Mark
It was nearly dark when we arrived downtown. The streetlights were burning, and the holiday decorations were lit. Twinkle lights wreathed all the trees lining Main Street, and giant ornaments dangled from the lampposts. Store windows were decorated with hand-drawn winter scenes and smiling snowmen. Carolers walked along the road, stopping to perform on every other corner. And in front of the courthouse, there was a giant Christmas tree lit with multicolored lights. A big sleigh was positioned for folks to pose in for photographs. It was a bright and festive wonderland. It just needed some mountain snow, and the image of a picture-perfect small town would be complete.
The vendor booths and food stations would be open until 8:00 p.m.
It would be a miracle if I made it an hour.
When Candace had texted and asked me to walk the Holiday Market with her, I’d had a moment of wild panic. Her invitation felt intentional. It had seemed like a test. I knew she wanted to bring our relationship out into the open, and I wanted that too, but I’d been living a very private life to protect myself. This felt like borrowing trouble, opening myself up for more gossip and more attention. Not only me, but Candace too.
This wasn’t working the farmers’ market together or hanging out at the orchard with her siblings. Tonight was a declaration of intent—the beginning of our relationship for all of Kirby Falls to see.
I didn’t want her to, but part of me worried that she’d take one lap with me downtown and regret her decision to stay. I worried that whispers would followin our wake. That curious eyes would monitor our movements, our glances, and our very public path together.
I’d resigned myself to being a hermit. It seemed safer to avoid people than to engage with them. I didn’t make waves in Kirby Falls. I kept my head down and my business my own.
Giving in to Candace’s idea for a night out went against all the safeguards I had in place. It would take some time to get used to being deliberately in the public eye.
I sincerely hoped there would come a day when I wasn’t aware of the neighbors and residents sitting behind in their booths, watching us wander. When I wouldn’t read into every glance or raised eyebrow, but that day was not today.
“It’s not as awesome as our sleigh,” Candace said.
Distracted, I glanced up and frowned. “What?”
Clad in a winter toboggan with a pom-pom on top, Candace thumped the side of the painted plywood. “The sleigh. Don’t tell Eloise Carter, but I think our Judd’s parade float sleigh is much more authentic.”
I swallowed and tried to focus on Candace’s bright, teasing grin instead of Vera Sterling and Sheila Jessup walking behind her with their heads bent together and their gazes locked on us. The women were retired, but they kept busy enough with the goings-on in town.
Shoving my hands in my pockets, I agreed, “Yeah, it’s definitely nicer.”
“Right?” She hopped in and shifted on the wooden bench seat. “This has no padding. Very uncomfortable. Santa would definitely get a splinter. Plus, someone drew a penis on the dashboard.”
I didn’t respond, all too aware of the feminine voices and raised eyebrows from over Candace’s shoulder. She patted the seat next to her. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” I ducked my head and joined her on the hard bench as Vera and Sheila shuffled away.
Ms. Sterling ran a bed-and-breakfast a few streets over and was a Sunday morning regular at Reverend Price’s church. Sheila Jessup hosted a local podcastand was the administrator of the Kirby Falls Facebook group. My breath quickened at the thought of the damage they could do.
“Let’s take a selfie,” Candace said, positioning her phone in front of our faces. “The tree looks nice behind us.”
She leaned into me, pressing her cheek against mine and smiling wide. I couldn’t seem to relax my jaw, but I managed an approximation of a grin.
As Candace led me back out onto Main Street, I briefly looked in the other direction but didn’t see the older women.
We kept walking, stopping so Candace could say hi to the Clarks manning the tent for the Orchard Bake Shop. They weren’t selling apples, since the harvest was done for the year, but the bakery at Grandpappy’s stayed open year-round and did good business for breakfast. They also provided local desserts and wedding and event cakes. It made sense that the Clarks would have a Holiday Market booth to promote the Bake Shop.
Maggie Clark was the head baker over at Grandpappy’s. She was a kind person. She’d always been friendly with me, but the knowing look she cast between me and Candace still made me shift on my feet uncomfortably. While Maggie and Candace exchanged pleasantries, Laramie Burke shot me a huge grin. Without saying a word, she simply handed me a container of peppermint bark I hadn’t ordered, then gave me a sly wink.
I stepped away from the table a few paces, needing some distance and room to breathe. The chill in the December air did very little to cool my heated skin. I could feel nervous sweat causing my undershirt to cling to my shoulder blades.
Candace glanced back at me and her smile died abruptly at what she saw in my expression. She excused herself from Maggie and whatever they’d been talking about—a Christmas party or something. I couldn’t focus on the specifics I’d overheard.
When Candace reached my side, she slipped her arm through mine and asked, “Are you feeling okay?”
I nodded, very aware of her nearness, my heartbeat, and the way I still couldn’t seem to catch my breath. “Yeah, probably just hungry.”
Candace brightened, no doubt thinking that this was an easy fix. We’d just walk down the street, arm in arm, and into a restaurant where we knew the staff and they knew us. She didn’t know this paranoia went deep.
But I was grateful she’d shaken off her concerns. I couldn’t stand to see the worry on her face—worry over me. She wanted to be here, and I needed her to have a good time. It was important that this outing be what she wanted.
