She laughed, looking pleased. “I thought we could get the lights and a few ornaments and then we can pick up some dinner and a bottle of wine and have a nice, romantic evening?” She kissed him, laying one on him that hinted at much more to come. “How does that sound?”
“Now you’re talking,” he said.
Savannah had alwaysloved Christmas on the Square. It was a Whiskey River tradition and the true start to the retail Christmas season in town. All of the stores remained open until ten, with the restaurants staying open until eleven during the week as well as the coming weekend. The bars stayed open until midnight and two AM, respectively.
Savannah and Harlan arrived at the park around five-thirty and walked down to the riverbank. The Floats, Boats, and Whiskey Barrels Festival kicked off the nighttime events on the first evening of Christmas on the Square. Along with most of the town, Harlan and Savannah stood beside the riverbank and watched the procession down the river. “Oh, look, Harlan.” She squeezed his arm through his leather bomber-style jacket. She loved that jacket. He looked like one of “the bad boys from the Barrels.” Only older, of course. “There’s a float with elves and Christmas trees.”
“Where’s Santa?” Harlan asked. “I see boats and floats made to look like gingerbread houses and trains, Christmas trees and toys, but no Santa so far.”
“He’s always last. Santa and his reindeer and sled come last and then Santa goes to the gazebo in the park for pictures with the kids. Don’t worry, you can’t miss it.”
“Those are my favorite,” Savannah said, pointing to the “candy boat” and “present boat.” One had sacks of Christmas candy, another, gaily wrapped packages piled high, all of which they tossed to the kids waiting on the banks. “See all the kids scrambling? Last year one fell into the river and five people jumped in to get him.”
“I’m surprised they still let them do it.”
“They tried to stop it but everyone in town put up such a stink they didn’t. But now all the parents are warned not to let the kids get too close to the river. Supposedly, one more time and they outlaw the candy and presents boats.”
“Can’t have that.”
There were boats decorated like Christmas trees, floats made in the shape of cookies, boats and floats and whiskey barrels festooned with twinkling lights, steady colored lights, tiny colored twinkling lights, and lights made to look like candles.
“The festival on the river is magical,” Savannah said. “I love this Christmas tradition.”
“I can see that,” Harlan said, and bent his head down to kiss her. “You’re lit up like one of those floats.”
Harlan put his arm around her and she snuggled against him, happy to be with him. “Look at that float, Harlan. It’s going wonky. What do you suppose is wrong with it?”
“I don’t know. It looks like it’s starting to sink.” A murmur from the crowd went up, swelling in volume as they realized what was happening. Harlan let go of her and started to go down the bank to the river, but Savannah held him back.
“Harlan, wait. There’s a boat closing in on it.”
They watched as the rescue boat pulled alongside the float and the two people on the float scrambled to get into the boat. Another boat pulled up and towed the float to the riverbank.
“What were you doing?” Savannah asked him. “Were you going to jump in and rescue them?”
Harlan laughed. “I don’t know. Instinct, I guess.”
She loved that his first instinct had been to help.
“This is a lot more involved than I remember from when I was younger,” Harlan said. “Back then there were only three or four boats and a whiskey barrel or two.”
Savannah laughed. “Whiskey River has definitely grown since we were kids. Which you should be glad of, since it means there will be more new construction.”
“You have a point.”
The Floats, Boats, and Whiskey Barrels parade had started at the new bridge over Whiskey River, north of the park, continued on through the park and ended at the original bridge, the famous one the town took its name from. The whiskey barrels were art forms in themselves: painted, decorated and lighted.
True Mahan, who owned Mahan Services, had engineered the barrels, making sure the lights were secure and the barrels wouldn’t roll. The barrels added an even more whimsical touch to the holiday scene on the river.
Declan Bolt, the famous children’s author who lived in Whiskey River, had agreed to do a reading from one of his books one night at Whiskey River bookstore. The bookstore also hosted a special story hour each night at seven and adults took turns readingThe Polar Expressto the kids.
After the river parade finished up, Savannah and Harlan went into the park to see what festivities were planned. Besides the festival on the river, there was a mini-festival of boats and floats in the water at the base of Booze’s statue. The kids, grades six and under, made and decorated tiny floats and boats, just like their larger counterparts on the river.
“Did you—” Savannah started to say but cut herself off abruptly. Maybe she shouldn’t go down that road. Yet, anyway.
“Did I ever think about having kids?” Harlan asked, reading her mind. “Sure. But never enough to actively try for one. What about you?”
“Only in the abstract. My ex-husband didn’t want any, at least while we were together. And I couldn’t manage to set a firm date for the wedding to my ex-fiancé, much less think about kids.”
