Eli found himself beside the “Winter Market” stall for a stint, handing out maps of the festival. Warm lights framed the fake window, and kids bobbed behind it, their parents snapping photos.
“Smile!” one mom called.
Eli ducked out of frame as the shutter clicked.
Noah appeared next to him, his red beanie pulled down over his ears. “How’s the front line?”
“I’ve repeated ‘bathrooms are behind the community center’ so many times I’m not sure words are real anymore.”
“That’s the holiday spirit,” Noah said.
An older woman approached, her white hair visible beneath her knitted red hat, her eyes sharp.
“Evening, Noah,” she said. Then she met Eli’s gaze. “Hi there, dear. You must be Eli.”
Eli straightened. “Yes, ma’am.”
“I’m Joyce,” she said. Her eyes sparkled. “I’m sure you don’t remember me, but I taught you economics in eleventh grade.”
Panic flared through his chest. “Oh God, I’m sorry.”
She barked a laugh. “You were terrible at paying attention, but very good at doodling. Look at you now.”
He flushed, glancing at Noah.
Joyce turned to Noah. “The tree looks good. Better than last year.” Her lips twitched. “Even if there are fewer geese.”
“High praise indeed,” Noah said.
She nodded as if she was assessing them for a test. “You two make a nice picture. I’m glad.”
Eli’s brain stalled. “You…are?”
She rolled her eyes. “Everyone’s been waiting for Noah to let someone in again. I’m relieved he chose someone with kind eyes.”
Eli forgot how to breathe for a second.
Noah smiled. “Thanks, Joyce.”
“Don’t muck it up,” she said briskly. “Either of you. You’re too old for that high school drama.” Then she marched off, leaving them staring after her.
“Is that normal?” Eli finally asked.
“For Joyce? Pretty much.”
“For the town,” Eli clarified.
“For Mapleford?” Noah considered. “Also pretty much.”
“And you’re okay with that?”
Noah looked at him. “Are you?”
Eli thought about it.
When he’d left at eighteen, the idea of people watching his personal life as though it was a small-town soap opera would have sent him running. But standing here now with the lights glowing, the air smelling like sugar and cold, and Noah’s shoulder brushing his, he realized the watching wasn’t mean but protective, maybe curious, rooted in a town that actually wanted him to be okay.
“I think,” he said slowly, “I might be.”
