“My organs are liquefying from stress. I can feel it happening.”
He chuckles. “That’s not how organs work.”
I check my phone again. Still nothing. “What if they don’t make it? What if something happened? What if Scot did something else and they’re hurt or?—”
“Hey.” Chris turns me to face him, his hands on my shoulders. “They’re coming. Kane and Noel are the best at what they do. If anyone can pull off a miracle, it’s them.”
I force myself to actually stare out at the crowd instead of just seeing a blur of anxiety-inducing faces. Children are laughing, pointing at the decorations, their eyes wide with wonder. Couples are swaying to the choir music. People are smiling, genuinely happy to be here.
I did this. I coordinated all of this. Whatever happens with the reindeer, this moment exists because of my work.
It helps. A little.
“Thank you,” I whisper. “I really needed to hear that.”
“I know.” He presses a kiss to my temple.
My eyes keep drifting to the street at the edge of the square, scanning desperately for any sign of a familiar truck, faces, or a certain troublemaking reindeer who’d better appreciate everything I’ve gone through for him.
Then I see them.
Kane and Noel, sprinting down the street toward the square like demons are chasing them.
And Noel is carrying Corn Dog in his arms. The animal’s legs dangle awkwardly, his head bobbing with each of Noel’s powerful strides.
Relief rushes through me. I give Margaret a thumbs-up with probably way too much enthusiasm, and I see her signal to someone near the sound system. The choir music begins to shift, transitioning into the processional piece we rehearsed.
“They made it,” Chris breathes.
Noel reaches the edge of the crowd, panting hard, sweat on his face despite the freezing temperature, and sets Corn Dog down on the ground?—
And Corn Dog immediately bolts.
My heart plummets. “No, no, no?—”
The reindeer takes off running, weaving between startled audience members who jump out of his way with surprised yelps and nervous laughter.
Chris is already moving, ready to chase him down, except?—
Wait.
Corn Dog is running directly toward me.
Not away into the crowd to wreak havoc or to the food vendors or the shiny decorations. Straight toward where I’m standing near the stage like I’m a beacon calling him home.
People are pointing at him, phones appearing everywhere to capture the moment. Children are squealing with delight, calling out, “Rudolph! Rudolph!” even though he doesn’t have a red nose.
I step forward, dropping to one knee on the cold cobblestones. “Come here, buddy! Come on!”
He rushes to me like I’m the only person in the entire world who matters, his hooves clattering on the snow-cleared stones, and I barely have time to brace myself before he’s there. He almost bowls me over completely, his momentum carrying usboth backward, but I manage to stay upright and wrap my arms around his neck.
He licks my face with his rough tongue, and I’m laughing. “Oh, I missed you too, you ridiculous creature. I’m so glad you could make it.”
He unleashes that happy bleating sound, nuzzling against me like we’ve been separated for years instead of hours, and I swear on everything I own that this reindeer is smiling.
Cameras are flashing everywhere. Everyone is watching and filming, and for once, the attention doesn’t make me want to crawl into a hole.
“Okay, superstar,” I whisper in his ear. “Ready to do your thing? Don’t make me look bad.”
