Disclaimer for the entire story: Sadly, I do not own Strange Magic, although I do have the DVD that I play once a week. All names and places are coincidental.
Happy Holidays Everyone! My late work for Christmas, although since it also has New Year's in it then it's not too late. Enjoy the new year and many blessings! Constructive advice is appreciated but please refrain from criticism. Enjoy!
P.S. There's a part inspired by a lovely piece of artwork on Tumblr (which I can't find now that I'm looking for it).
This does not give a person reassurance to a stable government.
Marianne blinks in shock at the scene before her through the open office door of Sombreville's mayor. Here she was, coming to greet Bog a day earlier than planned to find said man playing poker with one of his aides during office hours. She tries to stifle her laughter at the odd sight but a snicker breaks through and both men look up.
"Marianne! You're early," Bog states, a smile replacing his previous frown. "Dawn said that you wouldn't be able to make it until tomorrow."
"I did a little overtime and got that stubborn van fixed earlier than expected. The joy of owning your own garage is that no one can tell you to quit when the other owner already left for their vacation," Marianne explains with a smirk. "Should the mayor really be playing poker with the mayor's aide during working hours, though? It doesn't give reassurance to a stable government that Beaker is beating you."
"He is not beating me," Bog grumbles.
"I've won two hands already," Beaker corrects. "It's nice to see you again, Miss Marianne. Mayor Roi has been grumpier than usual and it's affecting his playing ability."
"I am not grumpy, Beaker, and my playing ability isn't affected," Bog grouses before showing his hand.
The mayor's aide snickers at Bog's full house and slams his royal flush onto the table. Cackling at the taller man's look of disbelief, Beaker smooths back his caramel-blonde hair before clearing the cards away. Now that the mayor's not-girlfriend is here, he no longer has a job to distract the sulking man from his disappointment that she didn't arrive with her family yesterday.
"Are you going to stay in Sombreville for your whole vacation or are you going to head to the ski resort to be with your family," Beaker questions?
"That depends on Bog," Marianne answers.
"On me? What for," Bog asks?
"No room in the inn. Plum did offer to call Griselda," Marianne comments, chuckling at both men's look of horror. "Don't worry, I told her that I'll check with you first."
"No problem. You can stay in my guest room," Bog offers. "I'll take an early lunch break and let you drop your things off. I'll be back in an hour, Beaker."
"Don't bother. You and I both know that there really isn't anything left to do today since it is Christmas Eve," Beaker remarks. "Go ahead and take the rest of the day off. I'll call if something comes up that they need you specifically."
Marianne grins as she watches Bog gather his papers together while at the same time ignoring Beaker's look of exasperation. Clearly, those papers aren't that important. It may have been three weeks ago since she last saw Bog in-person during that fateful Thanksgiving weekend but she knows with certainty that he is dedicated to his job. He even confessed to her during one of their many phone conversations that he didn't feel right about giving someone else more work than they needed and would take on duties that weren't his mayoral responsibilities. It's just one more thing to like about the guy.
"By the way, what happened to the law you said you passed that prohibited public displays of affections," Marianne questions, pointing to the kissing bough hanging from the doorway?
"The law is mostly ignored during the Christmas and Valentine holidays and the police turn a blind eye to it," Beaker chuckles.
"Mother is in charge of the decorating during the holidays," Bog groans. "Uncle Brutus is too afraid to arrest his own sister-in-law and so is every one of his deputies."
"But who says that we can't just ignore the tradition? Not like someone really will get bad luck if they refuse a kiss," Marianne comments.
"I told you, Sombreville residents love traditions and you won't find one that will ignore any tradition that doesn't bring harm," Bog remarks, donning his wool pea coat. "The only safe public area is the Primrose Diner because Lizzie refuses to put kissing boughs up. Everywhere else, if you don't want to be kissed, you merely avoid walking in the middle of the doorways."
