Chapter 19 #2
“Looks like he put them all up here,” George muttered gruffly as he looked for a parking spot, but there was no real grumpiness to his tone. He parked the truck, coming around to open Mabel’s door for her and help her down as he looked around the town square.
The Christmas market itself was a riot of color and sound that immediately made George’s shoulders tense.
There was a din of chatter from vendors and customers, bells jingling from decorations, and Christmas music—“Deck the Halls” at the moment—playing loudly from temporary speaker.
A group of children raced past, nearly colliding with Mabel and George as they walked, waving candy canes and laughing.
“Good grief,” George muttered under his breath as he surveyed the chaos. “This is worse than last year.”
“It’s festive,” Mabel corrected him, looping her arm through his and pulling him toward the crowd. “Come on, the cider stand should be near the center.”
George reluctantly allowed her to lead him deeper into the maze of booths and attractions.
They passed a station where people were decorating gingerbread houses, frosting and sprinkles scattered across the table.
Next to it, a woman was demonstrating how to make ornaments from pinecones, her hands moving deftly as she added glitter and ribbon.
“Hold on,” George said, pulling back as Mabel attempted to drag him toward a booth selling hand-painted Christmas village pieces. “I thought we were here for cider, not…” He gestured vaguely at the overwhelming holiday spectacle around them.
A group of carolers in Victorian costumes began singing “Deck the Halls” nearby as the music over the speakers changed, their voices competing with the recorded Christmas music already playing. George winced at the cacophony.
“We are,” Mabel assured him, although the mischievous glint in her eyes told a different story. “But it wouldn’t hurt to enjoy the market while we’re here.”
George frowned as he looked over at her.
He should have known, he realized. Mabel was not a ‘one place and leave’ kind of person when it came to these things, especially when it came to Christmas.
This was practically prank-adjacent for her, dragging him here under the pretense of a cider tasting and then dragging him to other spots when it was too late to escape.
They passed a photo booth draped with tinsel and hung with oversized props—Santa hats, reindeer antlers, and giant candy canes. Two teenage girls emerged from it giggling, their faces framed by oversized ornament cutouts in the photos they clutched.
“No,” George said firmly when he caught Mabel eyeing the photo booth. “Absolutely not.”
“I didn’t even say anything,” Mabel protested, but her smile gave her away. It was as mischievous as always, and he found himself staring at it just a little too long. Her enthusiasm was infectious, he decided. He hated crowds and noise and clutter, but he wasn’t entirely upset that he’d come.
“You were thinking it. And the answer is no.” George tugged his arm free of hers, stepping aside as a dad and his three children rushed by—the dad chasing the children. “About that cider—”
“Oh look!” Mabel suddenly exclaimed, her eyes lighting up as she pointed to a booth nestled between a hot chocolate stand and a wreath seller. “That’s new this year.”
George followed her gaze and immediately shook his head. “No. Absolutely not.”
The booth was draped in red and green fabric with a hand-painted sign that read “Christmas Costumes and Memories!” Inside, a cheerful woman was helping a young couple into matching ugly Christmas sweaters while another attendant adjusted a camera on a tripod.
It was like the photo booth, but somehow worse. There were costumes involved.
He dressed up every year as Santa for Mabel, but that was different.
He couldn’t exactly explain how, but it was.
It was a controlled environment, for one, whereas this one was pure chaos.
Also, he saw a number of more obnoxious costumes hanging up behind the photo screen, and he had a feeling that Mabel wasn’t going to be satisfied with Santa.
“Come on, George,” Mabel tugged at his sleeve. “It would be fun!”
“Fun is not the word I would use,” he grumbled, but Mabel was already pulling him toward the booth. When had he stopped being able to tell her no?
“Just one photo,” she pleaded as they stopped next to the booth, her eyes glittering with excitement. “For the Christmas spirit.”
“I have plenty of Christmas spirit,” George protested. “We’re doing the Santa and Mrs. Claus event again this year. Like every year. My Christmas spirit is abundant.”
“The evidence suggests otherwise,” Mabel said with a laugh. “The town Christmas committee has been trying to get you to participate more for years.”
“I sell Christmas trees,” George protested as Mabel dragged him forward. “How much more Christmas spirit do I need?”
The woman running the booth clapped her hands when she saw them approach. “Mabel Stewart! And is that George Lowery? What a delightful surprise!”
