Not my problem.
I screw up my courage and take another stab at it. “So, where are the best places to ski?”
“Do you really want to know, or are you trying to flirt with me?”
I am so not cut out for this. “I’m trying, and failing, to flirt with you.”
“Give me ten seconds so I can bribe a replacement.” The grin becomes a full-blown smile. “I’ll flirt back.”
I blush, regretting that I’m too far away from the fire to blame it on the heat. I didn’t expect success. Not so quickly.
The bartender’s smile is still in place as he comes out from behind the bar and hands me a glass of Coke. “I’m Kit.”
“Bex.” I take the glass and we do an awkward sort of handshake thing. “Short for Rebecca.”
“I like it.”
“Thanks.” I sip my drink. It’s full to the brim, and loaded with ice.
“Come sit with my friends,” Kit says. “They’re with that guy you walked in with.”
I can’t respond. I’m too stuck between having to sit with Henry and Elke and some random girl, and Kit noticing I came into the pub with Henry. Maybe it’s a bartender thing. Totaling numbers in their head to make sure they’re within fire code or something.
We jostle our way through the crowd. Languages twist together in an exotic chorus, and the sound is pleasant, if surreal.
“Kit!” Elke’s smile flashes a lot of white, but she doesn’t have a good teeth-to-gums ratio, and for some reason this boosts my confidence.
Neither of them introduces their friend.
“Thought we’d join you.” Kit pulls up a wide stool and nods like I’m supposed to sit down. When I do, he bumps my hip with his and then crowds in to share. We’re close. Really close.
I stare at the floor, hoping he won’t notice my grin. When I look up, I see that Henry did. His eyes are narrowed. I stick out my tongue at him and they go wide.
“Are you here from the States, then?” Kit asks, pouring beer from a pitcher into an empty glass on the table. He offers it to me, but I hold up my Coke.
Henry answers in some kind of weird, deep Man Voice. “Virginia, near Charlottesville.” The voice gives out on the last syllable and he coughs.
“We’re here on a school trip,” I add over Henry’s coughing. Elke hands him her glass of beer. He takes several deep swigs and slumps back in his seat, staring at Kit’s hand, which has landed on my knee.
“A school trip?” The other girl has an expensive button nose with nostrils so tiny that snot blockage from a simple cold could suffocate her. I think her accent is British, too, but it’s a little too nasally to be certain. “You mean you’re not here for the Krampus walk?”
“What’s that?” Henry’s back to his normal voice, and he’s eyeing the beer pitcher.
A look passes between Kit and the two girls. I speak before they can.
“The Krampus walk,” I say, happy to have a chance to show off my geek research side, “is a tourist thing, a festival to get people to come into town and spend money. I read it in my brochures.”
Henry laughs. “Brochure my ass. You have a stack of travel books bigger than you are.”
“Some people read other things besides Cosmo and X-Men comics.”
A shout goes up from the game of darts being played beside us. A guy takes a wide step back and bumps into me. Kit’s fingers slide up, gripping my thigh to keep me steady. It has the opposite effect.
My voice is a little wobbly. “People dress up, buy masks to hide behind so they can run wild, get drunk in the street, hook up with strangers.”
“Sounds like a good time to me,” Henry says, his arm lowering from the back of the booth to Elke’s shoulders.
“Sounds stupid to me,” I return. But I put my hand on top of Kit’s.
No one at the table knows where to look, and the room goes quiet, like the universe put Henry and me in time-out.
“Anyway,” I continue when the bar noise returns to its previous volume, “it sounds like the Krampus is a cheap knockoff of Santa.”
Henry is the only one at the table who doesn’t look at me like I’ve slapped his grandma.
“What did I say?”
“Krampus isn’t anything like Santa. He’s the anti-Santa,” Elke says, her local accent completely gone. Definitely British. “Santa gives out toys, but Krampus gives out punishment.”
“For being naughty?” Henry asks, his fingertips sliding down over Elke’s collarbone. Lower.
She laughs. “Trust me, you wouldn’t want to end up on his list.”
Henry picks up Elke’s beer glass and takes a long drink. “Maybe it wouldn’t matter. Depending on what got me on it.”
“I wouldn’t let anyone hear you say that.” Button Nose tilts her chin up. I’m momentarily entranced by her perfectly symmetrical nose holes. “It could be bad news.”
“Um . . . why?” Derision saturates my voice. “I’ve seen his picture in the freaking travel brochures. A cute comic of a red, furry monster with horns, shaming the naughty kids. Like Elmo on speed.”
“The Krampus isn’t for kids.” Kit sounds more like a nanny than a bartender.
“Grown-ups only, huh?” Henry’s grin goes wicked, and his fingertips go lower over Elke’s sweater.
“If he comes looking for you, you might end up stuffed in his sack,” Button Nose says. “So he can take you home and have you for dinner.”
“Unless you grab his sack,” I say.
Henry grins. “That’s what she said.”
Henry is three shades of buzzed, and these people are either total nutters or they’ve breathed the mountain air too long.
Or they’re messing with us.
I try to meet Henry’s eyes for affirmation, but he’s busy staring into the bottom of his empty beer glass. He’s drinking like a dehydrated fish.
Elke takes Henry’s glass and refills it. “The tourist industry plays it off as fun in those brochures on purpose. They want to encourage people to show up and participate.”
“It’s better for the locals if tourists are available. Better chance for survival.” Kit’s voice is exaggerated and dramatic, and the tense moment passes as we all laugh.
Definitely messing with us.
A murmur starts at the front of the bar.
It’s minimal at first, just voices, but it grows louder and louder, morphing into screaming laughter and drunken shouting. Kit stands and grabs my hand.
“What are you doing?” I clamber off the stool.
“Krampus is walking. Come on!”
Henry and the girls follow us out of the bar. Henry’s unsteady—he’s not a drinker at all—and he puts his arms around the necks of both girls to stand up straight.
The cold air stings as Kit pulls me into the crowd. I follow him, crunching through the snow, laughing at the prospect of adventure. We make our way to the front. Monsters are everywhere.
Kind of like Sesame Street Gone Wild.
There are red fluffy ones, blue scraggly ones. There are some who remind me of the beasts from Where the Wild Things Are, and others that look like something my cat might throw up.
None of them are scary, and none of them are carrying sacks.
They mostly just dance around and play hide-and-seek and chase with the children on the street.
“Perfectly harmless, right?” Kit asks, pulling me against his chest. He leans down, and I’m certain he’s going to kiss me.
Henry shouts my name from across the street. I smile regretfully and pull away from Kit. He looks disappointed.
I make my way through the crowd to Henry and the girls. Kit is behind me, his hands on my waist, like we’re doing the bunny hop. He’s been touching me since he came from behind the bar. I thought the British were supposed to be standoffish.