Marianne slaps her hand over her mouth to contain her laughter as Bog and Beaker exit the office sideways, hugging the door frame and avoiding the hanging ball of doom. Just when she thought that Sombreville couldn't get more charming then it shows more of its unique character. She can't wait to see how the rest of her vacation goes.
If anyone asks about his red face, Bog will swear that it's because of the cold weather and has nothing to do with the petite brunette putting her suitcase in the back seat of his truck. It definitely has nothing to do with her climbing into his passenger seat as if it is a perfectly natural thing to do or with her beaming smile at him as he loads her other suitcase in before taking his own seat. Absolutely not.
"Are you sure that no one will have a problem with me keeping the rental parked here," Marianne asks?
"No problem," he reassures. "I'll just make sure that everyone who needs to know knows that it isn't abandoned. The road to my place may be plowed but it isn't really suitable for cars during the winter. I am surprised that you didn't rent another truck, though."
"They didn't have one available but I figured that if you had plans of showing me anything we missed three weeks ago then you'd probably take me in your truck anyway," she comments.
"If you feel inclined to put up with my company then I definitely have plans to show you parts of Sombreville that you haven't seen yet but it won't be by truck," Bog remarks. "Why waste the opportunity to enjoy the snow."
"Snowmobile," Marianne questions?
"Goblin will be hurt by your lack of faith in him," Bog chuckles.
"A sleigh ride," Marianne asks excitedly, beaming at his nod? "You didn't tell me that Goblin could pull a sleigh."
"It slipped my mind," he murmurs. "Goblin is a horse of many talents, including pulling a sleigh. He and I may not have spent as much time together as we used to since I became mayor but I took him out the other day to make sure that we aren't too rusty to give you an enjoyable ride."
"I can't wait to see Goblin again," she remarks. "Can we go for a ride today? I mean, if it's okay with you."
Bog grins at Marianne's excitement as he drives through his bustling little town. He knew that she would love the idea. It was love at first sight when he introduced her to the grey Percheron that Thanksgiving afternoon and even his sensible stallion turned into a love-sick colt at the adoring attention.
"If I didn't know better, I would think that you liked me for my horse," Bog teases.
"Of course," Marianne drawls, snickering at his fake-hurt look.
"Good thing that I don't have a phone in the barn then or you'd just talk to Goblin instead," he huffs.
His fake-hurt attitude doesn't last long and the truck fills with laughter. Strange that he missed this these past three weeks. They only spent a few hours together for three days and somehow it became so normal to have her riding the passenger seat of his truck and conversing as if they knew each other for years. Sparse phone calls when neither wasn't burdened down with work helped ease the ache but he definitely had missed her being present.
"So, you mentioned something about a surprise the last time we talked," Marianne comments. "Were you talking about the sleigh ride or something else?"
"Something else but it is kind of involved with the sleigh ride," he hints. "You'll find out when we get to my house and after you settle your things into the guest room. I have the room all set up already because I was planning on offering that you stay with me instead of paying a Plum's since you are my guest but with our busy schedules for the past four days, we haven't had the chance to talk. I do warn you, though, I might have a few habits that might irritate you since I haven't lived with a housemate in years."
"I still live with my father and little sister," she reminds. "Trust me, Bog, I have a high tolerance to annoying habits. I don't mind staying with you as long as you don't mind. Besides, it's a better alternative than driving twenty miles one way from The Snow Fields to come to visit since Plum's Bed and Breakfast is full."
"At least you don't have to worry about kiss-attacks because of kissing boughs. I think Plum has one of those cursed things in every doorway and some throughout the main rooms," Bog chuckles.
"Seriously? And here I thought that city hall was bad," Marianne mutters.
"Even I can't avoid her sneaky traps, so I just avoid going anywhere near that building until the decorations are gone, everyone does," he confesses. "You'll be a town hero for managing to get out of Plum's without getting kiss-attacked."
"I didn't actually walk into Plum's Bed and Breakfast," she admits. "I called from the airport to reserve a room and she told me that she didn't have any rooms left. I had told Dawn to reserve a room for me starting for tomorrow but Plum said that all her rooms were booked for the next several days."
