We drive to the little parking lot the town uses for Main Street shopping, and it’s full.
“Are the shops still open?” I ask, shocked by the number of cars.
The town gets a little bit of a Christmas rush, but I’ve never seen anything like this.
“I believe some of the shops have extended their hours, yes,” Junior says, scanning the road for a place to park.
I point to a tiny space a block away. “There’s a spot right there. Think you can fit your truck in it?”
Junior side-eyes me like I just insulted his mother and whips the truck around. He fits it perfectly into the space, which, I admit, is sexy as fuck.
We hop out and walk toward the pretty lights. As we get closer, my jaw drops. “They shut off car access to the street.”
Junior’s grin tells me he knows more than he’s been letting on.
“When the city council saw what we were doing, they wanted to get involved. Maybe make this a destination for people who want to see Christmas lights.”
The people in this area love their Christmas lights and will often travel to Austin to see the lights at Zilker Park, which are pretty amazing. Hell, even Marble Falls has its own little version of a Christmas light show. This, however, is something entirely different. It’s more of a well-decorated open-air Christmas bazaar.
“There are vendors in the middle of the street.” Looking up at my handsome boyfriend, I ask, “Did you know about this?”
He shoves his hands into his pockets, suddenly bashful.
“It might’ve been my idea.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
He glances down at me and then lifts my chin with his finger. “And miss this face? Are you kidding me? No way.”
I roll my eyes at him and grumble, secretly very, very pleased.
“Here’s the thing, my goth kitten. I’ve been watching you this whole time, working on these houses. Youlookall dark and disgruntled, but then you light up like a little kid every time you turn the lights on for the first time. Every single time. I promise not to give away your secret, but I know you love Christmas. Don’t even try to lie.”
I flush, the sensation traveling beyond my cheeks, down to my toes, and out to the tips of my hair. His words encircle me, and I don’t try to deny them. I never thought of myself as loving Christmas, but I’ve never thought of myself as loving much about life.
Helping people celebrate and, maybe, accidentally finding a passion in the meantime has made me incredibly happy.
“I don’t make a lot of sense, do I?” I ask, chancing a look up at Junior.
He scrunches his nose. “There isn’t much that’s typical about you.” He pushes at the line forming between my brows. “If it makes you feel any better, you make all the sense in the world to me. Every bit of you.”
His words cause a soft bloom in my chest. Fireworks go off every time I’m in his space, but this is quieter. We look at each other for a long moment, the silence stretching between us speaking volumes, most of it written in poetry.
Finally, Junior shifts on his booted feet. “May I escort you?”
He holds out his elbow, and I link my arm with his. “I’d love that, thank you.”
We meander down the middle of the street with everyone else, enjoying the camaraderie. That’s when I see the first window.
“Ofelia did this?” I ask.
I looked up Sparrow’s mother online, and her art is beautiful but rooted in reality and earthy tones. She’s clearly let a more fanciful side come out to play as we check out each new storefront. I’m reminded of something I learned about in English Lit: magical realism.
The scenes don’t even include the typical magic of Christmas. Instead of Santa or Frosty the Snowman, she’s painted diverse families, playing together, giving gifts, and giving back to the community. Her use of color and light…
“Are you crying?”
Junior puts his arm around me and gently pulls me in close.
