Finally, quiet. Harper lets out the breath.
“That woman is going to be the death of me.”
I grunt. “You and me both.”
She wraps her hands around her coffee cup. “We should probably get ready.”
Probably. But I’m still thinking about the way she felt pressed against me an hour ago. I shake the thought away and force myself toward the closet.
♥♥♥
The holiday market is louder than it needs to be. Speaker systems riot from every corner, warbling Christmas carols. Kidsscream and laugh as they chase each other around the legs of reluctant adults. It’s like being dropped inside a Christmas snow globe some kid shook too damn hard. Harper walks beside me, close enough that our sleeves brush now and then. Every slight touch is its own small crisis. She keeps pausing at stalls of ornaments, candles, knitted things. Her eyes light up like she’s seeing magic each time. I don’t understand half the stuff on these tables, but I understand that look. She’s … something else. Too bright against all this noise.
We make it maybe ten feet before someone with a camera waves us over. “Holiday Bride couple! Over here!” Harper freezes. Not thinking, I put my hand at the small of her back, just to reassure her she’s not in this alone. She glances up at me, wide-eyed, but she doesn’t pull away.
The photographer positions us under a canopy of hanging snowflake lights and tells us to stand closer. Harper moves a little. I move more. Her hip brushes mine, and for one split second, I don’t mind having my picture taken. The flash pops. She flinches and the photographer grins like he just captured the cover of some winter romance magazine. “These are perfect,” he says.
We try to keep moving, but apparently cameras breed at holiday markets. Every turn, there’s another. By the cocoa cart. Beside a wreath stall. At one point, someone tries to get us under a damn mistletoe arch. I steer her around it so fast she laughs, light and surprised.
A baker offers peppermint bark samples. Harper tastes hers and actually moans softly, but not quiet enough. It shoots straight through me. I take mine just because she looks at me like she’s waiting for my verdict. “It’s good,” I say gruffly. Her smile could melt the snow off the damn rooftops.
Then, like a nightmare wearing a velvet coat, Mayor Janice materializes out of nowhere. “Places, lovebirds! It’s almost six!Time for the tree lighting at the church!” Harper lets out a huge exhale. I offer her my arm without thinking. She stares at it, startled. Then she slips her hand into the bend of my elbow. Somehow, I don’t mind being traipsed around like show ponies. I’m beside her all the way, and I like it.
The town has gathered around the church square, the giant spruce towering above everyone, draped in ribbons ready for the lighting. Children run around while adults sip steaming hot cocoa. Bells ring softly. Harper walks beside me with her hand still holding onto my arm. Her coat is a bold electric blue — matching her eyes. She may not know it, but she looks so beautiful. Painfully beautiful.
“I always loved the tree lighting when I was little.”
I glance down. “You should enjoy it, then.”
“I’m trying,” she admits softly. “But people are staring.”
“They’re staring because you look so pretty.”
She blinks up at me, startled. I clear my throat, instantly regretting saying it aloud. Before she can reply, someone bumps into her hard — a distracted guy carrying a stack of wrapped boxes. Harper wobbles on the icy brick path. My body moves before my brain does.
I grip her waist firmly, pulling her against me. She gasps, hands flying to my chest. The guy mutters an apology and hurries off, but I barely notice. My hand is still on her waist. Her soft curves pressed into me. Her face tipped up, inches away.
“You okay?” I ask, voice low.
“I—I’m fine,” she breathes.
Neither of us moves. Not until someone calls out, “Smile for a photo, lovebirds!”
We spring apart like we’ve been set on fire. Harper covers her face. “Oh my gosh.”
I glare at the crowd. Janice waves frantically from the stage. “Places everyone! Time to light the tree!”
Harper lets out a tiny groan. “We’re not getting out of this, are we?”
“No,” I say. Then … softer, “But I’m in this with you.”
She looks at me again and I see something dreamy in her expression. We approach the spot where we’re designated to stand. And I know for sure that I really don’t want this week to end.
Chapter 11
Harper
The crowd begins counting down from five — voices rising like the entire town is one big choir.