Bog tries to smother the laughter wanting to surface. He couldn't very well assume Plum is lying since it is possible that some newcomers did show up but he is quite sure that she had no one yesterday when Mr Crown showed up with his younger daughter and her boyfriend. Neither did she have anyone when they left this morning to head toward the ski resort after a visit.
That sneaky woman is just as bad as his parents. Not that he's complaining.
Marianne takes a deep breath of chilly mountain air after exiting the warm truck. She really missed this place since her return to the city. Funny how only a few days could make a place seem more like home than a place she lived in her whole life. She ignores the oddness of the feeling and grabs one of her suitcases before Bog manages to grab them both.
"You didn't put up any outside decorations," she comments, pointing to the snow-covered lawn.
"I never do," Bog admits. "This is the only house within a mile and the road does get a bit tricky in the winter, so I rarely have visitors. I help Mom and Dad decorate their house instead."
"So even the strict mayor helps put up kissing boughs," Marianne teases, remembering the large cabin they passed.
"Not a chance," he snorts.
"Then how did Griselda even get it up in the tree? She's shorter than me," she points out.
"Dad is six-eight and a willing accomplice," Bog quips. "There is also the fact that he's the fire chief, remember?"
"Please tell me that we're going to stop by their place during your tour. I really want to get pictures of their decorations," Marianne remarks. "All of the houses are decorated beautifully but theirs is definitely the best."
"I think Mom would strangle me with any leftover tinsel if I don't bring you over," he chuckles. "She's been excited at you returning to Sombreville and has been bugging me these past few days to make sure that you're coming. We'll stop by around this evening because she should be at Primrose helping with the holiday baking for most of the day."
Marianne nods her acknowledgment and barely keeps from prancing as Bog unlocks the door to his house. Despite everything Bog had shown her three weeks ago, she hasn't seen the inside of his cabin yet but she just knows that it will be as beautiful as the outside. Trying to contain her excitement, she steps into the warm house and peers around before blinking in shock.
How odd.
It is definitely as beautiful as she thought with its wooden floors and walls and the fabulous large fieldstone fireplace, especially with the large windows letting in the natural light, but she can't help but notice something missing amidst the large living room. Turning to question Bog, Marianne takes in his nervous demeanor and smiles reassuringly.
"Your house is lovely, Bog," she comments, smiling wider at his sigh of relief.
"Good. I mean, I'm glad you like it," Bog murmurs. "I was a little worried because you looked a little disappointed. I know it's not as spectacular as Plum's or even as nice as Mom and Dad's..."
"I love your house," Marianne reassures, stopping his rambling lips with her finger. "I was just a little surprised about you not having any Christmas decorations, that's all."
"Oh, that," he mumbles, licking his lips after she removes her finger. "I wasn't entirely certain that you would want to stay here or I would have put up decorations. I'm sure Thang's dad still has at least one tree left. We can go pick one up during the sleigh ride and get some decorations as well."
"You don't have to do that for me, Bog," she insists. "It's your home and..."
"It's fine, Marianne," Bog reassures, grinning as she goes cross-eyed to look at his silencing finger. "Since I became mayor, I don't really spend much time home anymore and nobody is here to appreciate the beauty, so I just haven't put up any decorations in the past three years. How about I show you the guest room and I'll go hunt down my old decorations while you unpack? Then we'll know for sure what we need for the tree."
"I called Thomas and he said that he saved a tree for me since he thought that I might want it. He'll have it ready by the time we make it to his place," Bog comments over his shoulder.
"How did he figure that you might want it," Marianne questions?
"I wonder," he mutters lowly before clearing his throat. "Thang might have told him something. Or Mom or Dad said something. There's also Stuff and Beaker and Uncle Brutus, as well as Plum and Ignatius. Everybody knows everybody's business, so it's hard to tell who told him."
