Page 62

The snow has switched over from tiny, glittering specks to large, fluffy flakes by the time we get to the courtyard. There’s already a line forming at the hot cocoa stand, so I need to get to work right away. Kash joins me behind the counter, and we start pouring cocoa from large insulated beverage dispensers. Kash hums while he works like he’s having the time of his life. It’s hard not to get caught up in the festive energy he radiates.

Over the past few years, Carols by Candlelight has been well attended, but we generally don’t have this many people stick around for the hot cocoa portion of the evening. None of us were prepared for the volume, and soon, the beverage dispensers start to gurgle and sputter. We’re about to run out of cocoa and we still have…a lot of people waiting.

“We have a problem,” I say to Kash, explaining the situation.

He surveys the line of people whose patience will only last so long and nods. “You make more cocoa,” he says. “I’ll handle the carolers.” He gives my hand a quick squeeze and then strides from the cocoa stand, the half door swinging shut behind him.

“How’s everyone doing tonight?” he asks like a game show host as he walks along the queue.

I quickly start heating up more water, grateful that Dad opted to spring for outdoor plumbing for the cocoa stand so we wouldn’t have to lug water over from the farmhouse.

“I don’t know about you,” Kash continues, really leaning into his inner showman. “But I had a great time caroling with y’all tonight. Now, Paisley over here”—he points at me and I give a tiny, awkward wave because why, Kash, why?—“is making up some fresh hot cocoa, and it’s gonna be delicious. But it’s gonna take a few minutes. So I figured, why not sing a few more songs while we wait? What do you say to an encore?”

A few people clap.

A particularly feisty attendee calls out, “Quit yer yappin’ and start singin’,” which draws a few chuckles. I can feel the carolers’ impatience begin to recede.

The water boiler makes a chugging sound as it heats up. Kash glances at me with a broad grin and then launches into a Broadway-style version of “Let It Snow.” Big sweeping arm gestures. Extra animated facial expressions. He holds the attention of every person in this captive courtyard audience. Even I can’t seem to look away. I’ve never seen Kash perform before, and he has that innate magnetism that all good stage performers have.

There’s not a lick of it in me, that’s for sure.

I’m so mesmerized by him, I forget all about the boiling water and hot cocoa I’m supposed to be preparing. My fingers brush against the giant metal carafe, and while I don’t get burned, it’s a wake-up call. I can’t afford to get so caught up in Kash that I lose sight of everything else.

I quickly mix the hot water with cocoa powder and hoist the insulated dispenser onto the counter. I have another pot of water heating, just in case we run out again, but this fresh batch will at least get the line moving.

Kash glances over and I give him a thumbs-up. He winks. Unlike the last time he winked at me, I don’t hate him. Not a bit. In fact, my feelings are very much headed in the opposite direction.

Kash starts a boisterous rendition of “Holly Jolly Christmas,” but when he gets to the part about having a cup of cheer, he inserts the word cocoa and jogs back to the stand, singing all the way.

And he doesn’t stop singing. He keeps it up as we pour and serve. I’m pretty sure some people sneak back in line for seconds. The line sure doesn’t seem to be whittling down at all, but there’s a steady stream of people wandering into the gift shop and then back out with bags full of purchases, so who am I to stop the merriment?

Kash finishes the song he was singing, and people start calling out requests. They’re a lively bunch tonight, probably because of all the sugar we’re pumping into them. I make up another vat of cocoa and set another pot of water to boil.

“Sing ‘Baby, It’s Cold Outside,’ ” someone calls.

“With Paisley.”

“Duet! Duet! Duet!”

It feels like someone just dumped a bucket of ice down the back of my shirt. I stiffen and freeze, my heart racing.

Kash gives an overly bright laugh and looks over at me. There’s plenty of concern in his eyes but also a spark of hope that I just might say yes.

“It could be fun,” he says gently. I can tell he really wants me to sing with him, though I can’t quite figure out why. He’s heard what I sound like onstage, and he knows how much of a train wreck I am because of it.

I shake my head and give a sharply whispered “No.” Singing in public will never be fun. Especially not when it’s in front of a bunch of strangers. I turn my back to the crowd and busy myself with making more hot cocoa.

“Okay,” he says, backing up so he’s even with me but still facing the line of thirsty revelers.

“Duet! Duet!”

Kash sighs. “Now, hear me out.”

My heart hammers even harder. After everything, I can’t believe he’s about to pressure me into singing with him.

“How do you feel about lip-synching?” he whispers, stopping my spiral of doubt in its tracks.

Wait, what?