Sammy was singing.
Silent Night. O Come All Ye Faithful. Go Tell It On the Mountain.
The First Noel, O Holy Night, Santa Claus Is Comin’ to Town and ‘Zat You Santa Claus.
One after another.
Beau loved it. He sat there on Coke’s front porch, rocking and drinking a beer as Sammy worked on one of the four-wheelers Coke was having troubles with.
The fearless one himself came out of the house, with a Dr. Pepper for Sammy. “He’s having fun, Cajun.”
“He is, cher.”
“I. Does he know when he sings he don’t mess up the words?”
“Yep. I’ve had him sing for his supper sometimes.”
“No shit? I like it.” Coke grinned at him. “Dillon’s in the kitchen making sammiches. You willing to cook supper? I got pork loin in there.”
“Shit, yeah. S’long as Dillweed doesn’t get all up in arms.”
“You ain’t going to make gumbo; it’s all good.”
Sammy bellered. “O come let us a-DORE hi-IM, Chriiiiiiiist the Lord!”
Coke’s grin was bright as all fuck. “Going to get him his drink.”
“Thanks, cher.” Beau hummed along, heading in to see about that pork loin.
Sammy’s voice followed him, all the way in.
“All I want for Christmas is you...”
Much love, y'all.