3. Kate

3

KATE

I was wrong. It can get worse. It has gotten worse. And I’m about five seconds away from launching myself into the next snowbank I see, allowing nature to do whatever it wills to me because I was not prepared for Mr. Christmas.

“Do you think Santa’s okay?” Evan asks as he pulls into a makeshift parking lot next to a ramshackle barn.

“What?” I mutter, shaking my head as I try to regather my senses.

“It looked like he took quite the spill on the ice.”

“Oh, right.”

I’d forgotten about that. Or maybe my brain has attempted to block out everything that has happened to me today. Except, of course, the small detail that Pearl set this up. That , I’ll never forget. Steal my dream wedding and marry my ex? Water under the bridge. Force me to spend the next few days with Father Christmas? Too far!

“I’m sure he’ll be okay. Seemed like a guy who could take a few good hits.”

He looked more like a mountain than Santa Claus. For some reason, the Santa Claus that had been sitting beneath the gorgeous Christmas tree in the park launched himself over the wall of the ice rink, slipped, and then knocked himself out cold.

“Shame,” he says, thumbing the steering wheel. “Thought we’d be able to get a good portrait of us on his lap.”

I wish he were joking but he’s not. I wouldn’t be surprised if he had a Christmas list tucked into his coat pocket so he could hand-deliver it.

“Yeah, maybe next year,” I say, sighing.

“Don’t worry, this surprise is going to be great. Do you want a hint?”

No, not really. If the stables, barn, horse pastures, and workers kitting out sleighs didn’t give it away, the drive here did. The man couldn’t stop humming Jingle Bells . A drive that took over an hour in this snow. A drive where we listened to nothing but Christmas music.

But it wasn’t just any Christmas music. It was his Christmas music. His renditions where he plays all the instruments, sings everything, and like the sweater I’m wearing, produced it all by himself. And now, tucked away in my purse, is my very own signed copy to commemorate this occasion. How can one girl be so lucky?

Before I have a chance to respond, he blurts, “A one-horse open sleigh ride. I’m sorry, I couldn’t keep it a secret any longer.”

“Great,” I say. “I had no idea.”

I hate to be a downer, and I hate that I’m so grumpy. This should be fun, and I should be happy that someone else is going out of their way to create a day like this, even if it is a little over the top. I know how difficult and time-consuming it is to schedule everything. It’s exactly what I’ve tried to do with Pearl.

Wait. It’s exactly what I did with Pearl. Am I Mr. Christmas to Pearl? Oh. God. I am. No wonder she wanted to spend the rest of the time before the wedding without me. And no wonder she thought that this man would be my perfect match. She thinks Christmas is everything to me, but it’s so not. Christmas is not my identity—it’s his —and that’s why we’re so incompatible.

As much as I love the holiday, I don’t want to spend every day thinking about it. Singing about it. Or anything else. And after this holiday season is over, I think I might be taking a little vacation from it. Maybe. Probably not, but I’ll happily spend it on my own so I can celebrate how I’d like to and without being judged by my family for not having settled down.

“And I packed a lunch to share once we get to the gazebo.”

“Did you make it yourself?” I have to ask because it seems like there’s nothing this man doesn’t make.

“Afraid not,” he says, shrugging. “I’m a terrible cook, but I made the eggnog. I’ve been spending the entire year getting it right. I don’t want a repeat of last year.”

I’m not sure I want to ask, although knowing Evan, I think he’ll end up telling me?—

“Caught salmonella.”

Right on cue.

“That’s… not good.”

“Yeah, I used the wrong eggs, and next thing you know, everything that could?—”

“Wow, I’m so excited to go on this sleigh ride with you,” I not-so-elegantly redirect, but I’m over the oversharing. I know more about this man’s medical history than mine.

“I have another surprise too.”

Add surprises to the list of things I’ll be giving up in the new year.

“But I don’t want to spoil it.”

Okay… What time is it again? It feels like I’ve lived an entire lifetime today, but I have a feeling I’m about to live another.

“He’s a great horse, Rudolph,” Hank says, giving the extremely large horse a few stiff pats on its thick neck.

“What kind of horse is he again?” I say, swallowing hard as I stare at the behemoth.

“Clydesdale,” he says, stroking his gray, grizzled beard. “He’s a bit of a runt, but he’s lived longer than any of his kin.” He gives Rudolph a few more pats and then shoves his face into his shoulder. “You’re an old man now, aren’t you?”

“Pulling us won’t be too hard on him?”

“Oh, no,” Hank says. “This is Rudolph’s favorite time of year. Loves pulling sleighs. He’d do it year-round if he could.” A few more pats. “I wouldn’t hear the end of it if I untacked him. Couldn’t think of a better horse for you two.”

I’m a little more relieved. I went on a sleigh ride earlier this week with Pearl and Henry. Well, I watched them. I wasn’t about to be the third wheel on that excursion. But when they came back, Henry whisked Pearl back to the hotel because she felt ill from the movement and the smell of… well, the horse’s normal bodily functions.

I’m not exactly looking forward to this but I don’t mind trying. Besides, Hank seems like an interesting character, and I wouldn’t mind having someone else to help break up all the Christmas talk.