Bog can't help but join Marianne's laughter as it rings through the air as they make their way to the small barn behind his house. He can already see his stallion craning his neck around the side to view the company and he can only pray that Goblin doesn't spoil the surprise with all his excitement as he prances in the paddock.
"I don't mean to doubt Goblin's ability but are you sure that pulling a sleigh and hauling a tree won't be too much for him," Marianne asks?
"No problem at all," he reassures. "The tree we're going to be picking up is a live potted six-foot Fraser fir and it's roughly about two-hundred-and-fifty pounds. Percherons can pull twice their weight by themselves, so a little plant is definitely not too much for my horses."
"Potted Christmas trees? I've never heard of it," she admits.
"It's better than having a dead tree for the holidays and it's better for the environment since they get replanted once they get too big to stay healthy in containment," Bog explains. "Thomas got the idea several years ago and now mostly sells potted trees for Christmas. Though, he will cut down a tree if someone wants it but that's usually by outsiders since Sombreville residents have gotten fond on the live tree idea."
"Sounds lovely," Marianne comments as he opens the small door. "We had real Christmas trees when Dawn and I were kids but Mom disliked the mess they made and we switched to fake trees before I hit junior high school. We don't let having a fake tree ruin our joy and Dad even hangs pine air fresheners on the tree to make it more lifelike. Dawn tried to talk us into a white tree this year but Dad and I said that that was going too far."
"Didn't you tell me that you had your Christmas decorations up before you went on your Thanksgiving vacation," he questions, sighing at her nod? "It gets a bit crazy around the holidays and I couldn't remember if you had told me that or if I had dreamt it."
"Aw, Bog, are you dreaming about me," she teases?
He's sure that he looks like a deer-in-headlights at the moment. He really should listen to his mother's advice and get more sleep. Of all the idiotic things to say. How could he say something so stupid? It made him sound like a pervert.
Bog flounders for a sensible answer but Marianne doesn't notice his flustered state as she enters the barn through the door that he's holding open for her. The grey stallion thunders back into his stall through the stall's open door to greet the visitors before directing Marianne's attention to the stall next to his.
"Oooh, you didn't tell me about her," she accuses, holding her hand to the chestnut Percheron mare!
"Surprise," Bog chuckles! "Marianne, meet Fairy or as she is registered, Fairy Princess. I got her the last week of November and she passed her quarantine three days ago. Now, Goblin won't be so lonely with me being gone most of the time and if they hit it off nicely then in a few years I might get a foal."
"Of course you'll get a foal. The Goblin King is a charmer, aren't you," Marianne croons, petting the stallion?
Bog laughs as the pair of horses push each other away and preen under Marianne's attention. Soon enough, the horses are harnessed and hitched to the sleigh and ringing bells echo off the snow-covered trees as they make their way through the woods.
"I didn't realize that sleigh bells are so loud," Marianne calls out.
"They need to be since they're supposed to warn pedestrians that we're coming," Bog explains. "The loudness depends on the type of bells. The loudest ones are cast petal bells on the body strap but Swedish bells on the hip strap are nearly just as loud. Stamped bells on the neck strap are much softer and more commonly known."
"What about the bells that you have," she asks, pointing to the ringing bells on the horses' backs?
"Those are saddle bells. I figured that I'd only use them since Fairy is new to me and I've only driven her once before," he mentions. "You'll see each type of bell being demonstrated tomorrow during the parade. It gets pretty noisy with everyone but it's good fun with all the sleighs and sleds. Speaking of sleds, did Dawn tell you that they went sled riding with Ignatius yesterday?"
"You know that I turn off my phone when I'm working. Dawn calls me obsessive, as if she doesn't do it herself," Marianne snorts. "I took a nap on the plane, so I forgot to tell them that I finished early but I'll call them when we get back to the house."
"Well, be prepared for your eardrums to ring when she tells you what happened," Bog warns. "She thought that Ignatius' dogs were so cute and the dogs thought Sunny smelled delicious. Who knew that Sunny could run faster than a sled team."
