Finally, he replied, “Yeah. Sure, we can do that. You mean tell your family?”
I hoped my smile was encouraging. “Yeah, I’d like to tell my family. They adore you. They’ll be so happy. And I’d like to stop hiding and sneaking around. Go out on a date or hold your hand, if I feel like it. I know you’re worried about how people will react, but I don’t care about that. I know you, Mark. I know the truth. Those other people—the small-minded gossips—they don’t matter.”
He nodded slowly in response, but I could see the worry in his eyes. And maybe that was part of why I hadn’t told Mark about my last relationship. I didn’t want him to think I was manipulating him, and I didn’t want him to agree to date me openly only because he knew about my hang-ups surrounding the secrecy. I’d tell Mark about Emerson and the affair when things weren’t so messy, when we were more settled.
I squeezed his hand. “It’ll be okay. You’re already planning on coming to dinner at the farmhouse on Sunday, right?”
“I told your mother I would.”
“That’s great. Joan and Brady will be there too. We can tell them then.”
“Okay,” Mark agreed.
And as he nodded and squeezed my hand in return, I told myself that everything would be alright.
Following my early-morning conversation with Mark, I’d driven back to theorchard to get ready for the day. With the Holiday Jamboree crowd in town, it was set to be a busy one on the farm.
The Christmas tree lot was doing well. Joan and Mark were helping out with that. Today, my brother had the day off, and I was on the schedule to work with Mom in the refreshment stand. We had hot chocolate with homemade marshmallows, warm apple cider, and a variety of cookies and treats for sale. The bounce pillow was still open for kids to play on, and despite the December chill, we had Food Truck Friday happening tonight. It was the final one of the season, and now that I was staying, I could get the calendar ready for next May when those Friday festivities would resume.
I smiled at the thought.
Mark and I texted throughout the day, but when I invited him over to the garage apartment that night for pizza and a sleepover, he said he’d already picked up groceries and wanted to cook for me at his house.
I didn’t start to worry until the following day. I remembered the way Mark had hesitated when I asked if we could tell my parents and bring our relationship out into the open. Now that we were closing in on family dinner tomorrow, I was growing concerned that Mark had changed his mind—or maybe he hadn’t been ready in the first place.
I scrutinized every expression, every touch. The way he’d declined coming to the garage apartment and offered to make dinner instead. How he had me park my car in his garage, just like always.
Maybe he needed more time to get used to the idea. I thought a dry run might help before we gathered at the farmhouse tomorrow and told my family the news.
Mark and I were both off at five today, so I invited him to go with me downtown to check out the rest of the Jamboree festivities.
On my way to refill the hot cider urn, I pulled out my phone.
Me: Want to hit the Holiday Market after work? We can bundle up and check out the booths. Maybe grab dinner downtown.
Almost immediately, dots appeared on the screen as Mark typed out a response. I bit my lip and kept my gaze glued to my phone as the dots stopped and started twice more before disappearing altogether. Disappointment had my eyes closing and a weary sigh escaping.
I didn’t wait any longer. I shoved the phone in my pocket and went back to work. I knew I’d taken the chicken way out. I could have run down to the tree lot on my break and asked him face-to-face, but texting Mark felt safer when I had unease brewing in the pit of my stomach.
Thirty minutes later, I had three unread messages waiting for me.
One from Bonnie:How do you feel about a Christmas party at Grandpappy’s next weekend, after closing? Mom and Aunt Maggie are hosting and said to invite the whole Judd bunch. Can we bring these two farms together without bloodshed? LOL
The next was a message from Joan—an image with a short text:This would be a good one for the Instagram account.
I smiled as my eyes scanned the picture. Mark was standing just outside the string lights marking the perimeter of the tree lot. He had a Fraser fir—wrapped in netting and ready for transport—hoisted over one strong shoulder while two little girls in puffy jackets stood before him. The girls looked like twins, around three or four years of age. They wore matching pink coats and white leggings beneath tiny tulle skirts. In the image, they were frozen mid-leap, excited over their Christmas tree purchase. Two men who were clearly their parents stood behind them looking just as joyful. And there was Mark, grinning down at the children, a look so soft on his face that my heart ached at the sight of it.
The third and final unread text was from Mark, sent five minutes after my original invitation:Sure, that sounds good. I’ll meet you in your office after work.
I stared at the screen and wondered if I was pushing too hard. Was I being unreasonable? Or was I reading too much into a twelve-word text message. I didn’t know. I was too in my own head to be rational right now. Too concerned about Mark’s perceived hesitation, and overanalyzing everything as a result.
If Mark wasn’t ready to be with me for real, could I be okay with that?
We’d been seeing each other for over two months. I didn’t want to be anybody’s secret, but I knew Mark meant well. He wasn’t hiding me away because he wascheating on his wife. I told myself this wasn’t the same as what had happened with Emerson.
Mark wasn’t using me, and he’d never do anything to intentionally hurt me.
So why did it feel like I was setting myself up for heartbreak?