“Well,” Hank says, “I’ll leave you to it.”

Evan steps forward, shaking Hank’s hand. “Thanks again.”

“Wait, what?” I ask the air because Hank’s leaving and Evan’s hopping into the sleigh.

“A word of warning,” Hank says, turning back to us. “Rudolph’s as brave as they come. Stared down a pack of wolves a few years back. But if he catches sight of a chipmunk, rabbit, or well…” Hank scratches his head. “Any small woodland critter, he takes off with a fright. But you know what to do, don’t you, Evan?”

“That I do, Hank. That I do.”

But I don’t. Before I have the chance to figure out this esoteric knowledge, Hank turns around and trudges back to the stables, whistling Let it Snow .

“Surprise!” Evan says, extending a gloved hand to me. “Slipped him a hundred bucks to let me do this. We’re going to have a great time.”

The nervous energy collecting in my stomach and chest disagrees. He helps me inside the ruby-red sleigh as I once again tell myself that it couldn’t possibly get any worse. But that’s quickly dashed when the sleigh lurches from a dead stop and then breaks hard, flinging me into the front of the sleigh.

“Sorry,” he says. “I’m a little rusty, and I’m not familiar with Rudolph. We’ll work out the kinks, won’t we boy?”

Wouldn’t it have been nice to have someone who does this for a living and more than a decade of experience with this particular horse guide our sleigh? Too much to ask, huh?

“You have done this before, right?” I gust out, dusting myself off.

“Of course,” he says, gently tugging the reins.

I sigh, glancing around as Rudolph slows his pace, and I can’t be sure what time of day it is because it has been nothing but dull gray since this morning. Time has passed though, right? I pinch myself, wondering if I’m inside the most realistic nightmare, a Groundhog’s Day time loop, or some other phenomena but the sharp pain is enough to disabuse me of that notion.

And if that wasn’t enough, Evan, out of thin air, yet again, whips out a Bluetooth speaker. His infamous Christmas masterpiece slithers into my ear canals like a funnel filled with broken glass, jagged candy canes, and tears shed for what Christmas this year could have been.

“Are you sure you don’t want any of the eggnog?” Evan asks me as he offers me a cup.

I’d expect there to be steam coming from it but there isn’t. A cool cup of eggnog is not exactly what I’m looking for in this kind of weather. “I think I’ll pass.”

He shrugs, takes a big sip, and then chews .

Now I’m not exactly an expert on eggnog. I never had a taste for it until I had Bert’s, but I’m almost certain that it shouldn’t be chewed. No liquid should. Especially liquid that has milk and eggs.

I swallow the bile rising in my throat, shove my gloved hands inside my coat pockets, and glance around the winter wonderland around me. I need to focus on something other than the sound of Evan chewing scrambled eggnog.

The sleigh ride has been surprisingly pleasant. We’ve navigated the well-tread tracks with relative ease. There hasn’t been a single Clydesdale-sized fart in the last five minutes, and the speaker thankfully ran out of batteries ten minutes ago, so I think I might make it out of this with my sanity intact.

“Is it legal to drink and sleigh drive?” He thinks I’m flirting, but I’m not. I’m wondering if I’ll have to take the reins at some point.

“I don’t think there are any elves to pull us over,” Evan says. “Anyways, it’s non-alcoholic.”

Another swig. More chewing. A little coughing and sputtering.

“How is it?” I ask tentatively.

“Different,” he says. “I had some of it a few days ago before boarding the plane and it tasted fantastic.”

He takes another drink, grimacing as he swallows, and for a brief moment, I think I’m going to be sick.

“It’s the same batch,” I mutter, less of a question than a statement of fact. A statement of complete disbelief. A statement that… Oh my god.

“It keeps, right?” he asks, glancing at the thermos. “I read that online.”

“Refrigerated, sure. With alcohol, even longer. But…”

I’m not sure what to say at this point because he’s still drinking the stuff, sighing and— ugh , I think I threw up in my mouth a little—burping.

“You know it gets better the more I have,” he says, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

“Are we almost to the pavilion?” I ask, hoping to redirect the conversation away from eggnog.

“Almost there,” he says before burping yet again. “Excuse me. It’s sitting a little heavy in my stomach.”

Then why are you still drinking it?! I turn my head, focusing again on the snowscape around me, thinking happy thoughts, wishing for all of this to come to an end. But my wishes seem to shatter as Rudolph lets out a foul fart that I can taste.

Whoever thought sleigh rides were romantic never went on one with Rudolph. He neighs and Evan coughs. When I glance at Evan I swear he’s turned a few shades lighter. A little greener and sweatier.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine,” he mutters quickly before closing his mouth, cheeks expanding as he cringes.

What do I do? Should I bail out? Can I bail out?

“Oh, god,” Evan moans, clutching his stomach as he lets go of the reins.

“How do we stop?” I ask. “We should stop.”

“Whoa,” he whimpers.

“Whoa, what?”

“Say it and pull the reins. Oh, god it’s happening again,” he whines curling into the fetal position next to me.

