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“Hey!” Maisy waves at me from the arched entrance wrapped in boughs of fir and festive ribbon. She’s wearing maroon yoga pants, knee-high boots, and a vintage boho-style fringe poncho with a dark green fair isle pattern. Once I’m close, she does a double take. “Whoa, dude. Are you okay?”
I put on a little makeup to cover up before coming, but I guess it doesn’t do much to help my swollen eyes. If I get into it now, I’ll definitely break down again.
“Yeah. Still raw from everything.” I offer a smile as I adjust the chunky scarf poking out of the neckline of my white wool coat. “I just want to have a good time.”
“One good time, coming up.”
Maisy hooks her arm with mine and leads us down the stall-lined main street. The folder sits heavily in my bag. My plan is to ignore it while Maisy and I stroll around the lively market.
The heavenly scents of spiced meat, cider, cinnamon, cranberries, and pine trees fill the air. It’s everything winter and it smells amazing, lifting my spirits.
Maisy leans into my side, fluttering her lashes as she rolls her eyes back dramatically. “Oh my god, it smells so good.”
“It does.” This time my smile comes more easily. “First stop, hot drinks and pie pops?”
She snaps her fingers and points at me. “You read my mind.”
We veer left toward our favorite stall to kick off our yearly tradition. Maisy gets a hot cider and I ask for extra marshmallows in my hot chocolate. We toast each other, tapping our cherry pie pops before laughing into the huge bites we stuff in our mouths. It feels really good to laugh. The tart burst of fruit on my tongue makes everything feel a little better.
“Ready to roll?” Maisy blows on her cider. “I think for this year’s prank gift, I’m getting my mom one of those carvings with moose crap.”
I snort as we amble with the flow of traffic, pausing at a few stalls to check out the wares on display. Maisy has a tradition where she tries to annoy her mom by getting her the weirdest gift she can find every year, acting like she really thought her mom would love it. Neither of them will give in or back down, so Maisy forges on with her mission.
“Trying to outdo that hideous cross stitch from last year?”
“She didn’t even blink at that! I thought she would, I mean it was so detailed. How do you stitch shading for a bull’s balls? A true artist at work.”
“That thing still gives me nightmares.”
Maisy muffles a proud laugh as she sips her cider.
A couple bumps into me at the next stall, not apologizing for being so wrapped up in each other they don’t notice me. My heart gives another feeble pang. The man’s cologne smells similar to the earthy one Connor wears. With a polite smile, I sidestep the pair to check out the crystals and gemstones on the shelves. Maisy makes a sound like she found one she likes, and gets lost in a conversation with the vendor about crystals for empowering and boosting yoga practice.
I tune it out as I poke at the pretty stones on one of the tables. The basket at the end of the row stops me. It’s full of moonstones, reminding me of Connor once more.
Gulping the dregs of my drink, I slip outside to toss the cup, putting him from my mind. I bump into someone.
“Sorry!” I put my hands up to brace myself and catch my balance.
“Thea.” Mr. Coleman gives me a handsome smile. “It’s so good to see you outside of class.”
“Mr. C.” The high-octave surprise in my tone has him tipping his head. My bag suddenly weighs a thousand pounds with Connor’s file inside sitting like a brick. All the accusations float up to the forefront of my thoughts. They test the impression of the cool, kind teacher I thought of him as, small fissures running along the facade. An uncomfortable pitter-patter moves through my chest. I edge back a step, putting more distance between us. “Uh, hi. You’re here, too.”
“I am. The holiday bazaar in Ridgeview is one of my favorites in the area. I’m a real sucker for the mulled wine.” He chuckles and reaches out to pat my shoulder. “I hope your break is going well.”
He pauses when I flinch and step back again. Henry flashes in my mind and my skin crawls.
Maisy saves me from answering, slinging her arm over my shoulder. “They had such a good deal on rose quartz!”
“That’s great,” I say in a strained voice. “Well, bye Mr. C. Enjoy the market.”
I feel his eyes on my back as Maisy and I keep walking. Can’t I get one afternoon away from my problems?
Apparently not, because every couple-oriented ornament, holiday song, and activity at the market bombard me the further we go. Damn Connor for owning my thoughts. One of his hugs would feel so good right now.
“Oh damn, look how long the line is.” Maisy motions to the bathrooms, where
she pulled us after the last stall. “Don’t wait up.”
