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“Yeah. But I worked for him. When he retired, I bought the practice from him.”

“So hire someone to be the new you, now that you’re the new him.”

He screwed his face up. “Hmm.”

I eyed him, attempting to work him out. “What don’t you like about the idea?”

There was silence again, and I could tell that he was thinking about what he wanted to say. I liked the serious expression he wore when he was mulling something over carefully.

“I don’t like having to rely on anyone. In case they let me down.” He hesitated before adding, “In case they leave.”

A slow realization crept into the back of my mind. Kerr had a fear of everyone leaving. Especially those he needed. Those he loved. And not just romantic partners, as he’d alluded to on our visit to the Christmas market.

“Katie has asked me to go into an official partnership with her a couple of times,” he said as we passed by the rows of houses that lined the edges of the center of town, their bright, festive lights twinkling in the darkness. “That way we can cross- cover more efficiently, maybe hire a salaried vet to work across both surgeries.”

“And?” I said in my best encouraging voice. “Why don’t you?”

He glanced at me, and the answer in his eyes was doubt. He doubted that anyone would stick around for him, even those he knew well, like Katie. And that killed me.

“You don’t want to rely on her either,” I interpreted.

“It’s not worth the risk,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact, my heart sore for him.

I gave his arm a squeeze. “There are people who are worth the risk, you know.”

He blinked, keeping his eyes straight on. “These houses look pretty nice.”

Subject officially changed. One thing was for sure: Kerr had been deliberately isolating himself in all his relationships, romantic or otherwise. Never fully giving himself to anyone and determined to remain self-​sufficient, not just practically, but emotionally. And it must stem back to his mother leaving when he was little.

But why did she leave?

His abrupt change of subject and current demeanor—​closed off and refusing to make eye contact—​made it clear that now was not the time to ask.

Instead, I filed it away to circle back to when he was more open to it, and I took his lead. “They do look nice. Which is your favorite?”

I felt his body relax as he realized I wasn’t going to push him on it. “I think this one,” he said as we passed a house with fairy lights draped from the roof, down the front facade, and right to the ground. The lights had a dripping effect, flashing on and off vertically downward, like the steady trickle of an icicle as it melted.

“Good choice,” I said, also taking in the cute LED snowman on their front lawn. “They’ll be a strong contender against us. I saw that they’ve entered the competition. Only twenty-​six days to go until the winner is announced.”

“Against us?” he asked, giving me some side-​eye. “Is ‘us’ a concept when it comes to the competition?”

I gave him a nudge. “You know what I mean. Against each of us. Separately.”

He smiled his bashful smile. “And outside of the competition . . . is there an ‘us’?”

My cheeks flamed against the cold night air. Why did this conversation make me feel like a teenager? I was thirty-​six years old, for goodness’ sake. I could injure my neck just from sleeping and I had to turn the car radio down in order to see where I was going. “I’d like there to be . . . if you would too?”

His smile stretched a little farther. “I would.”

I smiled back, aware that I likely looked like a moonstruck loon but not caring. This thing between us had taken a very unexpected turn after the fire, and it should have felt too fast, yet it absolutely didn’t. Perhaps because there had been something burning between us before the fire, though I would have been loath to admit it at the time.

The pavement began to get busier as we neared the crossroads where the right turn would take us along to the town square and the gathering for the lights switch-on.

There was a road blockade over the two entry and exit points that fed into the town square from our side of town and the opposite end. Within the pedestrianized area, couples and families and groups of friends of all ages milled about. The market was open and the townsfolk were enjoying the various wares on sale. A couple of teenagers went past carrying giant pretzels wrapped in paper bags and I nearly drifted along after them on the delicious aroma.

Kerr chuckled. “Want me to buy you a pretzel?”

“Yes, please,” I said, barely able to stop myself from licking my lips.