They had hardly been at the pancake breakfast for fifteen minutes, but Katelyn had already checked her phone seven times. It was poor date etiquette. So, after Dylan filled two mugs with hot chocolate and started meandering down the table of toppings, Katelyn stuck her phone in her back pocket. She wished she could just forget about it. She couldn’t, though, and fished her phone back out to reveal that she still hadn’t missed any calls.

“Is whatever is on your phone really that much more interesting than what’s happening around you?” asked a voice behind her. The voice was clipped and sounded like it belonged to a proud, older woman. Katelyn was half expecting the American version of Maggie Smith to be facing her when she turned around. Instead, she discovered a forty year old woman dressed up like Mrs. Claus. She was not a particularly convincing Mrs. Claus. Little wisps of straw-like auburn hair--an obvious dye over a brittle bleach job--poked out from beneath her white wig. She was thin, which was not in line with Katelyn’s belief that a Mrs. Claus ought to be at least a little bit fat. Most importantly, though: Katelyn was sure that the real Mrs. Claus, if there were such a person, would never look at someone with such vindictive judgement in her eyes.

“Excuse me?” Katelyn asked, frowning.

“You keep staring at that screen,” the obviously fake Mrs. Claus said. “It’s your whole generation.You’re all so glued to your devices. Life is happening around you.”

Katelyn’s face hardened into a scowl. She started to object, but before she got the chance, Dylan was by her side, passing her a mug, and grinning at her. “I got you caramel sauce and white chocolate and mini chocolate chips and sweetened cocoa powder. But, if that sounds gross to you, you can have mine which is crushed up oreos and bits of candy canes. They both have, like, a ton of whipped cream. Because, obviously. You’re not opposed to whipped cream, right?”

Katelyn couldn’t help but grin at him. He was talking fast, almost too fast, as if the mere proximity to sweets was enough to make him hyper. Katelyn slid her phone back into her pocket, thanking him. Curious, he glanced between her and Mrs. Claus. Mrs. Claus was eyeing him with one eyebrow raised. After a moment, she glanced back at Katelyn, shook her head just slightly, and said, “Like I said. Life is happening around you, and you’re missing it.”

Dylan frowned. A frown, Katelyn thought, didn’t look right on Dylan’s face. Then, he shook his head, smiled again, diplomatically, and said, “Right, thanks, we have to grab our seats now, though, so, later Mrs. Claus.”

With his arm slung over Katelyn’s shoulders, he guided her back towards the tables. Once they had taken their seats, he asked her, “What was that about?”

“She was scolding me for checking my phone,” Katelyn shrugged. She wanted to check it again, but she was a little bit more successful at stifling the urge when she was sitting across from him.

“Oh. Yeah? Are you expecting a call?”

“Less expecting a call and more hoping for a call.”

“From that guy? Jason?” Dylan asked. He lifted up his drink and took a sip. His other hand rested on the table between them. Katelyn wasn’t sure, she might have imagined it, but it almost looked like his pinky and thumb were both pushing tensley into the tabletop as if he was trying to steady himself. Overall, though, he seemed relaxed, so Katelyn thought she probably was just mistaken.

“No,” Katelyn said, frowning.

“From who then?” Dylan asked. A look definitely crossed his face, but he schooled it quickly, and Katelyn wasn’t able to figure out what the look meant anyway.

“Um, Dolores White,” she said, her voice a squeak.

“Who?”

“Um, Dolores White? She’s this event coordinator in Chicago. She’s pretty big. Like, she plans a lot of stuff for celebrities,” Katelyn started. She could tell she was on the verge of gushing, so she tried to contain the urge. “I had an interview with her the other day. She said she was hoping to have her decision made before the holiday. But, you know. You never know.”

“Oh, that’s cool,” Dylan said. After a moment, he asked, “So, event coordination?”

“Uh, yeah. I, uh...I have a BFA in visual arts. I got it to spend four years painting and drawing and talking to boys with tattoo sleeves,” Katelyn said. Dylan laughed at that and she could feel herself blush. She was being absurd. She was pretty sure she had a crush on her fake boyfriend, which was ridiculous. Flustered, she continued, “Anyway, the problem with getting a degree based on how you’ll spend four years is that, eventually, those four years end and you have to decide what to do with that degree. And sometimes it’s just like...IS there anything to do with it? I don’t know. I guess there might be. But I don’t know that I want to do anything with it, you know? I don’t know what I want to do at all. So, anyway, for the past year I’ve been waitressing and sketching and reading a ton of webcomics and trying to decide what to do with my life which is a terrible and oppressive concept. I don’t ever want to have someone tell me what to draw or paint or whatever. But I have to, like, make money somehow. So I started to think about why I like to do art.”

She paused to let Dylan escape the conversation if he wanted to. It didn’t seem like he thought she was talking to much, though. He raised his eyebrows and wore a delighted grin. She blushed and continued, “So, um, okay. Well, I think I like to put stuff together. Like, I like to imagine something and then pull all of the elements inward, to watch them intertwine. I like to see how everything fits together in the end. One weekend, Jessica and I were pet-sitting for her parents, which mostly meant marathoning trashy reality TV and occasionally throwing some food in a dog bowl, and at some point we started watching these wedding shows on HGTV and that’s when it occurred to me: events are really just, like, interactive works of art.”

“That sounds awesome,” Dylan said, grinning wider than seemed possible. “How did the interview go?”

“I don’t know,” Katelyn shrugged. “I mean...the interview was nerve-wracking. But interviews are always nerve-wracking. I did a lot to prepare. Usually I’m such a spazz and I talk too much, or not enough, or just about the wrong things. But, like, I really want this job, right? So I researched Dolores White and her firm, I looked up frequently asked interview questions, and Jess did a few mock interviews with me.”

“That’s all good,” Dylan said. He still had one dark eyebrow arched above his eye and one side of his mouth raised, excited. “I never prepare enough for stuff like that.”

“I’m not sure that it did me any good though,” Katelyn laughed. “I saw some of the other applicants and...I don’t know. I don’t think I stand a chance. They were, like, professionals and I’m just some dumb kid.”

Dylan grinned at her, “I don’t know. I feel like you almost have to get it. It sounds perfect. It sounds...destined.”

She laughed, and shook her head, and rolled her eyes. But then her phone rang and their eyes met. Her heart leapt. She dug her phone out of her pocket. Both of his eyebrows were raised and he was leaning towards her. Excitement exuded from him. It was like he believed in magic. Or, it was like he believed in her. Or maybe he believed in both. Whatever it was, he believed in it so deeply that she couldn’t help but believe in it too. She felt stupid and drunk for a moment. Then, she processed what was on the screen of her phone.

“Well?” He clearly expected her to answer. Instead, she hit ignore and put her phone back in her pocket.

“It was Jason. It was probably a misdial,” she sighed.

“What if it was important?” Dylan asked.

“I don’t see how it could be,” she said with a shrug.

Then she put it all out of her mind. Jason’s call, the interview, the waiting: she let herself forget about all of it. The faux Mrs. Claus might have been judgemental and out of place, but that didn’t mean she was entirely wrong. Katelyn wanted to be part of the life that was going on around her. She grinned up at Dylan and took a sip of the hot chocolate he made her. Then, she set it on the table, reached over, and picked up his hot chocolate, trying it as well. They both tasted perfect: like an entire candy factory in liquid form.