“Well, we won’t keep you,” Mrs.Hughes says, though she looks like she’d love nothing more than to interrogate us for the next hour.“But you must come by for coffee before you leave, Olivia.Both of you.”
“We will,” I promise, hooking my arm with Alexander’s and tugging him away.
“Lovely to meet you both,” Alexander calls over his shoulder as I pull him down the sidewalk.
When we’re safely out of earshot, I groan.“This is what I meant.Everybody wants to look at me with pity.‘Oh, poor Olivia got dumped, and her cousin is getting married.’”
“I didn’t see much pity in their eyes.”Alexander takes my hand in his again, looking at me.“I saw surprise when you introduced me.See?This was a good idea.”
I give him a half-smile.“I hate that you’re right.But you know it’s only going to get worse.These were just the neighbors.I know this is a huge town, but I know a lot of people.And all of them are very, very nosy.”
Alexander squeezes my hand.“Don’t worry. We can take them.”
As we turn onto Main Street, I find myself getting genuinely excited to show him around.Despite my initial reservations, there’s something special about sharing my hometown with him.
“This is Main Street,” I say, gesturing broadly as we walk.“Though you already saw it when we drove in.The Winter Wonderland Festival will be here from the 22nd to the 24th.There are rides set up and games, and there’ll be vendors selling crafts, hot chocolate stands, carolers—the whole nine yards.It’s a big deal.”
I watch Alexander’s face as he takes in the details up close he couldn’t appreciate from the car.The bakery we pass has built an entire gingerbread village in their window, complete with working streetlamps and tiny frosted residents.The boutique across the street has transformed its window into an elaborate winter scene, life-sized nutcrackers flanking a mechanical carousel of dancing snowflakes.A small brass band plays holiday tunes near the gazebo, the musicians bundled in scarves and festive hats as they perform “Jingle Bells.”
A few mothers with toddlers and preschoolers take photos in front of the Santa’s Workshop set up in the park pavilion, ready for the after-school rush that will start in about an hour.And at the center of town square stands the enormous Christmas tree, at least forty feet tall, covered in thousands of twinkling lights and ornaments.
“Then there’s the Holly and Ivy Festival which is even bigger.There’s a parade, live music, and they crown the Holly Queen,” I continue, warming to the topic.
“Holly Queen?”He raises an eyebrow.
“It’s a tradition.A senior girl from the high school gets crowned.It’s supposed to be about community service, but it’s mostly a popularity contest.”I smile smugly.“I won my senior year.Amber was pissed.”
“She was in your class?”
“We’re both the same age,” I explain.“Our parents thought we’d be best friends, but we could hardly tolerate each other.You’ll see why when you meet her.She’s the polar opposite of me.Also, the minute she finds out you’re loaded, she’s going to start throwing herself at you.”
“I thought she was getting engaged to Chase,” Alexander comments idly, his eyes focused on the decorations.
“She is,” I shrug.“But she can’t handle me having something nice.”
“I feel that is a backhanded sort of compliment,” he frowns at me.
I just smile at him.“Don’t worry.If she pounces on you, I’ll rescue you.”
“I’m worried you think I’ll need rescuing.”The corner of his lips twitch, and he takes my hand and wraps it around his upper arm.“You should stay close, then.”
I grin.“Sure.Anyway, how do you like my hometown?”
“It’s charming,” Alexander murmurs.I can tell he means it.
“Wait until you see it at night.The whole street glows.”
We stroll past shops with their doors propped open despite the cold, Christmas music spilling out onto the sidewalk.
“I can’t believe you’ve never picked out a Christmas tree.”I glance up at him, remembering my father’s plans.“It’s like a holiday rite of passage.”
Alexander’s face does something complicated—a flicker of something almost vulnerable before it smooths back into its usual composed expression.
“When I was young, we couldn’t afford one,” he says simply.“By the time we could, my younger brothers and father would get the tree.I was already in high school and focused on other things.”
The admission sends a pang through my chest.I sometimes forget that despite his current wealth, Alexander grew up with very little.
“Well, get ready for the Bob Hartley Christmas Tree Selection Experience,” I tell him, trying to lighten the mood.“Dad takes it very seriously.There’s a whole system involving trunk diameter, branch spacing, and needle retention tests.”
