The Christmas Pundit (Laurel Holidays #2) - V.L. Locey Page 0,65

eyes but was too thrilled to put much sass into it. Another tour bus, this one blue with red stripes, rolled past and parked by the community playground. At least thirty people filed out of the bus, most elderly but not all.

“Okay, what’s the story with the tour buses?” I asked, moving up a step as the line moved. Everyone was in good spirits it seemed, thank goodness.

Gideon looked around then made like the big idling bus had just dropped out of the sky. “Buses? Oh, those buses. I might have advertised in a few other newspapers,” he tossed out nonchalantly.

“Newspapers from where, exactly?” I pressured him, moving into the heated vestibule finally.

“Oh, just towns with a little bigger tax base then we have. Corning, Elmira, Williamsport, Philadelphia, Harrisburg, Scranton…” My mouth fell open. That made him laugh aloud. “Ah, Evan, it does my bitter, old, fiscally conservative heart good to see you gape like a carp when witnessing a kindness from across the aisle.”

I closed my mouth. Then opened it again. “That must have cost a fortune.”

He lifted a shoulder as he peeled off his gloves. “No more so than you forking up the cash for the town flags out of your own personal account.”

Damn it. My jaw dropped yet again. Gideon sniggered with glee. “How do you know everything that goes on in this town?”

He tapped his nose. “I keep this to the ground like a good reporter and the man I’m in love with talks in his sleep.”

I gasped. Someone coughed to spur us along. Blushing, I hurried down the stairs and into the church basement. Conscious of it now I forced my mouth to stay shut. There was way more than the twenty-three tables I’d last seen on the vendor sign-up sheet. There had to be at least seventy tables crammed into the basement. A woman nudged past me, her arms filled with bags and boxes. The air had the wonderful aroma of fresh pine and cinnamon and “Holly Jolly Christmas” was being played by one of the DJs from the local country radio station.

“Come on, we better take a look around if we want to get anything,” Gideon whispered. I nodded and we set off, stopping at each table. There were so many wonderful varieties of handmade crafts from quilted tablecloths to pinecone wreaths, hand-beaded goose eggs that had been blown out, rocking horses carved from glowing honey pine, knitted snowmen, hand-painted reindeer garden stakes, and beautiful quilted tree skirts just to name a few.

We squeezed through the crowds, eyeing this and that. I found a lovely quilted table runner for my mother and a thick winter sweater of deepest pine green for my father. Gideon seemed content to meander along at my side opining on everything we looked at. When we found ourselves in front of a table filled with jewelry, Gideon’s eyes lit up.

“Oh this is nice.” He lifted a beaded bracelet up into the light. I admired the masculine tiger eye gemstones. He draped it around his wrist. “And it fits. It’s hard to find something to span my wrist.” He removed it, handed it to the woman who’d crafted it, and then picked up another just like it and passed that over to her as well. “I’ll take them both.”

The older woman in the pretty gold smock was thrilled to make the sale. I saw Gideon peel off five hundred-dollar bills to pay for his purchases. He thanked the woman profusely then turned to me.

“I’m suddenly bored of this crush. Let’s go take a sleigh ride.” He took me by the hand and raced up the stairs with such speed I had to hold onto my hat.

“Pardon us, excuse us, oh my! Sorry, Berger. Tell the wife I said hello. Gideon, for the love of—pardon us. Gideon!” He finally slowed only when we were back on Main Street and had hailed a sleigh over to the curb.

“Thanks, oh look. A horse. How cute,” Gideon said as he hustled me into the back of the red and green sleigh. “Oh, no sorry, ma’am. This is the mayoral sleigh. Another one will be along in about ten minutes. If you go to the green you can buy some roasted chestnuts to warm you up. Thank you. Driver, to the tree farm.”

“I think—” I was about to protest leaving taxpayers standing on the curb but the sleigh took off, silver bells ringing, and we were on our way. “You’re incredibly brusque at times.”

“You’re just