“She seems sweet,” I say.
“She’s ornery,” Finley says with a laugh as she drops her phone into her coat pocket, then glances around. “Where’s Mallory?”
“She said she found a friend and wanted to catch up. She’ll find us when she’s done.” I glance around. “But it seems we lost Tyler.”
“He also found a friend,” she says, “He said he’s had enough shopping and was going to get a beer with a guy from high school at St. Nick’s bar.” She grins. “Barb called dibs on him if he’s not taken.”
“He met her too, huh?” I ask, confused by the unsettled feeling in my gut.
Is that jealousy? Over my brother? I don’t see how. Maybe the coffee isn’t sitting well.
“When he came over to let me know he was taking off, he apologized for interrupting. But Barb insisted on meeting him before he left for the bar.”
The reminder of St. Nick’s fills me with shame over my behavior last night and what Finley overheard this morning. Maybe that’s what’s causing my unsettled feeling.
We stare at each other for several seconds and a realization hits me. “So, we’re alone.” The words coming out huskier than I intended.
There’s a tiny hint of a smile on her lips, and my gaze lingers there until it lifts to her warm brown eyes, and I lose myself in them.
When I’m with her, I feel calmer. Like she siphons off my stress and replaces it with something I can’t name. Like I’m settled, but that’s not it either. It’s something deeper, something I don’t understand, but I do know that I like how it feels.
I like being with her. I like that there aren’t any expectations from either of us. We’re just together, having fun. I’ve never felt that with any of my other girlfriends, but I have to admit, I wasn’t friends with any of them.
After a few seconds, she looks away, and says cheerfully, “It would be a good opportunity for us to buy our Christmas presents.”
“But we haven’t seen everything yet.”
She laughs. “There’s no way you want to keep checking out homemade oven mitts and candles.”
She’s right. If someone had told me last week that I’d not only spend several hours at the Christmas market, but do so willingly, I would have laughed in their face. Yet, here I am, and I’m not hating it. “I don’t know,” I say with a shrug. “I’m having fun.”
Finley gives me the side eye, obviously not believing me.
“I am. Now let’s start shopping.”
We continue to the next booth, but Finley seems less interested in browsing and has now moved into shopping mode.
She says that while they were baking this morning, my mom said she wanted to learn how to bake bread, so she gets her a bread cookbook. I ask what I can get to go with her baking theme, and I get a small jar of wet dough that looks like an underachieving Play-Doh that’s apparently sourdough starter, along with instructions on how to “feed” it and a very expensive pot with a lid for her to bake the bread in. The vendor says I can leave the pot there until we finish shopping since it’s so heavy.
As we leave the stall, I realize Mallory hasn’t sent me a Venmo request for the ornament.
Finley moves to the next stall, so I pull out my phone and see I missed a text.
Alex, I’m so sorry! It’s gone!
My heart skips a beat, and I call out to Finley, “I have to make a call. I’ll be right there.”
“Okay,” she says as she disappears into a booth selling knitwear.
Freaking out, I call Mallory and she answers right away. “Oh, my God, Alex. I’m so sorry!”
“No. They have to have it,” I insist. “They just had it!”
“I showed them the photo, Alex,” she says in a tearful rush, “and the lady said she was pretty sure she’d sold it right before I showed up.”
“Did she tell you who bought it?”
“Why?” she asks in disbelief. “Do you plan to track them down and take it from them?”
