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“The kids are really cute.” She turned and cupped her elbows. “I always wondered how stressful it was to be a teacher. But they probably make it worth it.”
“They really do.” Brad raised his shoulders.
Maya stuttered and dropped his gaze. For a moment, she looked lost in thought. “I have to ask.”
“Sure. Anything.” Brad took a small step forward.
“Rainey,” Maya went on. “Is she your girlfriend or something? I mean, is there something between you? Gosh, I hate prying like this.”
Brad’s heart opened like a window. “No. She’s just a colleague.”
Maya’s shoulders relaxed. Around them, the air was heavy with the smell of warm cookies, and Brad felt as though he could have broken out in song.
“Do you have dinner plans tonight?” Brad began tentatively. He suddenly felt as though he didn’t want to let Maya from his sight.
Maya shook her head. “I don’t.”
“I don’t suppose you’d like to go out tonight? It’s just two days till the Christmas Festival,” Brad said. That meant they were running out of time together.
“And just three days till I hopefully get the keys to the mansion,” Maya said with a laugh. “What a strange dream this all is. But yes. Of course. I’ll go to dinner tonight. You just have to get me home at a decent hour. My stand-in mother, Felicity, doesn’t like it when I’m too late.”
ChapterEight
It was the morning of the Christmas festival. Felicity chased Maya around the ground floor of the bed and breakfast, demanding that she sit for a cup of coffee and a croissant, at the very least, before she sped downtown. Maya shoved her feet in her boots and grimaced at Felicity, whose affection for Maya came off her in waves. It was a rare thing for someone to care so deeply for Maya. Although Maya was nearly late, she lapped it up, reminding herself that Felicity’s love could be conditional. She was still her guest, after all.
“You’re too good to me, Felicity,” Maya said, taking the cup of coffee and nibbling at the croissant.
“You need your fuel,” Felicity told her. “It’s going to be a very long two days.”
“It’s just like the marching band director said. The Christmas Festival runs like a machine. I’m just here to press ‘play,’” Maya explained, mostly to remind herself.
Felicity’s eyes shone. “Your aunt is so proud of you.”
Maya wanted to protest, to tell her that, probably, Aunt Veronica was far too ill to know what was going on in Hollygrove. But she didn’t want to stomp all over the magic bubbling around them. She needed that to get through the next two days.
After Maya ate the croissant and slurped down the coffee, she hurried down the porch steps and whisked toward the courthouse. Already, the food stalls were set up along the road, with vendors heating the coals for their grills. Men and women, bundled against the chill, were setting up their stands with arts and crafts and drinking coffee together. A large banner for the Christmas festival hung from one end of the row of downtown buildings to the other, and several shop owners stood on their stoops, chatting excitedly. Maya checked with each of the vendors to ensure they had everything they needed. Afterwards, she sped toward the nearest stage, where two members of the theater troupe needed her help to arrange the costumes for their later performance of Charlie Brown Christmas. By the time they finished setting up, it was noon— and festival attendees had begun to mill through downtown, ready for the magic to begin.
Maya found herself strolling through the crowd, eyeing each Hollygrove local, hunting for some sign of Brad. That morning, he’d been in charge of last-minute preparations for the festival parade floats, but he’d said he’d be downtown by mid-day. Already, the first band bounded onto the larger of the three stages and began to tune their guitars. Festival-goers gathered beneath the stage with cups of coffee and raised their chins with excitement. Toward the far end of the festival, the first of the four Santa Clauses they’d hired for the event took his place on the throne they’d rented from the neighboring mall, and a line of children approached, eager to say hello and remind Santa of how good they’d been that year. Maya felt a pang of regret, remembering that her ex-husband had taken Phoebe to do that. It had been too painful for Maya.
As though Phoebe was listening to her thoughts, Maya’s phone buzzed with a text from her.
PHOEBE: Hi! Happy Christmas Festival!
PHOEBE: How does it feel to celebrate Christmas?
Maya took a moment out of frantically buzzing through the festival to text back.
MAYA: It’s surprisingly lovely. This little town is so quaint. It’s impossible not to get wrapped up in the magic of it all.
PHOEBE: Maybe you’re not a Christmas cynic after all?
Maya felt yet another pang of regret. For so many years, Christmas had felt like a black monstrosity— a reminder of the tremendous terror and loss in her life.
Was it possible that Aunt Veronica knew that? Was it possible she’d asked her to plan the festival as a way to grapple with that loss?
“Maya! Hey!” Brad’s voice came from the crowd, and Maya pocketed her phone and bee-lined toward him. Ever since their dinner Thursday night at the nearby Mexican restaurant, where they’d shared burritos, a big basket of chips, and plenty of spicy salsa, she’d been distracted with her feelings for him. Deep into the night, she’d stared into the darkness, daring herself to visualize a gorgeous future with Brad by her side. Even still, they hadn’t shared anything more than a hug after dinner. But the hug itself had felt electric, as though every cell in Maya’s body had stood straight up.
Now, Maya wrapped her arms around Brad and burrowed her face in his chest. He smelled of coffee and fresh snow. “How did decorating go?”