Marianne barely contains her squeal as Bog keeps his arm wrapped around her to provide support as she gingerly handles the reins. It's terrible, really. Back home, she is calm and in control but it seems that the minute Bog comes into her space, she turns into a silly fool.
Meeting Mr Angler was interesting and enlightening since she now knew that Thang was nicknamed by his grandmother to separate the elder and younger Thomas Angler but she couldn't believe how stupid she must have sounded after they got everything into the sleigh. What possessed her to tease Bog about not letting her drive the horses? She didn't even know how to ride a horse, for crying out loud!
And kind, sweet Bog, being so patient and understanding, even offering to let her try. The added bonus of him curling his body around her almost made her embarrassing cockiness worth it if it didn't also turn her into a puddle of girly goo. What was wrong with her? Why couldn't she impress him instead of appearing like an incompetent little girl?
"You're definitely a natural," Bog praises! "While you and Thomas were picking out the extra decorations, I called Primrose Diner for some take-out, so take this road and it will lead you straight to it."
Marianne nods her understanding and gently pulls on the left reins at his instructions. Of course, the kind man also let her pick out the new Christmas decorations to replace the ones that were either broken or too old from the box he dragged out of the attic. Mr Angler was very helpful as she browsed through what he had left in his nursery store and even pointed out the items that he knew Bog loved. Everything is just so perfect and she is just a city-girl with no idea how to fit in in this wonderful little town.
"Just pull up to the door and set the brake," Bog instructs. "I'll run in and get the food and then we can go back to the house for a late lunch."
Jerking from the reins remind Marianne to pay attention to the horses and not the alluring figure of Sombreville's mayor as he retreats into the large building. That man could definitely make winter clothes look good and with any luck, she would get to see him in something other than professional clothing during her two-week stay.
Goblin and Fairy crane their necks to look backward at Marianne's coughing fit.
"Bad, Marianne," she scolds herself. "You've only known the guy for three weeks, so get those kinds of ideas out of your head."
But she couldn't help it! She is going to live with the man for two weeks, after all, and he did inform her that the bedroom doors couldn't be kept closed during the night or the room would get cold. She will have to pass his bedroom to go downstairs and there isn't a way to avoid going passed it when he's in there since the bathroom is next to the kitchen. Just what did he wear to bed? And would he actually forget to close the door while he changed his clothes?
"Hello, Marianne dear," Griselda chimes!
"Oh! Hello, Griselda," Marianne replies, shaking her stupor away.
"Sorry to keep you waiting in the cold for so long. Bog offered to take me home and was waiting for me to finish," Griselda explains. "I just love helping out with the holiday baking but a sensible person knows when they've done enough and I'm not as young as I used to be. It gets a bit hard standing around doing all that after several years."
Marianne smiles warmly at the older woman as Bog helps his mother up into the sleigh beside her. Exchanging the reins for the take-out boxes, Marianne places the items in the insulated box beneath her seat and helps Griselda rearrange the heated lap blanket to accommodate the other riders after making sure that its plug is still connected to the battery. She has to admit that it is a great idea that makes the sleigh ride more comfortable, especially with the added coldness as Bog urges the horses forward.
"Bog told me that you're staying at his house during your vacation," Griselda comments.
"Yeah, Plum's is all full and it's better than staying at The Snow Fields and driving back here to visit," Marianne remarks.
"It's much safer too since the main roads can get a bit icy during snowstorms," Griselda mentions. "It's so nice to have you come back to our town. You were such a delight to be around and everyone is excited to have you back. Though, I hope we're not taking you away from your family. It is the holidays, after all, and you should be with them."
"I plan to spend time with my family tomorrow when they arrive for the parade and then I'll go to The Snow Fields with them after dinner to spend the day there," Marianne reassures. "I see them every day but I won't get to see Sombreville again for several weeks."
"I must say that it is delightful that you like Bog, I mean, Sombreville so much," Griselda remarks innocently.
