Noah’s eyes softened. “Good.” He slid his fingers through Eli’s and gave a gentle squeeze.
Eli squeezed back.
No one screamed or gasped. The square didn’t explode. A few people looked, perhaps, and some smiled. Then someone wolf-whistled from near the cocoa stand, earning a smack from Gloria.
The world kept turning.
Noah nudged him. “Speech time.”
The mayor made her way to the foot of the tree, to where a microphone stand awaited her. She gave a short speech about community and resilience, and geese being explicitly banned from future festivals. Then the crowd counted down from ten, and she flipped the switch.
The tree exploded into light.
Warm white lights raced up the branches. Stars twinkled within the boughs, and ornaments shimmered. Gasps rippled through the crowd, kids squealed, and someone nearby sniffled as if they’d never seen anything so beautiful.
Eli tilted his head back, watching the glow wash over the square.
It was magical.
Noah nudged him, his breath warm on Eli’s ear. “We did that.”
Eli swallowed, his throat tight. “Youdid that.”
“We,” Noah repeated firmly. His hand found Eli’s again, giving another small, grounding squeeze. The moment spun out, golden and real. And in that glow, in the hum of people cheering and music starting, Eli felt it—the first real tug of wanting to stay, not just for the season, but permanently.
The thought made his heart beat faster, and he pulled his hand back.
Noah looked at him, alert. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah,” Eli lied. “I’m not a fan of crowds.”
Noah’s expression shifted. “We can duck out.”
“I’m fine,” Eli said quickly. “I need a second, that’s all. Maybe some quiet.”
Noah nodded. “Come on.”
He guided Eli around the edge of the square, under strings of lights, past the vendors and cocoa lines, to a quieter side street where the snow was piled high and the music faded to a distant echo.
The cold hit harder away from the warmth of the crowd. Eli sucked in the sharp air.
“Talk to me,” Noah said, his voice low.
Eli stared down at his boots. Snowflakes collected on his lashes.
“I’m…happy,” he said. It was true. “And that’s scary.”
Noah let out a slow breath. “Yeah, I get that.”
“This festival is—” Eli gestured vaguely at the glowing town. “Part of me is still convinced I don’t belong in this picture. That I’m going to mess it up, or wake up, or find out I imagined all of this.” His voice shook, and he pressed his lips together, embarrassment flushing through him.
Noah stepped close enough that Eli could feel his warmth through all the layers.
“You didn’t imagine it,” Noah said quietly. “And you belong here as much as anyone else. More than some of them, honestly.Have you met the guy who insists on wearing a Grinch costume to the grocery store in November?”
“Fair point,” Eli murmured.
“And me? I’m just a guy with a staple gun and too many clipboards.”
