“Summer said as she and Austin snaked their way along a dark path toward the beach. Austin paused, surveying the throng. “Give a yell if you spot Esme.” The marina and the adjacent public beach were brightly lit and filled with people, many of them camped out on blankets or in beach chairs. Vendors in red Santa hats cruised the area, selling everything from red-and-green cotton candy to conch fritters. A high-school marching band was on the longest wharf, playing an off-key reggae rendition of “...I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas.” In striped tents on the edge of the beach, sellers hawked their wares. Summer took in the merchandise as she passed. Handmade ornaments, many featuring flamingos in ski caps. Crocheted Christmas stockings that read Merry Key-Ristmas. Black-velvet paintings of Santa on a surfboard. Suddenly she found herself longing for the nice, wholesome tackiness of the Mall of America, back in Minnesota. They broke through the crowd and headed to the water’s edge, finally locating a patch of sand to call their own.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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