They shuffled a few steps down the aisle, their hands still linked. Eli realized he didn’t want to let go first. It was the strangest thing. Their shared warmth felt easy, as though gravity had simply decided this was where his hand belonged.
They reached the end of the aisle, and the man peered around it. He turned back with exaggerated relief. “He’s gone. You’re free.”
“Oh good.” Eli’s voice was drier than the lumber section. “For a moment there, I thought I was in real emotional danger.”
The man laughed, the sound bright and genuine. “You’re good at this.”
“I’ve been told I have excellent hand-holding skills.”
“Modest, too,” the man said. “Thank you. Seriously. That was above and beyond.”
Eli shrugged, trying to look casual and failing. “Happy to be of service. I charge by the minute.”
The man grinned again. “Then I owe you, what, six bucks?”
“Seven. I’m union.”
That earned him another laugh, this one quieter. The man’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “Noah,” he said, offering his free hand, the other still loosely wrapped around Eli’s. “Noah Carter.”
“Eli Winters.”
They shook, a brief pressure of skin that made Eli’s heartbeat do a small, inexplicable stumble. He glanced at their still joined hands. “So… do I get my hand back now?”
Noah flushed. “Oops. Sorry.” He let go, and Eli felt the loss instantly. Noah glanced into Eli’s cart. “You buying out the lighting department?”
“It’s for my sister’s bakery,” Eli said. “We’re doing a window display.” He rolled his eyes. “Apparently, I’m now head elf.”
“Head elf is a sacred role,” Noah said solemnly. “I hope she’s paying you in baked goods.”
“Croissants, mostly. I’m underpaid but well-fed.”
“That’s the dream.”
Something about his grin made Eli’s stomach do that odd little swoop again, the one that had been dormant since his breakup.
He had no idea what put the thought into his head, but his mouth went into overdrive.
“There wasn’t really an ex, was there?”
Noah blinked, then winced. “Ah. You caught that.”
“I’m observant.” The only people he could see were Millie and a couple in their sixties, still arguing about socket adapters.
Noah rubbed the back of his neck, sheepish. “You looked cute. Approachable. And technically, you saved me from an existential crisis over outdoor wreath sizes, so I regret nothing.”
Eli should have been irritated, but instead he was intrigued. “You’ve got nerve, I’ll say that for you.”
“It’s an occupational hazard. I coordinate the town’s Christmas Festival. If I can survive one thousand five hundred people arguing about the placement of inflatable reindeer, I can survive asking a stranger to hold my hand.”
“Fair point,” Eli said. “Although I think I should get a badge for ‘Most Confused Participant.’”
“I can probably arrange that,” Noah said, his smile widening. “I make the badges.”
Of course he did.
They lingered another moment, the world strangely suspended between carols and laughter and the hum of fluorescent lights. Finally, Noah took a small step back. “Well, thanks for saving me from imaginary heartbreak.”
“Anytime,” Eli said. “Next time, however, I’m charging extra for public displays of affection.”
