping we could start over. I’d like toshow you I’mnotatotal asshole.”
I’m not sure howto respond to that, so what comes out is a less-than-eloquent,“Oh.”
