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“Aannd here they come now, bestie. Wiley’s driving a trailer over.”
I shovel food into my mouth—not that there is much left on my plate—and drink the last drop of my wine.
“Gwen—?” I run my tongue across my teeth.
“Yes, best friendever?”
I roll my eyes at her sucking up. “Do I have food stuck in my teeth?” I do an open mouth, teeth clench. “Lippy good?”
“Nope, to grotty teeth, and your red lipstick is working hard. It looks like you just applied it. What about me?” She copies me, showing off her pearls. “No red lippy smear?”
“All clear. You look beautiful. Lipstick looks fresh.” Gwen is pure and simple, a fabulous chick. Nothing can taint that—not even food caught in her teeth or smeared lippy.
“Yo!” Angus swaggers around the corner, beaming a smile looking handsome in his red and white Christmas ugly sweater. He marches right on over, holding a selfie stick with his phone attached to the end like he is already filming. “Ho-ho-ho… G’day, and Merry Christmas, sheilas,” he hollers like he is Santa with a Scottish accent before drawing us in for a hug one at a time. Gwen and I both laugh at his use of Aussie slang.
“Merry Christmas, Angus,” we both chirp.
He whistles low, looking us up and down. “My, oh my, ye two sheilas look a sight for a man’s eyes.”
“Angus, you do know, nobody calls femalessheilain Australia, who aren’t seventy and older and live in the outback? And that goes the same for ‘G’day.’” I’m ignoring his visual assessment because I can see the mischievous glint in his eye. He wants us to bite.
“Probably, but how brilliant are both those words? I mean, no other country in the world managed to think up those two ‘you beaut’ corkers. They need to find their way back into the modern Aussie slang.”
“I’ll see what I can organize.”
Angus’s phone pings. He reads the message, grinning the whole time. “Okay, wee bonnie lasses, close yer eyes and no peeking.”
What?“Why?” I would rather keep my eyes open.
“Because I want the full effect when I tell ye to look.” He wiggles his selfie stick. “He-who-shall-not-be-named will be getting a viewing. So be a good sport and shut those eyes.”
“One moment.” I quickly pick up all the leashes for the goats, clip them back onto their collars, and thrust them into Angus’s hand. “Just in case they get spooked, and they go down for the count. Pearl won’t go anywhere.”
“Come on, Ophelia.” Gwen grabs hold of my hands and squeezes them reassuringly.
Gwen leads by example, closing her eyes, even though she is in on it, but she’s playing along. I mean, what have I got to lose?
“Everyone, ye can come on around,” Angus calls out.
I can hear the shuffling of more than one set of feet. “Was that a honking noise, Gwen?” I hiss.
“Boys, let them open their eyes,” says a soft, sweet voice I gather belongs to Paisley.
I don’t wait another second. I peel mine open, which grow rounder by the millisecond, matching the roundness of my mouth, as I silentlyoooh,to find two adorable miniature donkeys and two miniature wooly alpacas watching the two of us with long, thick eyelashes.
“Oh, my—” My hands fly up to my mouth.
The MacDougall twins—Brodie and Knox—are wearing the same ugly sweater as Angus. They have the adorable creatures’ headstalls attached to leashes.
“We might need more words, Ophelia,” Fraser says, who is also wearing the same ugly sweater. “Are your hands covering your mouth a good thing or—?”
“They are adorable,” I whisper, still a little shocked to see four animals wearing bright red Christmas bows on their backs tied with thick, festive sashes around each animal’s belly. “What are their names?”
The twins take it as their cue to walk over the miniatures.
“Ophelia, let me introduce Bill and Ben the alpacas and Bobby and Banjo, the donkeys,” Brodie says.
“Who is who?”
