Amayah lifted her own clipboard higher against her coat as she walked. Luke drifted beside her, hands tucked into his pockets.
“You good?” he asked quietly.
She nodded. “Just feeling a little overwhelmed.”
“You don’t have to take every opportunity that comes your way—and you’re not a fool if you turn things down.”
Gratitude filled her. “Thank you. I needed that reminder.”
“Of course.”
Amayah watched as Luke tilted his head thoughtfully while studying a porch wrapped in fresh garlands.
“Did you notice the recurring theme?” he asked.
Amayah took a closer look. “Hmm . . . farmhouse charm? Or the fact that three different houses used plastic reindeer?”
He smirked. “I was thinking natural greenery. Actual pine, not the pre-scented stuff from a craft store.”
She clicked her pen dramatically. “A man who appreciates authenticity. I’m impressed.”
Something that almost looked like guilt flittered through his gaze before disappearing so quickly that she figured she’d imagined it.
They turned and continued walking together.
Ahead, a few families lingered along the sidewalk, bundled in thick scarves and holiday sweaters. One little girl whispered loudly to her mother, “It’s the door lady!” A dachshund waddled past in a tiny red sweater, tail sweeping the snow as he strained toward the camera crew for attention.
Snow crunched underfoot as they continued down the street. Small cottages lined both sides, their roofs powdered in white, chimneys puffing lazy curls of smoke into the pale afternoon sky. Evergreen garlands framed doorways; twinkling lights shimmered against frosted railings; and more than one homeowner had leaned fully into holiday cheer—candy cane borders, oversized velvet bows, JOY signs hand-painted on reclaimed wood.
It felt like walking through a living postcard.
Amayah paused at the first house on her list. The camera crew instinctively fanned out. Miranda lifted a hand—silent cue—then mouthed, “Two minutes. Just observe.”
Amayah leaned forward, studying the details: pinecones carefully woven into a wreath, brass jingle bells tied with burgundy velvet, snowflakes etched onto the glass window.
Luke bent slightly beside her. “They tucked cedar branches into the banister garland. That’s commitment.”
She smiled. “I love it when people care this much.”
Amayah continued to the next house—clipboard in hand, snow catching in her hair—as the whole frozen street seemed to hold its breath, watching her bring a little Christmas wonder to every doorway she touched.
Luke walked beside her, his presence steady and quietly warm, his steps matching her pace without rushing. Every so often she glanced his way and caught the smallest hint of a smile—restrained, thoughtful—as if even he couldn’t entirely resist the charm of the street.
Doors dressed in celebration.
Thresholds transformed into declarations of hope.
A soft hush settled over the block. The earlier bustle had thinned as most families had hurried inside to escape the cold. Snowflakes drifted lazily in the air, catching on the twinkling lights, and somewhere a set of wind chimes rang a delicate tune from a back porch.
For a moment, everything felt beautifully still.
But then—something subtle shifted.
Maybe it was the sudden quiet behind them when the crew paused to change the camera’s batteries. Maybe it was the faint scrape of a boot on pavement. Or maybe it was nothing more than instinct, sharp and uncanny, tightening her chest.
Amayah slowed, the hairs at the back of her neck prickling.
She scanned the street.