I leap into action, grabbing the reins and tugging at them as I yell, “Whoa, Rudolph. Whooooooa!”

And to my surprise, it works. And not a moment too soon. Evan leaps out of the sleigh, stumbling in the snow on all fours. I close my eyes because I don’t want to see what happens next. Too bad I can’t lop off my ears.

“Burns,” he cries. “In my nose- hurghleburbleurghhh. ”

And for the first time this sleigh ride, I wish that the Bluetooth speaker worked. I’ll take Evan’s solo rendition of Baby, It’s Cold Outside over him emptying his stomach in the snow any day of the week.

“Oh god, it’s coming out the other way. Why did I wear so many layers?”

Now it’s my turn to curl into a fetal position. I know I haven’t been on many dates, but from my limited experience, I’m almost positive that no one has had a date like this. And this is just the first day. I’m supposed to endure nearly a week of this. I’m supposed to sleep in the same cabin as this man. I’m supposed…

“I quit,” I mutter out loud, hoping Juliet will pop out of thin air and rescue me. Ha ha! It’s a prank. But no dice. Instead, I pull out my phone, open up my text conversation with my sister, type out those same two words, and hit send. Unfortunately, there’s no service out here, so it doesn’t send, but it’s all prepped and ready to go the moment it returns.

I’ve been a good sport. I’ve done everything to make sure my sister has had the time of her life, all the while I’ve swallowed my pride and not to mention my dream wedding to make her happy.

I’m done. Over it. Goodbye. Oh, no. I hear chittering. I hear Hank’s gruff warning reverberating in my ears. “…Woodland critters…” I glance at Rudolph. He’s standing sturdy. Unflappable. Phew . But the chittering is growing louder. It’s almost louder than the sloppy sounds coming from Evan.

“Easy, Rudolph,” I whisper, standing up to give him another once-over.

His ears are twitching. His tail is flicking. Those big clompers and chompers are moving up and down as he turns his head toward the noise. And then I see them—chipmunks. More than a dozen of them are racing towards us.

“Rudolph,” I beg as he starts to whinny. “Rudolph, please,” I cry when rears up on his haunches. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, ” I scream as he rips the reins from my hands and takes off into the forest like a horse possessed, sending me backward into the sleigh.

This is it. I’m going to die out here. I have no idea where I am, and all that I have is a broken Bluetooth speaker, a worthless cell phone, eggnog not fit for human consumption, and a sack of food that I’m not sure is any better.

And that voice inside my head pipes up again: At least it can’t get any worse…

As I slowly trudge through snow that’s up to my knees, all I can think about is how I need to silence that voice because once again, it got worse. I can hardly see a thing with the wind blowing, kicking up icy snow. My cheeks are frozen. Both pairs. And I’m fairly certain I’ll have frostbite on all of my extremities unless I get eaten by wolves first.

At least it can’t— SHUT IT!

Phew. That felt a little better. But only for a moment as I continue trudging along, clutching my coat as though it’s doing anything. I’ve never seen this much snow before. I’ve never been so cold before. My jeans are soaked along with my gloves. And the reality of my situation is beginning to settle in.

I’m going to die. Seriously. There’s no one around me. Rudolph abandoned me hours ago when he leaped over a fallen log and the sled hit it, catapulting me out of the sleigh and into a snow drift. It took me a good ten minutes to dislodge myself.

And now I’m hopelessly lost in the wilderness with nothing and no one to save me. I tried to backtrack, following the path Rudolph took but after a few minutes, it disappeared, covered up with the freshly fallen snow.

Freshly fallen snow makes it seem nice. The kind of snow you could watch, snuggled up in a cozy chair, in front of a crackling fire as you dig into a nice book, sip hot cocoa, and listen to Bing Crosby singing about his dreams of a white Christmas.

But this snow is nothing like that. This snow… Now I’m hallucinating. I have to be. There’s light in the distance and traces of smoke.

See? I told— SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP!

I’m tired. I’m cold. I’m starving. But I’m heading for whatever that tiny beacon of light in the distance might be. Slowly, it grows larger. The smoke thickens. And eventually, I make it to a cabin. But I’m still pretty sure I’m hallucinating because now I’m hearing Christmas music. It’s faint and muffled but there’s no question I hear Santa Claus Is Coming to Town. And for some reason, I start singing it because why not?

The words come out faintly through chattering teeth as I make my way, inch by inch, to the front door. It’s painful to bend my knees, but as I grab the railing, I finally make it up the steps.

I can feel the warmth. I can smell something amazing. And when I knock on the door, I’m hoping for a miracle. But if the owner of this cabin is some crazed serial killer, great. At least my last memory won’t be of Evan spewing rotten eggnog over snow.

I knock again and again, unsure if I’m even making a sound with my gloved hands.

“Heege makefin fa lishp. Checkfin ih tice. Go fie ow ew nahee uh nife.” With my face and lips frozen, the lyrics are gibberish. And what little breath I use for them makes me feel faint. I see bright twinkling lights. I see stop motion Rudolph and the rest of the reindeer pulling a sleigh as they fly around my head. I see the door open.

I see… Santa Claus?