A few minutes later, we agreed on the rules.
Thirty minutes. A modest budget. No doing anything ridiculous. Then we would meet back at the giant Christmas tree in the center of the fair.
As we headed off in opposite directions, I glanced over my shoulder. Thane was already walking away with purposeful strides.
I had exactly thirty minutes to buy a Christmas present for a man who could probably purchase half the town if he felt like it. What exactly was I supposed to buy for somebody who already had everything?
I stopped in front of a booth selling handmade ornaments and immediately felt out of my depth. Glass snowflakes hung from wooden racks. Hand-painted Santas lined one shelf. Small carved animals occupied another.
A woman behind the table smiled. "Shopping for somebody special?"
The question caught me off guard.
Heat crept into my face. "Yes, ma’am."
Her smile widened.
I picked up a carved whale and turned it over in my hands. The craftsmanship was beautiful. The whale itself reminded me vaguely of the Seattle Orcas logo.
For approximately three seconds, I convinced myself it was a brilliant idea. Then I imagined handing it to Thane. The mental image was enough to make me put it back immediately.
"No?" The vendor sounded amused.
"No," I admitted. "Definitely not."
The search continued.
I wandered from booth to booth while the minutes slipped away. Every time I thought I'd found something, I talked myself out of it. A hockey-themed mug felt too obvious. A leatherwallet felt too personal. A novelty Christmas ornament felt like something you bought for a coworker you barely knew.
The problem wasn't finding a gift.
The problem was that none of the gifts felt like Thane.
Eventually, I gave up and headed back toward the giant Christmas tree. We still had a few minutes before we were supposed to meet, and standing around feeling defeated seemed marginally more productive than continuing to stare at things I didn't want to buy.
The lights overhead sparkled against the darkening sky while holiday music drifted through the crowd. Families posed for photographs. Children ran circles around the tree. Couples stood shoulder to shoulder, sipping hot chocolate.
I was almost back at the tree when a booth tucked between a candle vendor and a stand selling homemade fudge caught my attention.
I frowned. I didn't remember seeing it before. Or maybe I'd been too busy looking for something impressive to notice it.
Curiosity got the better of me, and I wandered over.
A few seconds later, I spotted it.
It wasn't flashy or expensive. It wasn't even particularly practical. But the second I picked it up, I knew because it made me think of him. Not Thane Hale, the hockey player, or Thane Hale the public figure. Just Thane. And somehow that felt like the right answer.
I checked the time. Three minutes left.
For the first time since we'd made our ridiculous agreement, I felt confident enough to head back.
What I wasn't prepared for was the sight waiting for me when I got there.
Thane was already waiting beneath the giant tree with a small paper bag hooked around two fingers, looking far too pleased with himself.
I slowed as I approached him. “You look smug.”
“I look festive.”