"Mom," Bog growls, grunting at her retaliatory elbow into his ribs.
"I am so sorry about my mother," Bog murmurs.
"Like I've said the last fifteen times you apologized, it's fine," Marianne chuckles. "You're forgetting that I dealt with both your parents three weeks ago. I figured they would be a little more persistent this time since I am staying for a longer time. A little more to the left."
Despite feeling incredibly embarrassed by his mother, Bog can't keep his frown as he drags the potted tree in front of the large windows with slight altercations from Marianne's instructions. Her declaration of it being perfect makes him breathe a sigh of relief and stretch the tension out of his back. Now he knew how Dad felt. It isn't easy being six-eight and having a woman with an eye for detail.
He's grateful that Marianne turns to inspect the decorations and doesn't notice his red face. Maybe he can play it off as exertion from moving the tree around and not his thoughts running away with him.
He'd only know the girl for three weeks, for goodness sakes! She'd probably throw him in the lake if she knew that he almost forgot that she is his guest and was starting to imagine that they are a couple. His parents are bad enough, he doesn't need to help them make a fool out of himself. At least Marianne didn't hear his mother questioning him about having condoms when he helped her down from the sleigh.
"We better eat lunch first before we start decorating," Bog comments, shaking his thoughts away.
Marianne's groan of disappointment makes him laugh and he pushes the shorter woman toward the kitchen when she directs a longing glance toward the decorations. He just has to be the sensible adult, despite the fact that he wants to finish the tree first as well. There is just something enjoyable about decorating your own Christmas tree with the added magic of Christmas Eve heightening the joy and fresh snow falling outside. To top it off is his pretty guest sharing his table.
Their conversation gets interrupted by a beeping cell phone and Bog grabs the persistent thing. Setting his fork down, he reads the message and furrows his brows.
"That's not good," he mutters.
"What's the problem," Marianne questions?
"A really big snowstorm is forming quickly and they're estimating two to three feet of snow by morning," Bog answers. "Excuse me, I need to call my office and get everybody on alert."
Marianne worries her lip as she watches Bog talk on his cell phone. Coming from a city where snowfall is mild, if not non-existent, she can only imagine how much trouble that much snow could cause. It's one thing to travel to areas with a lot of snow but she didn't have any idea how to handle a situation with a lot of snow coming down in a short period of time.
"That's all done," Bog announces, returning to his lunch. "Beaker, Dad, and Uncle Brutus will get everyone alerted."
"Do you have to return to work," Marianne asks?
"Naw, everything is set up like clockwork and the only thing we can do is get everybody on stand-by and wait," he comments. "I'll take you to get pictures of the town after we get the tree done but it's best that we go by truck instead of the sleigh this time."
"How bad is the storm going to be," she questions, fiddling with her fork?
"Nothing that we can't handle," Bog reassures, placing his hand over hers. "And don't worry about The Snow Fields, either. Uncle Brutus will inform them like he always does and this time they'll be prepared since your father demoted Roland."
Marianne snickers at the reminder of Roland's disgrace. Her father wasn't pleased to find out about all the mistakes the former ski resort manager had actually made during his time of employment, even with the previous owners. Of course, her father was too kind-hearted to fire someone without giving them a chance, especially close to the holidays, and only demoted Roland to the lowest position that was available. Not that being a pot washer is insignificant but for someone who thrives on attention and non-physical work, it's torture for him.
"Chip knows what to do since he comes from Sombreville and I'm sure that he probably had a weather safety plan made the second your father promoted him," Bog continues. "Now, let's finish our lunch or we won't be hungry for Mom's dinner and Dad will complain that he'll get fat from the leftovers."
Laughter chases away the worry momentarily but it lingers in the back of her mind like a dark cloud as the large snowflakes keep falling steadily. Dawn's enthusiasm can't rid her of it when she calls after lunch nor does the meticulous task of decorating the evergreen tree. Even the enjoyment of touring the decorated town fails to calm her unease. The loving and warm atmosphere of the elder Rois' home manages to push it away during her visit with much fun and laughter and the obligatory baby stories.
