Standing on duty outside the Canadian Consulate in Chicago, Constable Renfield Turnbull allowed his mind to wander. It was one of the perks of sentry duty. When one was unable to move or speak, one got a lot of thinking done. Most of the time, he organized his mental to-do lists and there were a lot of those…shopping, cleaning, scrubbing down the sidewalk again…so much to do.
People passed him, going about their business, the holiday season always busier than any other time of year. Sometimes, tourists stopped to take pictures beside himself or Constable Fraser, when the senior constable was on duty. Such things died down a bit in winter though, as the winds were blustery, but he like the gentle snowfall far more than the sweltering days of high summer.
Today, however, two little girls with fluffy tutus peeking out from beneath their warm winter coats stopped before him. They were twins of about six or seven years old and rather adorable.
"Look, Clara! He's like the Nutcracker Prince!"
One of the little girls called this out to the young woman walking with them. Not old enough to be their mother, her appearance was similar enough to the children to suggest she was a blood relative, an older sister or young aunt. The children were obviously referencing Tchaikovsky's famous ballet and Turnbull had to admit his Red Serge probably did look like the titular characters uniform to the uninformed eye.
"He does, doesn't he?" Clara was indulging the youngsters with a smile as they continued to stare up at him. She glanced at her watch but didn't seem to be in a hurry to rush them along.
Feeling brave, the other child reached out a small, mittened hand and patted his arm. "Wake up!" she exclaimed happily.
Unable to move until the bells chimed to indicate the end of his shift, an event that would be happening very soon, he couldn't play into the children's fancy just yet.
Not deterred, the first child said, "Clara, wake him up! You can, like in the play!"
The older girl laughed. "I'm afraid I don't see any Mouse King for me to slay. How do you suggest I wake your prince?"
The children pulled her down to their height and whispered to her, whatever they were saying made her glance up at him and smile. She was really quite pretty and Turnbull felt a blush rising to his cheeks.
"All right," Clara said to the girls, straightening and glancing at her watch again. "I'll give it a try."
With that, she stepped forward into his space and rose up onto her tip toes. The added height allowed her to press her soft, red lips to his cheek and for a moment, he enjoyed the contact, the warmth and the sweet vanilla smell that seemed to emanated from her honey blond curls.
As she pulled back, the bells chimed in the distance, releasing him from sentry duty.
Allowing a broad smile to cross his features, Turnbull looked down at the expectant children. "Happy Holidays!" he greeted them cheerfully, causing them to jump and squeal happily. "Have you two been good this year!"
"Yes!" they chorused and one continued, "Cause Santa's watching."
He crouched down, aware his height could seem imposing to small children. "Well, that's dandy, but you know, being good is it's own reward, not just a way to curry favor with Santa."
The little girls appeared confused, but nodded and Clara gave him another smile. "Say Happy Holidays," she instructed the girls. "Mom want's you two home for an early supper. Pizza!"
"Happy Holidays," they parroted, waving happily.
Clara reached out and touched his arm. "Thanks," she said softly, then did something that surprised him. Tucking a small card into his hand, she said, "Call me."
Then she was gone, sweeping her sisters off down the street, where the disappeared into the crowd. He knew Constable Fraser often got numbers slipped to him on sentry duty, but it was a new experience for Turnbull and he smiled. It was even worth it later when Inspector Thatcher commented on the lipstick kiss on his cheek.