CHAPTER NINE – SYLVIE
Did he just offer to buy me a waffle?
Crikey, that sounded like quite the euphemism when I put it like that.
“Offering up a pregnant lady’s food? That’s rude. Or bold. Or maybe both, although stupid is the one I’d go for,” I said, sidestepping to let a woman with a pram past me. She gave me a grateful smile, and I returned it before I started walking in the direction of the waffle stand.
I was on the other side of the square and could see the sizable line. It was only ten minutes until the lights were due to be switched on, and I wasn’t too fussed about watching a pig hit a big red button to switch on some glorified fairy lights.
All right. I wanted to see the lights, but the pig? After it pooped in my bed? No, thank you.
There was a good chance that I was very much in the minority, though. I could see the novelty in the pig turning on the lights. It was a little strange, kind of cute if you were into that, and something to make a cute video of for TikTok or something like that if you liked that sort of thing.
I, however, was merely hoping those things would entice some of the people out of the waffle line so I could get to the front a little quicker.
Thomas stepped up beside me in the line. “I wasn’t so much offering up her food as I was offering to buy you a waffle.”
“First, it’s cute that you think I only want one.” I glanced at him. “Second, what for? Some kind of peace offering?”
“Not some kind of peace offering. A peace offering.”
I pointed a gloved fingertip at the scar above my eyebrow. “Will it make up for twenty years of a scar?”
His eyes glanced there. “I’ll buy you three waffles.”
“Then you’d still owe me seventeen.”
“What is it? One per year?”
“You’re lucky I’m not bartering with one a month.”
“If you ate that many, I doubt you’d fit into your dress for the wedding.”
I pressed my lips into a grimace. “That’s a good point. I’ve already been stabbed by a needle far too many times this week. I don’t want to have to go through that again.”
Thomas raised his eyebrows. “Sounds traumatic.”
“Have you ever been stabbed in the same spot six times by a razor-sharp pin?”
“I can’t say I recall such a time, no.”
“I would be more than happy to help you with that.” I eyed the line in front of me. “You can’t possibly understand my reluctance,” I replied, leaning over towards him a little. “What are the chances this line will disappear when your mum grabs the mic to do the countdown?”
He craned his neck to peer over the top of my head.
“Based on the ratio of families to adults and teenagers… A good chance it’ll cut down as people panic and leave.
Probably not disappear, as there are several bored-looking dads who look like they couldn’t give a toss about a pig turning on lights—”
“Relatable,” I agreed solemnly.
“—And some young lads who might be whipped enough to stay in line for their teen girlfriends with the promise of a sloppy blowjob in a secluded corner of a carpark.”
“Are you projecting your own teenage years there?”
“I can categorically say I never once received a sloppy blowjob in a secluded corner of a carpark.”
“You were awfully specific for me to believe that. Did you have a non-sloppy one?”
“Why do you care?”
I shrugged. “Just making conversation.”
“About who may or may not have put my penis in their mouth?”
I wrinkled my nose. “I bet it was Amanda Ackerman.”
Thomas side-eyed me. “What makes you think that?”
“Teenage girls are bitchy. You hear things.” I paused. “Some things stay with you.”
“Well, she never gave me a sloppy blowjob in a carpark. Or any kind of blowjob anywhere at all.” He frowned. “I can’t believe I’m discussing this in a waffle line, with you of all people.”
I couldn’t help but smile, although it did feel like more of a wry smirk than anything else. “Good, because I am extremely amused by the fact a member of the aristocracy is discussing blowjobs he may or may not have had in a car park more than a decade ago.”
“I walked right into that, didn’t I?”
“Yep. Your desire to make amends with me makes you weak and open to my manipulation.” I shuffled forwards in the line. “How long until the countdown?”
He sighed and checked his watch. “Anytime… now.”
The music quietened, and we both turned in the direction of the centre of the square where the unlit tree and stage were. Slowly, people filtered in that direction, leaving the orderly queues they were in to try and get as close to the switch-on stage as they could.
It was largely futile. People had been waiting there for ages already, and I would be impressed if anyone could get any closer than they already were.
It worked well for me and my waffle mission, though.
The line thinned out the way I’d hoped it would, and Thomas had nailed it. The stragglers left in front of us were largely men who were clearly holding a place in line for their female family members or those who were potentially going to get a blowie in exchange for a waffle.
Honestly, a blowjob was worth at least two waffles. With extra chocolate sauce.
I mean, you had to sell your dignity to do it in public, so waffles were the least the guy could do given he was having all the fun.
“Good call,” I said, happily moving into the space that had been left by the vacating queuers.
These people were amateurs. Who left a queue to see lights be turned on by a pig? Amateurs, I tell you.
