Chapter 14 #2
She leads the way back to the men, who seem to be joking around, because Atlas laughs at something Cole says while Cole smirks. I don’t know much about them, but from an outsider looking in, their relationship seems special.
Really special.
There’s a connection there that you don’t see very often, something I don’t see Uncle Dwight have with anyone.
I met up with him yesterday, and I talked about how I was impressed that even the high school was decorated.
I failed to mention the whole bumping-into-Atlas thing, because I’m sure he wouldn’t be happy about it.
We talked about a few other things, like decorations that could be displayed year-round and could bear the harsh Colorado winter in the Rockies but also the blazing sun in the summer.
I avoided all conversation about Atlas, even though I had a bunch of questions I wanted to ask.
Like . . . where did the hate stem from? What did he do to him?
Has he thought about possibly doing something else with the land other than a competing farm?
“Thanks, babe,” Cole says, taking his drink from Storee and kissing her.
“Um, here you go,” I say to Atlas, handing him his drink.
“Thanks, babe,” he says with a wink, clearly mocking Cole, but it doesn’t stop my entire body from heating up and reacting to the term of endearment.
“This is the best mulled cider you will ever have,” Storee says as she cuddles into Cole.
He loops his arm around her and holds her in tight.
It’s so cute, it makes me yearn for something like that.
“The first time I had it was on Cupid Christmas Night with Cole, but technically we weren’t together. We were pretending to be together.”
“Really?” I ask, amused. “Why?”
“Long story, but it was for show. Let’s just say the night was not enjoyable.”
“Until they kissed,” Atlas says, gently bumping my shoulder with his arm. “And they did it in front of the two biggest gossips in town, who of course went around and told everyone.”
“Who are the two biggest gossips?” I ask.
“Martha and Mae Bawhovier,” Atlas answers. “The sweetest sisters you will ever meet, but you have to watch what you say around them, because it will be repeated to everyone in town.”
“It wasn’t planned to kiss in front of them,” Cole says after taking a sip of his mulled cider.
“Uh, they were the ones who egged us on,” Storee says and then leans toward me. “Let me tell you, he was desperate to kiss me.”
I turn to Cole for his rebuttal, but he just shrugs. “Yeah, I was.”
Atlas chuckles. “He was desperate to kiss her for a long time. He saw his moment, and he took full advantage.”
“That’s sweet,” I offer.
“It was.” Storee stands on her toes and then kisses Cole, clearly so happy and so in love.
I’ve had my fair share of boyfriends, but I don’t think I’ve ever looked at someone the way they look at each other. Something to strive for when I have my life on track. Right now, it’s all kind of up in the air.
“What about you? Ever kiss under the mistletoe?” Storee asks.
I shake my head. “Never. Though I don’t think I’ve ever been around mistletoe before. It wasn’t a thing my family did, and I love Fort Collins, but it’s not small and quaint like Kringletown, where you can hang up mistletoe and people would find it charming. It would probably go undetected there.”
“Yeah, must be more of a small-town thing,” Storee says. “Be careful though. It’s everywhere here, especially on Cupid Christmas, and if you’re caught under some and someone says, ‘Kiss,’ you have to kiss. Which is why this big guy got a chance at these lips.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yeah,” Atlas chimes in. “One year, I had to kiss Cole, and honestly, all I can say is that I was very underwhelmed. I can’t believe Storee fell for him after their kiss, because what I experienced was stiff and lacking in passion.”
I chuckle while Cole rolls his eyes. “You wish you kissed me.”
“Don’t tempt me,” Atlas says. “I might pull you under some mistletoe and knock those boots right off your feet.”
“Would love to see you try.”
“Challenge accepted.”
“Please don’t,” Storee says. “I don’t need my husband falling for your luscious lips.”
I glance at his mouth, and yeah, she’s right. He does have some very nice-looking lips.
Atlas playfully brings his hand to his chest. “‘Luscious lips’? Wow, Storee, you’re going to inflate my ego.”
“Yeah, please stop. We don’t need him suffocating us all, especially if this was supposed to be a night for us alone.”
“Wow, way to guilt-trip Betty and me,” Atlas says, thumbing toward me. “I get stood up, and your wife confuses the nights. You would think we’d receive a touch of understanding, maybe a sprinkle of coddling.”
“I’ve coddled you enough over the years.”
“Yeah, maybe that’s why I’m so sensitive.”
Cole shakes his head. “No, you were sensitive when I first received you.”
