Realizing Felix and Elizabeth are too far behind to catch up, I jump into action. Fisting my pile of crumbs, I exit the booth and cut around the crowd, slipping through a gap near the cider stand and sprinting to the stage. I reach it just in time to see Skippy gallop up and onto the platform, barreling around the tree in wide, frantic circles.
Mayor Locke dives to safety.
Meanwhile, Mike Hunt, possibly bored with the chase or finally realizing he’s a cat and not a predator drone, leaves Skippy to run in useless circles and leaps into the tree.
Branches shake. Lights flicker. And then—Fzzzt.
Half the tree goes dark.
The glowing star at the top flickers like it’s reconsidering its life choices.
Kind of like I am at the moment.
Mike’s bald little head pops out between two branches about twelve feet up, eyes wide and ears flat like an evil ornament.
Skippy, now untethered from pursuit but still in full panic, keeps running.
I drop to my knees just ahead of him. “Treat!”
His massive paws skid on the snow-dusted stage as he slams to a stop in front of me. Forgetting about the naked predator stalking, he snuffles my jacket, drooling onto my puffer coat with familiar affection.
“Hey, buddy.” I loop one arm under his chest and unfurl the other’s fist of crumbs. “You want a treat?”
They’re gone in one lick.
“I’ll get you more later.” I scratch under his chin with my newly slobbered hand. “A whole pie just for you, okay?”
Skippy gives me a full-body wiggle of agreement, his tail thumping against the snow like a drumroll. He’s still panting, his tongue flopping sideways, when something shifts overhead.
A twitch. A branch shakes.
I look up just in time to see Mike Hunt hurtling toward us like a hairless grenade.
I pull Skippy closer and brace for impact.
However, it doesn’t come in the form of a ten-pound cat, but rather a taller-than-average man in cashmere.
Jack, apparently having followed me, dives forward, arms outstretched like a wide receiver catching a Hail Mary pass made entirely of bad ideas.
The crowd gasps.
Jack’s city-boy loafers hit a pile of pine needles.
I curse.
And then everything happens at once.
“WOOF!”
“Fuck!”
“Meow!”
“What the?—”
We’re a tangled mess of limbs, fur, puffer coat, and ornament carnage. Pine needles rain down like festive shrapnel.
There’s a long, stunned beat.
