“I’m not drunk,” I said in a way that definitely proved that I was drunk.
“All right, Santa’s little helpers,” one of the waitresses said, stepping in front of the microphone as the man I recognized as the pharmacist at the drugstore took a bow after his heartfelt rendition of “Christmas Without You” by Dolly Parton and Kenny Rogers, in which he sang both parts. “Next up, we’ve got Nolan with ‘All BeClaus of You.’”
I shrieked gleefully and clapped like a madwoman as Nolan made his way to the stage. “This is my Christmas gift for eternity,” I said to Luca. “You literally never have to buy me another present for the rest of time.”
The opening notes of the song—bells mixed with the kind of dance music you heard only during basketball game halftimes—crackled through the shitty karaoke speakers, andNolan sang the opening line, “Sometimes it snows, sometimes it blows, but I’ll always be home for Christmas, baby, and it’s all beClaus ofyouuuuuu.”
That was it. This moment was too good. I shot to my feet, ignoring the slight wobble in my knees, and let out awooooooso enthusiastic it would have made Mama Pam proud.
I knew this song (and its choreography) by heart. In fact, it was still in my Christmas playlist rotation, so I did what any diehard INKling would do and sang along at the top of my lungs as I fumbled through the choreography. “It’s all beClaus ofyouuuuuuu,” I crooned.
Nolan pointed to me and the rest of our table dramatically as he let himself get back to his INK roots with his fingers snapping on the beat and his hips swaying in a way that made teenage Bee feel like she might drown.
When Nolan finished, the whole group cheered for him, pounding our fists on our rickety tables. Even Luca conceded with healthy applause.
Nolan sat back down, and soon Luca and Angel treated us all to Mariah Carey’s “All I Want for Christmas Is You.” Pearl sang some Polish Christmas carol none of us had ever heard of, including the karaoke catalog, which is why she had to sing it a cappella. And soon I was yawning as my body slumped against the booth.
“I need bed,” I said with a pout as my head rolled onto Nolan’s shoulder.
“We can take her,” Angel offered.
I let out another yawn and tried to stand but slithered right back into my seat because Nolan had me trapped in the booth.
“I’ll get her back,” he said in a husky voice as he held two hands out for me and pulled me to my feet.
“The duke!” I said. “The duke will escort me back to my chambers!” I gave the table a grand curtsy. “Good eve to all until I see you on the morrow... which means tomorrow in fancy talk. You would know if you were fancy.”
Nolan stuffed my arms into my coat as I groaned and fussed like I was being subjected to an awful injustice. “Why do I even have to wear thisssss? I’m cold either way.”
“Well, while I can agree that this garment barely constitutes a coat, you’re better off with it than without.” He looped my arm through his, which offered a surprising amount of stability as we stepped out into the crisp chill.
“Oh, does the sophisticated Kansas City man have big feelings about weather-appropriate clothing like he does about barbeque?”
“In fact, I do, and we could start with those delicious leggings and short skirts you always seem to wear that do absolutely nothing to keep you warm. Are you okay to walk?” he asked.
“I think I can, I think I can, I think I can,” I said, quoting the cultural icon, Timothy the Train.
Or maybe it was Thomas? Tillie? Whatever.
“We don’t have far to go,” he promised.
I let my head droop to his shoulder. “When you said that thing about my clothes being delicious, did you mean just my clothes or me too?”
“You,” he said without hesitation. “In your clothes and out of them.”
“Mmm... good answer. You should go onJeopardy.”
“I was a question onJeopardyonce,” he said with a chuckle.
“No shit?”
“The rebellious member of the pop sensation INK made infamous at the Duluth Olympics,” he said from memory.
“Who is Nolan Shaw?” I offered as we stepped into the toasty lobby of the inn.
“Maybe you’re the one who should go onJeopardy.”
“You’re more than that, you know,” I said softly as we stepped into the elevator and I slumped against the wall with my eyes closed. “You’re more than a stupidJeopardyquestion.”