“Received me, huh?” Atlas asks with a smile written all over his face as he takes a sip of his drink. “And how did you enjoy . . . receiving me?” The question is full of innuendo and makes me chuckle.
“What is wrong with you?”
“I ask myself that in the mirror every day.”
Max
“Okay, I never thought Christmas nachos were a thing, but oh my God, they’re a thing,” Betty says as she takes another chip from the big platter we ordered to share.
High-top tables have been set up all around Ornament Park with the intention that people spend their money at the vendors and then take a walk down Lovers’ Lane. So far, we’re spending money.
We’re on our second cup of mulled cider, we’re devouring nachos, and honestly, I’m having a great time.
Storee is leading the conversation like she said she would, so I wouldn’t have to think of stupid things to say to fill the awkward silence, and it’s all running very smoothly.
I’m adding little anecdotes here and there, coming off as a great person to be around.
Cole seems to be enjoying himself, and Betty has laughed quite a few times.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d say she’s having a good time.
“They’re more like Thanksgiving nachos if you ask me,” Storee says. “But they work.”
“The sausage and stuffing and cranberry make it more like Thanksgiving, but the wreath shape, that screams Christmas,” Betty says, sounding more . . . loose than normal.
I don’t blame her though; the mulled cider is strong. I’m feeling a little loose too.
“I like the sausage,” Cole says. “Not too spicy.”
“No one likes a spicy sausage,” I say with a smirk.
“In fact, they don’t.” Storee chuckles. “I mean, I certainly don’t. What about you, Betty? Do you like a spicy sausage in your mouth?”
Betty picks up another chip and shakes her head. “I don’t. I once had a spicy sausage in my mouth that made me gag.”
The table pauses, all staring at her, wondering whether that was an innuendo or not.
When she looks up, seeing all of us staring at her, she clamps her hand over her mouth and then chuckles.
“I mean like an actual sausage, not like, you know . . . a penis sausage. Not that I’d ever call a penis a sausage.
I haven’t seen any in real life that really resemble the kind of sausages I’ve seen, in the girth department at least, but you didn’t ask that, so I don’t know why I’m saying it. ” She looks away and sips her drink.
“I’m sorry that you gagged on a sausage,” I say, trying to make her feel less awkward.
“It was really big. Hard to get my mouth around.”
“I understand that completely,” I say. “I’ve had a hard time getting my mouth around some sausages as well.”
She looks up at me, confused.
“Uh, like actual sausages, not . . . the penis variety, just want to keep that clear. Just talking about food, because if we weren’t, then I’d have to say I prefer tacos, if you get my drift. Yup, a taco guy over here, and you’re a, uh, a sausage girl?”
“Yes, purely sausage, although I once kissed a taco.”
“Really?” I ask, feeling Cole and Storee watching us.
Betty’s eyes widen. “I mean, ugh, not like taco vagina or the food taco, I meant taco as referring to a woman. Like a woman can have a taco, and a man can have a sausage or vice versa or whatever part you want. Ugh, I shouldn’t assign genders to food .
. . To clear things up, I’ve kissed a woman before. It was a dare in college.”
“What is happening?” I hear Cole mutter.
“Magic,” Storee says, clasping her hands together.
“Are they the same person?”
“Yes,” Storee answers.
“I’ve kissed a woman too, a few times,” I say with a nod. “And I’ve kissed Cole on the cheek, not on the lips, even though I joked about it. And you’ve kissed a man . . .” I gesture to Betty.
“Oh yes, lots of times. I’ve touched many lips with my lips.”
“Hey, so have I!” I say, pointing to my chest.
Cole rubs his temple. “Please, someone change the subject.”
“So to sum it up, you once gagged on a spicy sausage, you haven’t experienced a girthy penis, you kissed a girl once, but you prefer a man’s lips on yours,” I say.
“Yes, that pretty much sums it all up. And you’ve kissed many a woman but only Cole on the cheek.”
“Yup,” I answer. “Wow, we’re good listeners.”
“I’d say so.” Betty nervously smiles and then takes a sip of her drink. I join her while silence falls among the group.
Well, that was going well for a second.
Betty
I’m very aware right now of just how large Atlas is.
Like . . . very aware.
I don’t know whether it’s the mulled cider, or if I’ve just finally given myself enough time to pay attention, but man, is he large.
Those shoulders, they’re like two sets of mine put together.
And his legs, they’re nearly busting out of his jeans.
Like tree trunks sprouting from his hips.
Not to mention his chest. It’s so expansive.
How does one grow themselves to be that big?
Does he have a hard time finding clothes to fit him?