Page 20 of Merry Mischief List
“It wasn’t very gender inclusive.”
“Noted,” he replies casually. “So your plan is a triple girl gumdrop?”
I choke on a laugh. “Wow, look who’s coming out of his swamp.”
“Well, if we’re going to be doing this holiday-hell-with-it list, I’m gonna have to stop being Mr. Buzzkill, right?”
“It’s the Merry Mischief List, actually. And I don’t really have a plan for that yet. It’s more of a hope-the-gumdrops-fall-in-my-lap type of situation considering every person I’d consider asking is out of town.” He nods, turning into the parking lot of a church. “I’m sorry, was I too unholy? Gotta take me to confession before we can continue our planned activity?”
“Thisisthe planned activity,” he says with a smirk, pulling into a spot.
“Never would’ve seen you as the church-on-a-Tuesday kinda guy.”
“I’m more of the holiday-festival-at-a-church kinda guy,” he says, cutting the engine and getting out of the car.
I follow his lead, and we’re surrounded by tons of kids and parents eagerly heading towards the festivities. A mother with an updo so tight it’s permanently stretched her face glances my way, and her eyes roam my body in disapproval. I glance down at the decently revealing elf costume I wore thanks to Porter’s directions.
Your kids have seen more at the beach, Mother Teresa.
Porter comes to my side of the car, eyes dropping down my body in… amusement? Enjoyment?
“Ready to go?” he asks.
“Really?” I scoff. “Mr. Buzzkill has nothing to say about me rolling up to a church festival looking like a holiday hooker?”
He shrugs. “I said wear something festive. You are. Glad to know you can follow directions.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“I mean, I thought you’d wear an ugly Christmas sweater or something,” he says, eyes roaming me over from head to toe. “But this is good too.”
I ignore the way his gaze lights every exposed part of my body on fire and sputter, “We live in Florida. It’s ninety-five degrees out. Why the hell would I wear a sweater?”
“Or T-shirt,” he says, gesturing down to his shirt, which has the picture of a snowman made of footballs with a Santa hat on top.
I cock my head with a grin. “Cute.”
“I was hoping you’d think so.” He pulls something out of his back pocket and tosses it at me. It’s a shirt identical to his, just smaller.
“Wow. I’m impressed,” I say, holding the T-shirt. “You really brought a backup in case my outfit choice didn’t make the cut?”
“I like to be prepared for the worst-case scenario.”
“Is forgetting really grounds to be considered a worst-case scenario?” I say, tugging the shirt over my head. “Or would it be me showing up to Jesus’s house in a stripper outfit?”
“I think there aremanypeople who would not consider you in a little elf outfit a worst-case scenario,” he says as we walk towards the church.
“Does that list of people include a workaholic football coach with a habit of injuring people?” I ask teasingly, hoping he’ll open up a bit more and stop seeing me as a student or Jess’s kid sister and just… me.
His eyes hold mine. “You’re gonna be trouble, aren’t you?”
“Is that a problem for you?” I ask, hooking my arm through his.
“To be determined,” he replies as we arrive at the outdoor festival where colored lights are strung all about. There’s a variety of food stands, a massive blown-up snowman, a manger scene complete with a real baby Jesus who’s currently crying his ass off, and tons of games and activities for the kids.
“How’d you know about this event?” I ask, taking in the merry scene.
“The church runs an athletic charity for underprivileged kids in the community. I volunteer here sometimes.”
