That low sound of happiness was something I’d grown familiar with over the last few months. In the bed of his truck with a camera in his hand, in the firelight glow, in the darkness of his bedroom, his eyes on me.
Mark’s pretty blue-gray gaze found me now, the laughter in his eyes so recent that I could still see the wisp of it before it softened into something aching and fond.
Mark kept his affectionate stare trained on me as he closed the door to the truck and walked my way.
I wondered at the sight and felt certain that anyone who saw him looking at me like that would know in an instant where we spent our nights and how we filled our hearts. It could never be interpreted as anything other than what it was. And I imagined the look I gave him in return answered pretty definitively.
Our expressions fairly shouted our intent, not to mention our body language. It said, these two idiots were stumbling their way into love and hiding it from the world, as if that could stop it. An unobtrusive, weightless fall, despite things like time and place and small-town politics.
When Mark reached my side, I kept my hands—and my lips—to myself when all I wanted was to step into him and make sure all the people lingering in the setup line knew this man belonged to me. And still, we were close to touching, the reckless possibility of it. The way my torso leaned in, like he was a star and the gravitational pull was unavoidable. How his shoulders relaxed and his fingers twitched at his sides, reaching for me reflexively before his brain could catch up and bring him to heel.
Mark’s voice was low and amused when it emerged. “To answer your question, yes, I am very into that costume. Feel free to wear it when you come over tonight.”
I grinned. “That, sir, is the correct answer.”
His smile was a little wicked, and I wondered what he was thinking about doing to me later, but before any truly naughty ideas could materialize, Mark’s gaze snagged on something over my shoulder. He took a big step back and shoved his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. His warmth and his vibrant green scent abandoned me abruptly.
I didn’t have to look to know someone was approaching. A moment later, my brother’s voice, accompanied by jingling bells, identified the reason for Mark’s sudden retreat.
“You know, I didn’t think I was a fan of suspenders, but I look good,” Brady proclaimed with a snap of the red-and-white elastic that matched my own.
I gave him an annoyed look, mostly frustrated that he’d interrupted. “They’re candy-cane patterned. It’s not like you’ll have an occasion to wear them again.”
“I just meant, now I know I can pull off suspenders. I’ll get a normal pair and wear them to the next wedding or fancy event I have to go to.” My dopey brother frowned at Mark’s clothes. “Sorry you’re stuck driving the truck and don’t get a costume, Mercer.”
“That is fine by me,” Mark said gamely.
Mom and Dad were the next to join us. My mother looked pretty cute in her red velvet dress with white faux fur accents. She even wore a short white wig and had gold-rimmed round glasses perched on her nose. Dad was grinning in his Santa suit, complete with beard, hat, and furry boots.
I showed them where they’d be positioned on the float. I’d tucked a few water bottles out of sight for them and added some cushions for the wooden bench seat to make sure they were comfortable on the platform.
“Honey, this is amazing. Everything turned out beautifully,” my mother gushed as she took in the sparkling display.
“Yeah, Candy Cane,” my dad said, “you did a wonderful job. We’ll be the hit of the parade.”
I smiled. “Thanks, y’all.”
Funny how my family’s nickname wasn’t such a painful reminder anymore. It just felt like a connection to my past, one that I was happy I got to experience again, being home this fall.
Nervously, I checked the time on my phone. Joan wasn’t here yet, and we were twenty-two—no, twenty-one—minutes out from the start of the procession.
Mark gave me a knowing look. “She’ll be here. She knows how important this is to you.”
Thatwas what had me worried. I’d been home for three and a half months, and I didn’t really feel like I’d made any type of progress with Joan. Yes, she tolerated me better at the orchard. I supposed she was less hostile. She didn’t openly question my motives anymore, but she still looked at me like a squatter onherfamily’s land.
We didn’t have conversations that didn’t involve the farm. She never asked how I was doing or if I wanted to grab dinner. Joan made me feel like an outsider and, at times, even unwelcome and unwanted.
It was eight minutes to five and the sun was setting fast when Joan finally approached, winding her way through the little girls in sequined costumes gathered at the float behind us.
I straightened from where I’d been repositioning some garland along the outside of Santa’s sleigh. Disbelief had my mouth dropping open.
“Where’s your costume?” I asked before I could think better of it.
Joan seemed taken aback by the float, her surprised blue eyes scanning the lights and decorations until she found me right smack-dab in the middle, several feet above her. Her eyes narrowed. “I’m not dressing like a reindeer, Candy.”
“Why not? It’s your part on the float. You’re Rudolph.”
She looked at me like I was insane. “Why in the world do I need to wear a fuzzy brown suit and antlers on my head to sell apples?”
