I dash my head, then answer when I remember the darkness. “Probably not. We only have two days off. Normally, things shut down for an entire week, but the company is resorting to overtime pay to keep the guys around and offering a bonus for finishing on time.”
I feel a squeeze around my hand. “I’m sorry.”
I shrug. “I’ll survive. It’s a good year to miss.”
By the path her voice takes to reach my ears, I can tell she’s looking directly. “Why is that?”
Visions of making merry around the Christmas tree with Becca and Rand pepper my imagination like spongy arrows launched at my head by a trouble-making elf bound for Santa’s naughty list.
But how big an idiot am I, rabbit-trailing intothatat a moment likethis? I won the prize tonight. Everly Wilkes is withme. “Minor family drama. No big deal, but I don’t mind avoiding it, all the same.”
“Ugh, I hear you. Family sometimes, right? Mom and Oakley about drove me nuts when I told them we were going out tonight.”
“Your mom did seem to have a lot of questions for me.” We’re nearing the merrymaking, where rows of multi-colored lights skimming the rooflines of buildings brighten our path. “Kind of makes me wonder what all you said about me.” I sway, swiping my sleeve into hers.
She swipes right back. “Keep wondering, buddy.”
Laughing, I tighten my hold on her hand.
It fits perfectly.
The switch is supposed to be flipped on the city tree in—I check my watch—precisely fourteen minutes. We make our way through the crowd and find a spot on the courthouse lawn. An upbeat rendition ofO Christmas Treepulses through speakers set up on the perimeter. Near the front of the crowd, with the giant evergreen as a backdrop, children dressed as elves dance, bringing the song to life.
The press of the crowd pushes Everly and me close, which is awesome, but blaring music takes real conversation off the table. Is it too soon to wrap my arm around her waist and pull her all the way in?
Fate, exasperated with my indecision, makes the move for me. A pair of elementary-age boys zip through the throng, jostling her. I steady her until she’s balanced—and don’t let go. I wrap my arms around her waist and pull her back, tight against my chest.
Finally, the mayor takes the stage and begins the countdown. Three, two, one…and we have Christmas!
The tree is shiny and bright, but nothing beats the feel of Everly snuggled in my arms.
Chapter 13
Knox
We ooh and ahh and watch the ginormous tree shift color schemes and flash patterns for several minutes. Gradually, the crowd disperses, and we meander, hand in hand.
Vendor booths line the streets around the square with homemade goods. Jellies, handcrafted wall art, quilts. In one station, children line up to have Santas and snowmen painted on their cheeks. Another is a place for kids and parents to build gingerbread houses.
Everly and I join foot traffic on the sidewalk and enter a quaint art gallery.The Twelve Days of Christmasplays from speakers in the corners of the room. Evergreen candles soften the air. The paintings are nice, but a nook in the rear of the store where a local artist crafts glass ornaments draws us. Fingers laced, we watch a shimmery ornament come to life in the heat of a golden flame.
“Beautiful, huh?”
Everlyahs.“So cool. I don’t have a crafty, artsy bone in my body.” She smiles. “You?”
I wriggle the fingers of my free hand. “These clumsy things would make shards out of one of those babies in no time flat.”
In the next shop, handcrafted jewelry under bright lights dazzles. The diamond rings inside the glass cases are particularly blinding. Everly barely glances, viewing colored stones in a neighboring case instead.
I get it. Awkward for a first date.
In a weird twist she can’t know, I happen to be the owner of a very large, very flashy engagement ring, a ring Becca hasn’t seen fit to give back. By rights, she should return it, since she’s the one who shattered the promise, but I don’t know that I have the fight left in me at this point.
Doesn’t mean I don’t stew over the unfairness from time to time. The woman has a lot of nerve.
A bell heralds our entrance to the next shop. Scents of Christmas—pine, cinnamon, and gingerbread—welcome us. The shop is filled with Western art. Horses, cowboys on the range, and old timey oil derricks on canvas. All of it flashes with a uniquely Texas flair. An elderly man in the rear of the showroom advertises himself as a maker of custom saddles.
After perusing, we wander back to the sidewalk, Christmas bulbs in the window color Everly’s cheeks.
