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“Except maybe gumdrops,” he said, spinning and dropping a bag of the goodies on the table.
“Oh, my Lord, I think I love you, Lance Garland,” I sighed, grabbing a handful of the treats and popping one in my mouth.
I noticed his shoulders stiffen but he didn’t say anything, which had me playing my words back in my head.Good gosh darn, what is wrong with you?Rather than try to fix my faux pas, I moved on.
“I have to say, tacos and gumdrops in the same night is going to put a few more pounds on these thighs.”
“There’s nothing wrong with your thighs,” he said, flipping the stove knob off. “You’re perfect just the way you are. How would you stand on your feet for hours in the bakery on little chicken legs?”
I snorted and almost choked on a gumdrop. “Good point. On that note, I’ll have a few more of these little babies.”
He pointed at the fridge. “Would you grab a couple bottles of pop? I’ll have a root beer.”
“Sure.” I brushed off my hands and dug out the pop. Root beer for the win. When I turned back to put them on the table, he had a pan sitting there, with bags inside. “Walking tacos!” I exclaimed with excitement. “I love walking tacos. Oh, tell me you added pico de gallo.”
“Do I look dumb?” he asked, laughter on his lips. “I know how you take your tacos.”
“Why walking tacos, though?”
He shifted from one foot to the other before he answered. “I thought you might like to go for a walk through the park. It’s a nice night out and we won’t have many more where we can walk and eat at the same time.”
“I love that idea. Let me grab my coat and shoes.”
We both bundled up appropriately for the forty-degree temps, grabbed our tacos and drinks, and headed out. With the pop in my pocket, I had two hands for eating and I moaned with every bite. “Damn, Lance. I don’t know what your secret is with tacos, but yours are always twice as good as Mason’s. What do you do to them?”
“Not telling,” he said, screwing the cap back on his bottle. “I don’t want it getting back to Mason.”
I shoulder bumped him as we reached the entrance to the park. “I promise not to tell him.”
“Come to think of it, it wouldn’t matter if you did. There’s no way he can replicate my recipe. I have a special mix of pickled peppers and green chiles that I use. It’s worth the extra time every time.”
I pointed at the almost empty bag with my fork. “Without question.”
We finished our dinner and tossed the empty bags in the trash can as we walked on towards the gazebo in the middle of the park. “Do you believe in the legend?” I asked out of the blue.
“What legend?”
“The legend of the Bells Pass Gazebo.”
“Ahh,” he said with laughter. “I mean, technically, a legend implies a story or myth that’s not true. I think the gazebo has proven itself over the years. We’ve had five couples fall under its spell just in our circle. Imagine how many we don’t know about that found love under its roof. It has to have some secret power to bring two people together.”
“Strange, isn’t it?” I asked. “Even Becca and Cam fell victim to it last year and Becca tried hard not to fall in love!”
We both chuckled as the building came into view and a smile worked its way to my face immediately. “Regardless, I love the little building. It makes me smile every time I see it. I can’t wait to see it all decorated for Christmas and the tree lit up in its blue holiday wonder.”
“Oddly enough, I can’t either.”
“Why is that odd?” I asked, climbing the stairs with him.
His shrug told me a lot, but his words filled in the blanks. “I thought the holidays were going to be impossible for me to cope with this year, but the closer we get to Thanksgiving, the more I’m looking forward to it. Again, maybe it’s my brain that doesn’t always connect things right, but my mom loved Christmas. Our last name is Garland after all,” he said with laughter. “And I think celebrating the holiday is a better way to honor her than with sadness and depression through the whole season.”
I rested my hand on his chest and smiled. “I love that idea. It has nothing to do with the way your brain connects things and everything to do with the fact that you knew your mom the best. You know that she wants you to be happy and the holidays always make you happy.” I saw my chance to bring up the book, so I took a deep breath and went for it. “Speaking of your mom’s love for Christmas, I wanted to run something by you.”
He walked to the railing by the big tree and propped his bottom up on it, motioning for me to go ahead. “Well, you know I found the book, right?” I asked and he nodded. “When I got to the last few pages, I realized that she’d already put her thoughts down about the display she wanted this year. I suspect it was shortly after she found out about her diagnosis.”
I pulled it from my back pocket and opened the book, handing it over to him and pointing at the images and descriptions. He handed it back to me and swallowed before he spoke. “Could you read it? I don’t see well in low light like this.”
“Oh, sure,” I said, standing next to him so I could point at the pictures. “She planned on keeping it simple this year with lights on the house and front bushes, but the main display in the yard being just baby Jesus,” I said pointing at her crudely drawn image, “in Mary’s arms. She wanted a spotlight on them and then on Christmas Eve, at the edge of the yard, the three wisemen.”
