I glance outside the tent but there’s no sign of her. Every moment I spend in here is another moment she’s alone. The thought of her being sad and alone makes the ache worse.
And then the answer hits me. I can buy the ornament as a gift. A gift isn’t pity, right? She’s planning to spend God knows how much on my family’s gifts and stockings, and that’s not pity.
Oh, God.
My stomach drops to my feet. The budget she set for gifts could cover the cost of this ornament. Instead of buying the one thing she clearly wants, she’s choosing to buy presents for my family.
If I was forced to choose between something I really wanted and doing something that was right—what would I choose?
You already made that choice six years ago.
Why does that choice suddenly feel wrong?
There’s still no sign of her, and my worry grows to panic. I need to make sure she’s okay. Once I find her, I’ll come back and get it.
I snap a photo of the ornament with my phone, then dash outside.
Tyler is standing in the middle of the street, his arms stiff at his side as he stares at something farther down. He turns to give me a dark look.
“What did you say to her?” he asks.
“I asked her why she wanted that ornament so much, and she said her mother used to have one just like it,” I bite out, getting pissed. I should be finding Finley, not justifying myself with him. “But she won’t get it because it costs too much.”
His gaze drops to my empty hands, then his scowl darkens before he stalks off.
I know he’s judging me, but right now, I don’t give a shit. I need to find Finley. And then I realize what Tyler had been watching.
Finley is standing to the side of the crowd, between booths, and she’s talking to her phone screen. Is she talking to one of her neighbors again?
As though she knows I’m watching, she lifts her gaze to me. She gives me a soft smile and points to her phone.
I smile back and give her a thumbs-up.
“When did you become a thumbs-up guy?” Mallory asks as she approaches with a new bag added to her collection.
“Good question.” Since Finley isn’t technically alone, I could slip back into the blown glass vendor stall and buy the ornament. But I see Mallory carrying a bag with the vendor’s logo. Finley will know I bought something there, and I really want it to be a surprise.
But there’s another way.
I pull up the photo on my phone. “See this Santa?”
“Is that some kind of euphemism for showing me porn?” she asks, curling her upper lip in disgust.
I recoil. “What? No! Why would I show my baby sister porn?”
“First of all, I’m not a baby anymore, and second—two words.” She pauses and gives me a dead-eyed stare. “Dead possum.”
I frown. “That wasn’t porn.”
“No, it was disgusting roadkill, and you and Grant shoved a photo of it in my face.”
I roll my eyes. “We were kids.”
“You were in middle school, and I couldn’t eat red meat for nearly a year.”
I scrub my chin with the back of my hand. “Yeah, we were shitty brothers, but it still doesn’t explain why you’d think I’d show you porn.”
“Roadkill seems appropriate for a thirteen-year-old. Porn seems more appropriate for a man your age.” When I give her a blank stare, she shrugs. “I’m just giving you shit. You have to admit you deserve it.”
