Page 20

“Sorry. Go ahead.”

“I was just going to ask how you’re liking High Springs so far.”

“I’ve only been here for a day, but it’s nice. Warm.”

“Yeah. The weather’s great.”

“And New York? How’s that?”

“Hmm?” Jonathan cupped a hand to his ear.

“I said how’s New York?” Phoebe raised her voice as a particularly loud version of “Ding Dong! Merrily on High” started to play.

Jonathan gave her a tight-lipped smile and shrugged.

“We’ll talk more later,” Phoebe yelled.

When it was their turn to take a picture, Santa seemed particularly ebullient.

“Welcome! Merry Christmas!” He raised both arms in greeting, his cheeks flushed a deep crimson.

Jonathan’s eyes slid toward Phoebe. Wordlessly, they agreed that Santa may have had too much hot apple cider this evening.

“Young man, you sit here and have your young lady sit on your lap.”

“Oh no, I—” Jonathan held up both hands in protest.

“Don’t worry, these old knees can take it. I train all year for this.” Santa beckoned to them. “Come, come.”

“Sir, I’ll take the left knee if you don’t mind.” Phoebe dimpled at him as she approached.

“Nonsense! This for your holiday card? Show the friends and family how much you love each other. You know”—he cut off their protests—“about an hour ago, someone proposed to their young lady right here!” He pointed emphatically at the red velvet rug under his feet.

“Oh, my…” Phoebe trailed off. The people in line behind them were craning their necks to see what the holdup was. A tall elf dressed all in green, standing next to Santa with a camera, beckoned them forward.

Jonathan perched on the edge of Santa’s knee. He gave Phoebe an inscrutable look. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Gingerly, she stepped forward and started to position herself over Santa’s other knee.

“Oh no, you don’t!” Cheerfully, Santa swung her to the other side. She toppled into Jonathan’s lap with such force that she would have careened onto the ground had Jonathan not hooked one strong arm around her waist. To keep herself from falling, she looped an arm around his neck, accidentally pulling his face toward hers.

“Sorry!”

For one long moment, he looked at her, his dark eyes crinkled with barely suppressed laughter. If she looked at him any longer, she would burst out laughing, so she looked toward the camera instead.

“Now, say ‘Milk and cookies!’”

They hurried away from the Christmas market, laughing uncontrollably. Each of them clutched a Polaroid of Phoebe on Jonathan’s lap on Santa’s lap, Jonathan’s arm tight around Phoebe’s middle, their eyes gleaming with the effort of not laughing. At Phoebe’s—Arden’s—car, they caught their breath.

“I’ll add this to the collection.” Jonathan held up the picture.

Phoebe still had the first photo in a box somewhere.

“Does two photos equal a collection?”

He shrugged. “So then we’ll have to do it again next year.”

She narrowed her eyes at him.

“I’m sure you can take time out of your busy schedule to meet me for a Santa picture. It’s a tradition now.”