“Hello, Doris,” Mabel greeted her warmly. “We’d like to try some of your costumes.”
“We would not—” George began, but Doris was already pulling out a plush red Santa suit with an enormous white beard.
“This would be perfect for you, George!” Doris thrust the costume toward him. “You already dress up as Santa every year! Why not get some photos outside of that event?”
“Oh, I think not,” George said, backing away, but Mabel was already reaching for the costume.
“Don’t be such a stick in the snow,” she said, holding up the Santa suit to his frame. “Think of it as getting back onto the sleigh after missing last year’s event.”
George crossed his arms firmly. “I’m not wearing that. Once a year is enough.”
“Fine,” Mabel conceded, putting the Santa suit back.
But her eyes were already scanning the rack for alternatives.
“What about this?” She pulled out a green elf costume complete with pointed shoes and a jaunty hat with a bell on the end.
The look on her face said it all—she knew exactly how George felt about elves, and she was using it. He narrowed his eyes at her.
“That’s even worse,” he said. “Absolutely not.”
Mabel huffed, putting the elf costume back on the rack. “One day, as my yearly Santa, you’ll understand that elves are a critical part of Christmas, George. So what about… that’s it!” Mabel snapped her fingers, her eyes lighting up as she spotted something on the far rack. “Perfect!”
Before George could protest, she was rushing over to grab what appeared to be the most ridiculous costume yet—a full-body Christmas tree outfit, complete with ornaments dangling from the sides and a star headpiece.
“Absolutely not,” George said flatly as Mabel returned with the monstrosity. “I draw the line at dressing as my own merchandise.”
“Just try it on,” Mabel insisted, thrusting the costume toward him. “What’s the harm? No one but me and Doris will see.”
“And everyone who walks by the booth,” George pointed out. “I’m not dressing as a Christmas tree, and that’s final.” He folded his arms.
Mabel set the tree costume aside with a dramatic sigh. “Fine. Though honestly, George, the town already has one Christmas-hating grinch. We can’t possibly have two. Nolan’s already claimed that title.”
Despite himself, George laughed—a real, genuine belly laugh that drained some of the tension from his shoulders. The smile on Mabel’s face when she heard it didn’t hurt either.
“Well,” he said, still chuckling, “I suppose if Nolan’s cornered the market on being the town Scrooge, I can’t very well compete with him.” He held out his hand. “Give me the Santa outfit. I suppose I can compare it with the one you make me wear every year.”
Mabel’s cheeks glowed with pleasure, and somehow, that made him feel as if it was worth it. Even when he came out from behind the changing curtain, and saw three pre-teens staring with smirks on their faces.
When Mabel came out a moment later, dressed as the Christmas tree, he couldn’t help but laugh. Anyone else might have thought he was laughing at her, but Mabel just grinned, shaking her head back and forth so that the star ornament bobbed ridiculously.
“Well, come get your pictures taken,” Doris encouraged them, and George grunted, but begrudgingly stood in front of the snowy backdrop to take a picture with Mabel.
The look on her face, as enthusiastic a smile as he’d ever seen, even convinced him to change into the elf costume afterward, as Mabel swapped her costume for a gingerbread woman.
“Oh my gosh, I can’t believe it,” Mabel exclaimed, clapping her hands. “George Lowery as an elf. I never thought I’d see the day.”
“Don’t get used to it,” he grumped, but she smiled even more broadly.
“I’m going to have photo evidence. These are going on my fridge at home. I’ll see them every day and remember the evening when George Lowery, hater of both chocolate-cookie baking and Christmas elves, dressed up as one.”
He frowned at her, but it felt hard to keep the expression on his face as Doris switched the backdrop to Santa’s workshop, and took another photo. When she handed the printouts to Mabel, Mabel gave him a copy of each, and he tucked them into his pocket.
“These are going directly into a drawer never to be seen again,” he said grumpily, and Mabel rolled her eyes.
“Sure, George.”
For all that Mabel’s presence made him willing to tolerate the market more than usual, he was ready to beeline it to the cider stand after the pictures were done.
But as they emerged from the costume booth, Mabel’s eyes immediately began wandering to the other attractions around them, and George could practically see her mind working.
“Now can we get the cider?” he asked hopefully, glancing over at Mabel. “I do need to get back tonight at some point—”