Page 111 of My Favorite Holidate
But the truth is—I didn’t tell her I can’t sing for shit. Maybe she won’t notice. My palms sweat a little, even though it’s cold out.
Mayor Bumblefritz trots up the steps to the gazebo with his megaphone and declares, “And now, the moment you’ve all been waiting for. The Christmas caroling competition. We’ll assign songs and supply the words on screen, karaoke-style,” he says, gesturing to a TV screen set up in the gazebo, “And you’ll have to simply…go!”
Fable grabs my arm, her eyes bright. “It’s like improv singing!”
Which I hope is for the best since it means only one chance for Fable to hear my terrible voice. “One and done,” I say.
“Maybe we’ll get ‘Let It Snow,’” she adds, then looks up at me. “Snow makes everything beautiful. You can have the busiest day, a million things going on, but when the snow falls, it calms the whole world down.”
My heart slams against my chest. We discussed Christmas songs. But she’s quoted me back to me. Everything I said. My throat goes dry. My pulse spikes. “You…remembered every word.”
“I did,” she says, and she sounds pleased. Like she’s been wanting to share that party trick of hers with me for some time.
And I almost don’t care that she’ll hear my terrible voice. Because she remembered. She fucking remembered. And I’d better wipe the smile off my face. I can’t let on to the whole damn town that I’m falling head over heels against my better judgment.
I clear my throat and mutter a “thanks” since I don’t know what else to say. I’m speechless. Fable turns her gaze toward the crowd. Maybe she’s sizing up Brady too? But when I follow her eyes, she’s looking at her pack of friends—Maeve, Josie, and Everly. She waves, then makes some kind of funny face. No idea what it means, but when she turns back to me, she shrugs and says, “We have our own language of gestures.”
“You can communicate through mind meld, basically,” I say.
“Yes. You understand.”
I smile. “I do.” And I find it utterly endearing how close she is with them. But then it’s like my brain stops in place. She didn’t look at Brady once. Did she? She didn’t check him out to see what he’s up to. She doesn’t seem perturbed by him. It’s like she doesn’t even care.
Nope. I don’t want to think that yet.
Fortunately, the event begins, giving me a new focus.
I adjust the cuffs of my peacoat as a few townspeople go first, belting out “Jingle Bells,” then Fable’s mom and Julio hit the stage and sing a playfully off-key version of “Frosty the Snowman.”
When her mom leaves the stage, she swings by and says, “I could never resist that one. It’s like they know me!”
“You and Frosty are OTLs.”
“Hey now,” Julio says, with a smile. “Your mom’s my one true love.”
“Fine, fine. Mom, FrostyandJulio,” Fable says.
Her mom gives me a little wave. “Knock ‘em dead, Wilder,” she says, then whispers, “and keep taking good care of my girl. I see the way you look at her.”
A pang digs into my chest from the truth and the lietwined together in her mom’s observation, but I say, “I will.”
A kernel of guilt wedges into my heart as we return our focus to the stage. Leo and Charlotte bound up the steps, and they duet “Santa Baby” with the groom looking like he’s going to be coming down the bride’s chimney tonight for sure. Aurora’s up next on stage and she sends the crowd swooning with a soulful take on “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.”
“One of your favorites,” I murmur.
Fable loops her arm tighter through mine. “I still love that song,” she whispers.
“I know.” I don’t tell her I already have it on a playlist for her and I’m waiting for the right moment to play it.
A few more townspeople go, then Fable’s father and his wife are up. “And it’s ‘The Christmas Song’ for you,” Mayor Bumblefritz says.
Fable’s dad crows. “Watch out Nat King Cole. The king of Christmas croon is here.”
I…cringe.
Fable winces, then hides her face briefly against my chest.
“Sorry, honey,” I whisper just for her.