Queueing was a national pastime. To leave a queue for anything less than an emergency was sacrilege.
Christmas lights being switched on was certainly not in the criteria for leaving a queue.
Not even a car alarm was.
You just leant in the general direction of your car, waving your keys in the air, and jabbed the button on your keys in the hope the signal reached the obscure corner you’d parked in to make sure some arsehole kid didn’t ding your door when they opened theirs.
I was projecting there a bit.
It was me. I was the one who parked in obscure corners.
“What do you want?” Thomas asked, looking at the menu board that hung at the side of the hut.
“What do I what?” I asked. “Oh, we’re almost at the front.”
“Are you daydreaming?”
“So what if I am?”
“What are you thinking about?”
Oh, no. I wasn’t giving him that ammunition. “What all women think about. The easiest way to commit murder and hide a man’s body.”
He held my gaze for a moment.
“I considered using the pig, but I’m not sure she could eat all of you.” I shrugged and stepped forwards. “Three waffles with Nutella and some whipped cream sounds like a good idea.”
“Are you sure you can eat three?”
“Of course I can eat three. What kind of weakling do you think I am?” I dug in my bag for my purse.
Thomas put his hand on my arm. “What are you doing?”
“Getting my purse out.”
He tugged on my wrist to pull my hand out. “No. I told you I’d get them.”
I frowned as he stepped up to the counter and ordered, starting with mine, then getting some for him, Beth, and Danny. He paid while I pouted, and then he turned to me with a smirk and handed me the first box.
“Peace offering.”
“A very festive peace offering,” I replied.
“You could just lead with ‘thank you,’ or is that too much for you?”
I fought a smile. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
We moved to the side so others could get to the window of the hut to order.
“It is very festive though,” I said, opening my box. “Especially for someone who hates Christmas as much as you do. You must be dying here. I can practically see the Grinchy green fur sprouting from your skin.”
Thomas side-eyed me, clutching onto the other polystyrene containers. “I don’t hate Christmas itself, really. I just don’t like this time of year. It’s justified.”
“Beth did say about your dad.” Guilt gnawed at my stomach for bringing up something like that during what was really quite a nice conversation. “When we had lunch,” I added awkwardly, glancing up at him.
“Yeah, finding out your dad is dying does kill one’s Christmas spirit.” He peered over at me with a tiny smile on his face, and he didn’t look put out by my idiotic mouth bringing it up at all. “Was that all she told you?”
I paused, and right before I opened my mouth to speak, the roaring sound of Thomas’ mum’s voice crackled through the speakers with a booming, “Ten, nine, eight—” and I jolted, turning towards the tree to catch the very moment the lights switched on.
“Ooh, the lights!” I said right at the very moment the crowd erupted in a cheer.
The lights began at the bottom of the tree, switching on in a wave that swept the entirety of it until it culminated in the star blinking on.
The moment of stillness that crept over the square felt a lot like everyone was holding their breath, and the star slowly pulsed, brightening and dimming for a solid ten seconds before it stilled again.
The distinct cash register sound that announced I Wish It Could Be Christmas Everyday rang through the air, and both the star and the tree lights flickered with the beat of the song.
I vaguely caught Thomas sighing and dropping his chin to his chest out of the corner of my eye, but I couldn’t stop the smile that spread across my face.
The string lights that went from the star to the shops in a canopy over the square were the next to be lit in a whooshing sweep before they joined the little lightshow that was in time with the music.
One by shop, the shops around the square flooded to life.
It was like a Mexican wave of lights going from one shop to another, and I turned my head back and forth, almost craning my neck to catch the rush of the lights coming to life.
There were reindeer and Santa hats, holly sprigs and sleighs, stars and candles that looked suspiciously like a penis if your mind was so inclined.
Mine was.
The chorus kicked in, and the previously dim lights of the main streets that veered off from the village square all burst into action, and the resounding lightshow was a spectacular two-and-a-half minutes of pulsing and twinkling and chasing lights.
I gazed at the lights with wonder for the entire time. I think I cricked my neck from looking around so many times, but there was something so magical about the way Castleton welcomed in Christmas.
Yes, we were a week into December, but I’d been so busy with the wedding and preparing to travel up here that it didn’t feel like Christmas.
Until now.
The song came to an end, and so did the show. The booming music gave way to raucous cheers that echoed from every inch of the square, and I happily focused on the star and the lights that spread from it to create a canopy over the area.
The feeling that I was being watched tingled down my spine, and I turned to look at Thomas, biting the inside of my cheek to hold back my smile.
He was utterly amused, and he didn’t even need to say a word. The glint of laughter in his eyes was backed up by the smile he was clearly trying to fight.
“Don’t say a word,” I said.