"You were such a cute baby," Marianne teases as they make their way back to his house.
"I know your father," Bog warns, his frown twitching with the effort to stay on.
"Dad doesn't know where mine and Dawn's baby albums are," she snickers.
"I'm sure Dawn knows," he counters.
Marianne moves to hit his arm but the truck sliding makes her cling to it instead. She keeps her face pressed against the muscular arm as Bog guides the truck steady. Gloved fingers soothe her hair for a moment before returning to the steering wheel and Marianne moves her head slightly to watch as Bog pulls into his driveway. The steady glow from the fireplace fills the living room window and illuminates their Christmas tree in the darkening evening.
"Didn't you turn the porch light on," Marianne questions?
"The electric might have gone off," Bog explains. "It's not a problem since I have a generator for the water and refrigerator but it's a good thing we came back to feed the horses before heading to Mom and Dad's. It's not a fun adventure to feed a hungry behemoth in the dark."
Bog's gentle and reassuring smile soothes her as he helps her out of the truck and guides her through the darkened night towards his home. Her hand feels cold when he momentarily releases it to unlock the door but soon enough, he takes her hand again to tug her into the warm building.
Bog grins down at the soft body curled up against him on the couch. Somehow they wound up in this position last night while watching the flames in the fireplace and he didn't have the heart to wake her up when he woke when the electric came back on in the middle of the night. He had barely managed to escape her clinging hold to put more wood in the fire but trying to carry her to her room only resulted in him being pulled back down onto the couch. He's not complaining since it was the best night's sleep that he had in a long time but alas, all good things must come to an end.
"Marianne," he calls out, chuckling at the responding growl.
"Five more minutes," Marianne grumbles, rubbing her cheek against the flannel-covered chest.
"Come on, tough girl, the cuckoo sounded several minutes ago and we have to get up," Bog counters.
"I'm sleeping, so hush up," she mutters.
Grinning mischievously, Bog dances his fingers on the exposed skin of her neck but yelps himself when she retaliates by running her finger against his back. Her smug grin defeats her claim for being asleep and twinkling amber eyes open to peer into his own twinkling blues.
"Merry Christmas," Marianne murmurs!
"Merry Christmas," Bog responds!
Much laughter fills the cabin as their attempts to untangle themselves from each other only results in them falling to the floor in a heap, courtesy of the blanket that Bog pulled down from the back of the couch. Laughter that keeps going as Marianne insists on helping him with his chores and has to hop into his larger footsteps because of the deep snow. Even fixing breakfast is lighthearted and Bog's persistent thoughts from yesterday return with a vengeance at the tempting glimpse of a future with the feisty girl.
"Dawn says they're going to have to miss the parade," Marianne announces through his closed door. "Chip is advising everyone to wait until the plows get the roads fully clean before traveling on the road."
"She also said that some people are ignoring the warning, correct," Bog guesses?
"Good guess," she chuckles. "Now that the snow stopped falling, Chip is estimating that the roads should be cleared in time for Christmas dinner at Primrose but those headed here might be a little late."
Bog tries hard to keep the smugness off his face at Marianne's appraising look as he exits his room in his black tuxedo. He always thought that he was too tall and too thin to be appealing but it is hard to think that around a woman that looks like she wants to swoon. Not that he is much better since he absolutely loves how beautiful the formal light purple pantsuit looks on her. The draped design of the top nearly sidetracks his moral character but her cheeky grin reminds him that he is a gentleman.
"I'll make sure Lizzie knows to expect a delay from those who registered from The Snow Fields," Bog mutters after clearing his throat. "She can get quite upset about her food going cold, more so than customers, and Pare tries not to deliver unless he's sure that he can get the food there when it's still hot."
