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“More like something off unsolved mysteries, knowing my dating skills,” I grumble.
Saint elbows me. “Don’t even joke about that. I want out of alimony, but not that bad.”
I roll my eyes at him again. “You still don’t owe me alimony, Saint.”
“Details.” He waves away my protest, eyes scanning the market for our next stop. “Come on, let’s walk by Hotty McHotness’s booth again.”
Before I can protest, he seizes my arm and pulls me back through the holiday throngs toward the craft booth. Knowing Saint, he’ll find some excuse to shove me toward Nick’s booth before remembering something urgent in the opposite direction. That’s just the sort of incorrigible meddling that makes him my best friend.
Chapter 4
Nick—December 18th
Withfrequentinterruptionsfromcustomers, it takes me quite a while to finish restocking the little fake tree with Mom’s ornaments. It’s the sort of problem I’m sure she’ll be happy for me to report having. The market’s hours are coming to a close by the time I finish and my sales wind down as the crowd thins.
I start closing everything down for the night as I see my neighbors to either side shuttering their sturdy little wooden booths. I follow their lead, getting ready to do the same. First, I make sure Mom’s wares are tidy and ready for when we reopen tomorrow. Then I pack up a few of the more valuable small pieces and the money box to bring home for the night.
When everything matches the diagram Mom gave me for closing procedures, I grab my bag and sling the strap over one shoulder. Then I go around to the front of the booth to lock up. It takes a little finagling to secure the heavy wooden shutters over the booth for the night. Most of the other vendors are also locking up, but a few shoppers are trying to squeeze in last-minute purchases. I’m sure that will only get worse the closer we get to the actual holiday.
I get distracted, fighting with a stuck shutter. When it suddenly comes loose, I stumble back, and right into someone. I have an apology on the tip of my tongue as hands close around my biceps to steady me.
“Sorry I…” I trail off as I gaze over my shoulder into kind brown eyes. It’s Carl. Mom’s boss at the Days of Grace drop-in center. All the times she’s mentioned him to me did not prepare me for the compassion in his warm gaze. He steadies me and keeps me from falling on my ass in the snow.
“Whoa! That was a close one,” Carl says, still supporting me, even though I’ve had ample time to recover my footing. “You alright?”
“Fine,” I say, taking his cue to straighten up and stop leaning on him. I miss his steadying closeness immediately.
Carl smiles at me, and it’s as warm as the hands still squeezing my arms. It’s reassuring, this moment of contact with a stranger. I’m struck with the sudden urge to not let him walk away again. Then I catch sight of his dropped cup sporting the distinctive logo from the fancy hot cocoa booth further inside the market.
“Oh no. I’m sorry about your hot chocolate.” I gesture to the fallen cup. “Did I make you drop it?”
“Nah, it’s fine; I was almost done, anyway.”
The sludgy puddle of melted snow and cocoa by his feet belies his words. And just like that, I have a plan to keep this man’s attention for a little while longer. The craft booths are closing, but usually the food and beverage vendors near the big skating rink in the central square stay open longer. They cater to the post-skating rush, since the ice is open for a few more hours.
“Let me buy you a replacement?” I offer.
Carl bites his lip. “It’s really alright, you don’t have to do that.”
“I want to,” I insist, and then it occurs to me that I shouldn’t bulldoze over him if he really doesn’t want to get a drink with me. “I mean, I can give you cash to get a new one, if you’d prefer. But I’d love to treat us both to a drink? Like a date?” I offer him my hand, letting myself get swept up in the holiday atmosphere and a sweet smile.
“You would?” Carl looks taken aback, but then he flashes me a shy grin that makes my heart flutter. “I’d like that very much, Nick. Thank you.”
He tentatively takes my offered hand and I lead him through the warren of closing stalls. We join the long line.
“They sure stay busy,” Carl says, shooting me a nervous glance. “We don’t have to—”
I shake my head. “I want to. The long line just means I get you to myself a little longer.” I grin and squeeze his hand.
Carl flashes me another of his gorgeous smiles. “If you’re sure.”
“Very sure. Do you know what flavor you want?”
“Oh, yeah. I’m boring. I always get the same thing. Salted caramel dark chocolate with extra whip.”
“Mm, that sounds good.” And it does. I can already imagine tasting that flavor on his lips when we kiss—and I’m getting way ahead of myself. “Not boring at all. I think I’ll have the same.” How can he think he’s boring?
Carl grins at me. “It is good. Reminds me of my favorite chocolate bars. Have you had their cocoa before?”
