While You Were Creeping - Poppy Rhys Page 0,29
on the comm nonstop confirming last minute details and traveling into town nearly every day to make sure the floats were properly decorated and in working order.
All the teams were prepared and raring to go. I’d coordinated the Kringle Parade every year for the last eight but, for some reason, this year felt different.
As much as my decorated apartment got under my skin, the part of me I’d shoved into a storage bin three years ago—it marveled at Kye’s holiday spirit.
Despite his imprisonment, he still found happiness in simple stuff like the comedy vid he’d watched last night. His deep, hearty laugh echoed in my ears today.
I’d never felt so conflicted. Which only made me more of a Scrooge.
The fact that Kye made a great Krampus—he’d joined rehearsals a few times—just magnified my anxiety in a totally ridiculous, and unexpected, way.
Why did I care if the women of Tinsel would be all over him at the parade party? What did it matter if he spanked every last one of them with his bundle of branches?
Who cared? Not me. That’s who.
I sighed, my lips flapping together as I straightened a crooked bow on the Krampus float.
“T-minus three hours, people!” I loudly announced, moving down the line of floats in the big warehouse on the edge of town. My actors scrambled about, getting hair and makeup done and last-minute costume changes.
Barrels of themed sweets were being loaded onto the floats. My favorites were the black taffy that mimicked coal meant for Santa and his helpers, and then the miniature oranges. Those were specifically grown and sourced from the southern territory Curra. They were easy to tote, easy to peel, and tasted like citrusy chocolate.
Kye and his dark elves would be handling those.
“Midi,” I called, waving down my electronics guru. His black-striped, white pelt strobed with excitement and his prehensile whiskers curled and uncurled as he approached.
“Yes, Holly?”
“Can we do another lights check on all the floats? I don’t want any missing bulbs on them this year.”
“You got it.” He gave me four thumbs up and then shouted to the crew, “Lights check commencing!”
The warehouse went dark and all the floats lit up. It never failed to make a few people gasp.
This had been my favorite part, long ago. And maybe it still was. The slight warmth in my chest tried to remind me of my old love for the winter festivities.
The Kringle Parade wasn’t just about seeing the actors in costume, but the lights. Every hovering float was lined with them. They covered nearly every piece of furniture, decoration, and even some of the crew.
It was blindingly beautiful.
“You’re not scowling.”
I hadn’t noticed Kye sneak up to my left side, but now that he was here, my nose subtly sniffed, breathing in his minty, citrusy scent.
“Why would I be?”
“Because you hate anything Christmas.”
“I can appreciate the hard work the crew put into this.”
I finally gave him my full attention. He was in costume, which meant he was shirtless. His brown pants ended just above his hocks and silver chains crisscrossed his body, the extra length of chain dragging on the ground at his side.
It was a good prop. At the afterparty, he’d carry his bundle of branches and a brown sack over his shoulder, an ode to the Earth lore. Except it would be used for toting oranges, not stealing away with bad younglings.
“Are you nervous?” He leaned in and whispered, “Say the words and I’ll grab the transport and we can blow this popsicle stand.”
I rolled my eyes but laughed. “You’ve been watching too many old vids.”
“That wasn’t a no.”
Why did my stomach feel like a fluttery mess when he stared at me like that? His eyes bore into me, as if he were trying to read my soul. Like whatever he saw was so fascinating.
It’d been worsening all week. Since that morning in the kitchen, there was a tensity between us. We avoided the subject, which was easy to do since I focused all my energy on this parade and grumbling about the decorations taking up real estate in my apartment.
A deal was a deal.
But whenever we ended up around my family, he played the dutiful boyfriend. Sometimes a little too well. Sliding his hand around my waist, rubbing my back, kissing my forehead.
A girl could only take so much, okay?
When we were alone again, we’d go back to our separate corners. And I’d think to myself, was it all an act?
Was I even acting anymore? Because those back rubs and