Chapter 7 Funnel Cake Capers #2
Up and about, the park was even more spirited than I initially thought.
Every detail seemed to be carefully curated.
Ornaments on frosted pine trees. Sam’s Christmas Brights team in Santa hats and a string of light-up plastic bulbs around their necks—so we’d be able to spot them in the dark.
The movie screen was decorated as well, with the opening credits to Christmas Vacation beginning to roll.
The whole town seemed to be out and about tonight. It felt like a scene from a Hallmark movie. Everyone was in good spirits, overly friendly and helpful.
There was food at our campfire, but in an effort to distract myself from the infected open wound that was my motherhood/childhood, I got in line for funnel cake that boasted holiday flavors like hot cocoa, peppermint white chocolate, and sugar plum fairy.
I felt Sam step into line with me. Without looking at him, a prickling awareness cascaded over me. Maybe I smelled him before I realized it. Maybe I heard him and didn’t register. But in my heart of hearts, I knew I’d been built with a Sam Autry radar that alerted me any time he was near.
He leaned forward, his face hovering over my shoulder. “I’m sorry, Holly. I didn’t mean to upset you. Please don’t be mad at me.”
The audacity of this man. First making me feel things I didn’t want to—in public no less. Now apologizing for it? As if that would appease me?
Ugh. But why did it calm my frayed nerves and soothe aching parts of my chest?
“It’s fine,” I told him tightly. “She’s just . . . she’s a sore subject.”
He stepped forward so we were directly next to each other, his shoulder casually brushing against mine as we slowly made our way forward in line. “Do you talk to her?”
I shot him a confused glance, surprised at how sincere he sounded. “We text,” I told him. “When she remembers I’m alive.”
“I’m sure she always remembers you’re alive.” In a softer, gentler voice he added, “You’re a hard person to forget.”
Okay. What did that mean? “She’s busy.” We took another step forward. “Always running off on adventures, finding new adventures, avoiding responsibility in general.”
“Ah.”
My chest squeezed tightly again. There was so much disappointment in that one sound. So much . . . disapproval.
But I was petty. “You live here, though. You probably see her more than I do.”
He was quick to shake his head. “I haven’t seen her since the last time I saw you.”
A heavy, awkward silence settled between us. Were we both thinking about their kiss?
“What can I get you?” The voice of the teenager wearing an elf hat startled me out of my painful walk down memory lane.
“Erm . . .” I focused on the menu board, trying to make sense of the words swimming on it. “Uh . . .”
“Give us the works, Troy,” Sam ordered, holding up some cash.
“Sure thing,” Troy said before I could protest. He grabbed the money from Sam and directed us down the line to the waiting window.
“I was going to get my own,” I told him as we stood in the warmth of the food truck pickup space.
The light from the food truck was toasty and golden as we inhaled freshly fried dough and powdered sugar.
The sun had fully disappeared, and the temp had dropped.
I stepped closer to the truck and tried not to shiver.
I eyed Sam warily. “You didn’t have to—”
“Consider it a peace offering,” he said, cutting me off. “For making you talk about your mom.”
I scowled at him, wanting to hate him so badly. Why was he making it so hard? Someone passed a Styrofoam container through the window, saying hi to Sam as they handed it off. He said thank you, then turned his attention back to me.
“I’m not sure you’re ready for this.” He grinned at me before opening the white box as if revealing a diamond necklace.
Inside was hot, steaming funnel cake divided in three.
Hot chocolate on the far side, covered in cocoa powder, powdered sugar, and mini marshmallows, and then drizzled in chocolate sauce.
What I had to assume was Sugar Plum Fairy in the middle, drizzled in a red (plum?) jam, more powdered sugar, white sprinkles in the shapes of snowflakes, and what looked like a chopped chocolate candy or toffee of some sort, also drizzled in chocolate sauce.
And then finally, on the other side, Peppermint White Chocolate that was drizzled all over with white chocolate and covered in powdered sugar and chopped peppermint chocolate pieces.
It was decadent and looked delicious, and I wanted to eat the entire thing and then roll myself home.
I gasped at the presentation. Sam inclined his head toward a tall table meant to stand around.
“Go ahead,” he encouraged. “The hot chocolate is my favorite.”
I pulled a piece from the container, moaning in ecstasy around the first bite. It was sweet and flavorful, crispy and also melty. It was everything holiday dreams were made of. “Oh, my gosh,” I said when I opened my eyes again.
Sam stood there watching me, his expression more serious than before, his eyes dark, intent.
“What?” I asked, suddenly embarrassed that I might have chocolate smeared all over my face. “I didn’t know it would be that good.”
His lips twitched with a smile while his fingers pulled a section from the middle. “Try this one,” he insisted, bringing it to my lips.
Before I could decline, his thumb brushed my bottom lip in a slight tug, and I found myself opening for him. He set the doughy dessert on my tongue, then swiped his thumb over my lip a second time.
I chewed, a little awkwardly, while he stared in fascination. I laughed, self-conscious. “What?”
He inhaled deeply. “You’re so . . .” He shook his head, the second half of his sentence gusting away on the wind. “You’re hogging it.”
He shouldered me playfully and took a huge hunk of the white chocolate peppermint.
I nudged him back, reaching for any of the flavors.
It didn’t matter. They were all good. He knocked my fingers out of the way, sending powdered sugar flying.
I dove back in for another try. He grabbed my hand with his free one and didn’t let go.
There was a distant smile on his face, a warm, cozy look in his eyes. He leaned on his elbow, resting it on the table. He was so relaxed and so tight with tension. A shiver danced down my spine.
“Holly, I—”
Sensing he was about to say something that I couldn’t roll my eyes at, I tore my gaze from his and looked at the screen. “I love this movie,” I announced, cutting him off.
He didn’t turn around to look at it. “I know. It’s your favorite.”
My cheeks heated despite the cold temps. “I thought it was supposed to be something else tonight. The Grinch or something.”
Sam continued to look at me. “I know the guy running the projector. He works for me in the summer.”
Realization slowly started to dawn. “You didn’t—”
He shrugged. Then smiled. Then picked up the funnel cake and started walking back toward the Meyer’s campfire. “Come on, Haden, or you’re going to miss the best part.”
Dumbfounded, I followed after him, deciding I would reinforce the defenses around my heart tomorrow.