Do You Believe in Santa? by Sierra Donovan

felt a reaction she would never have expected: a lump in her throat. Her father had left her. That was old news, a fact of life, not something she gave much thought.
    â€œWhat movie did you see?”
    She wasn’t ready for the softness in his voice, either. But she didn’t want him feeling sorry for her. She let his hand go and stepped toward the screen, trying to picture the details in her mind. “I can’t remember. It wasn’t a cartoon, and it didn’t have animals in it, so I must have been pretty bored. I know I fell asleep.” She thought about the dark backseat and remembered: “They had me wear my pajamas. We even brought my pillow along.”
    He stepped past her, examining the screen. “I didn’t go to my first drive-in till I was nineteen. They still have a few of them in Pennsylvania, but nothing too close to where I lived. We drove over an hour to get there, and my girlfriend thought I was nuts. She didn’t get it at all.” He turned toward her with a grin. “It really was a lousy way to see a movie. The sound’s terrible, the picture’s dim . . . but it’s all about the experience.”
    â€œA dark, lo-fi movie?”
    â€œIt’s—nostalgic. Americana. You see the movie in your car, and it’s your own private environment. Families could bring their kids in their pajamas and not worry if they were too noisy for the people in the next row. And drive-ins were huge with teenagers. Lots of making out in the backseat. People used to call them ‘passion pits.’ Kids didn’t always see the movie.”
    Mandy couldn’t resist. “So, what about you? Did you watch the movie?”
    â€œI was nineteen.”
    â€œStill a teenager.”
    â€œBarely. And remember, I went there as a film connoisseur.” One corner of his mouth twitched up. “Plus, like I said, my girlfriend was annoyed.” Taking longer strides through the brittle weeds, Jake picked his way across the now-imaginary front row. “Any idea of the lot size? Or who owns it?”
    â€œNo.”
    A late afternoon wind blew thick brown hair into Jake’s eyes. He shook it back. “It’s a little far from town. . . .”
    â€œBut not too far.” Mandy had tried to anticipate the drawbacks. “Your hotel has the name recognition factor, and people could find it online. The local hotels would still have a shot at customers, too, and the town council would like that.”
    â€œCooperative competition. Set it up as a win-win.” Jake squinted thoughtfully and nodded. “It might fly.”
    â€œI hoped you’d like it.”
    â€œIt’d need a lot of work. The land would have to be leveled. . . .” He shook his head. “Isn’t this dumb? I almost hate to mess with it. It’s like an archaeological site or something.” He flattened a section of brush with his shoe and peered down. “Is that what I think it is?”
    He knelt to brush aside more of the dead grass. Mandy hurried over. “Watch out for snakes.”
    â€œNow you tell—look at this!”
    She bent to see what he’d found. Based on Jake’s reaction, it could have been a million dollars, or at least a gold brick.
    Barely visible through the weeds, still half-buried in the dirt, a rusted metal speaker poked up from the ground.
    â€œThey never got around to renovating this theater,” Jake said. “That’s the coolest thing ever.” He looked up at her with a self-conscious grin. “Okay, maybe not ever. But still. Later on drive-ins had these wires that clipped to your car antenna, or they just broadcast the sound at a low frequency, so you listened through your car radio. Lots of dead batteries by the end of the show.”
    Jake brushed at the dirt again, then straightened. “However. It’s good and buried in there. An excavation project for another day. And I should probably get you