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“I think we can give them what they want but also give you what you need. All you have to do is pretend to sing. No actual sounds need to come out of your mouth.”

The idea is so out of the blue and bizarre, I let out a surprised snort-laugh.

“What do you think?” He waggles his eyebrows.

“I think you’ve had too much hot cocoa.”

“Or not nearly enough,” he says with a crooked grin.

“It’s a bad idea.”

“It’s the best idea,” he says. “They’ll be too hopped up on cocoa and Christmas spirit to know the difference.”

I doubt that.

Then Kash uses the one card he has to force my hand. “I double-dog dare you.” He says it in a teasing voice, but it’s a double-dog dare all the same.

I just knew that losing that praying mantis egg sac-picking contest was going to come back to haunt me. And here it is with a resounding Boo!

“No singing,” I say.

“No singing,” he confirms. “And, Paisley, you don’t have to do this.” There’s such sincerity in his eyes, it makes my heart pinch.

I nod and turn to face the line. As much as I regret it now, a deal’s a deal. “Let’s just get this over with,” I say through gritted teeth.

Track 22

Worth the Wait

Kash

December 12

I give Paisley a reassuring nod. “You’ve got this.”

She looks at me with doe eyes and I can tell her stage fright is surging. “I won’t be mad if you change your mind. Or if you decide to sing,” I tease, giving her a playful nudge.

She swallows hard.

“No matter what, I’ll be right here next to you. I won’t let you down.” I link my fingers with hers and squeeze.

The people waiting in the hot cocoa line grow antsy.

“You know what? I’ve got an even better idea than a duet,” I say to the crowd. “How about we get everyone involved? If you were born on an even-numbered day, sing with Paisley. Everyone else, sing with me. Show of hands. Who’s singing with Paisley?”

A bunch of gloved hands lift into the air. It looks like about half the group, so hopefully it won’t be too apparent that she’s not actually singing.

“Excellent. And who’s singing along with me?” Different gloved hands shoot into the air.

“Ready?” I ask Paisley.

Her fingers squeeze my hand in a vise grip.

“Here we go. A-one, and a-two, and-a, one, two,” I say.

Paisley looks at me with uncertainty, and then we both share a wide-eyed “oh crap” look. She’s realized the same thing that I have: Traditionally, for this duet, the female singer goes first. And in order to get the crowd singing together, someone needs to get the ball rolling. And that someone needs to be me.

Now what?