Joining the applause from the other occupants of the Primrose Diner, Marianne returns Bog's smile with pride as he steps off the platform. One more thing to add to the list of the great things about the man is his continued reference to the community as a family. Sure, she knew from everyone she has met already that it is a collective belief but Bog makes it more real with his speeches. As if he's one family member addressing another and not a political figure addressing the masses.
"How did you enjoy the parade, dear," Griselda asks?
"It's incredible! I really wish I arrived early enough to have seen the whole parade on Thanksgiving," Marianne comments, turning her attention away from Bog. "Of course, it seems like pyrotechnics is a common theme in all of Sombreville's parades."
"I told you that we like to be a little flashy," Bog chuckles, taking his seat next to her.
"I was wondering about the lack of a Santa Claus in the parade, though," Marianne remarks.
"We used to have one a long time ago," Loch explains. "The town agreed to discontinue it when it was discovered that newer residents and visitors took the tradition too far. We like traditions that don't cause harm but the Santa Claus tradition has gotten to the point that he does cause harm to both children and adults instead of inspiring love and kindness in them. It's all good and fun but there is a point when it's too much."
"I can understand that," Marianne admits. "The Santa Claus tradition has gotten out of control and I've seen kids back home terrified because their parents used the Santa Claus threat. Dad complains about it every so often, one of those these-kids-these-days moments."
"I'm sure that some people were like that when our generation were kids but people didn't really broadcast it as much as nowadays," Griselda comments. "It's a nice thought that someone other than your family cares enough about you to get you a present, especially for kids that don't have many or any family, but some versions that I've heard told to kids make it sound like that even Santa doesn't care at all. So instead of Santa Claus, Sombreville holds a community gifting."
"Community gifting," Marianne repeats?
"Those presents underneath the tree aren't for show," Bog murmurs, pointing to the large decorated fake tree on the raised platform. "The community raises funds throughout the year and each resident gets a gift for Christmas from the entire town of Sombreville once dinner is finished."
"We also include gifts for special guests, too," Loch hints.
"And our dear mayor is the one who hands them all out," Griselda continues. "Unfortunately, Bog says it's too soon for the gift that would make his poor old mother happy."
Marianne laughs as Bog just shakes his head at his grinning parents but her merriment falters as her cell phone starts ringing. A quick look reveals Dawn's number and she quickly picks it up.
"Dawn, what's the...slow down," she orders at the rapid speech! "Dawn? Dawn?"
"What's the matter," Bog asks in concern?
"I'm not sure. She said something about them needing my help but then the phone clicked off," Marianne answers.
"Maybe they're having car trouble and drove into an area with no cell service," Bog suggests.
"Could be," Marianne murmurs. "I'm going to see if I can find them. At least with only one road to The Snow Fields, I won't be able to miss them."
"You better go with her, Bog," Loch suggests. "It'll be easier for her if she can concentrate solely on finding them instead of driving. Be careful."
Nodding her agreement, Marianne quickly heads towards the foyer entrance with Bog closely behind. Neither notice several gazes following their progress or the smug looks as the pair enter the hallway.
"Oh, Bog," Plum calls out! "Look up!"
Marianne freezes at the woman's orders and directs her gaze to the stunned Bog. In unison, the pair quickly looks up to the top of the doorway to stare at the white-berried mistletoe in horror. That was not there before!
"It's tradition, Marianne, and you can't break tradition," Dawn chimes, leaning out of the coat check room and dangling more mistletoe.
"Kiss! Kiss! Kiss," the room starts chanting!
Bog fidgets slightly and scratches the back of his neck before slowly bending down, pausing every few seconds to make sure she doesn't mind. His shyness is endearing but Marianne grins mischievously before grabbing him by his lapel with her right hand and pulls him down to firmly plant her lips on his. She wriggles her left hand behind her back and grins into the kiss at the feel of Dawn placing the leftover mistletoe in it, which she quickly slips into her pants pocket. She has two weeks left to go in Sombreville and that little plant is gonna come in handy.
Tea Blend.