I almost turnedthe truck around twice before I reached Main Street.
The closer I got to the town square, the brighter the lights became. Strings of gold and white wrapped around lampposts, garland draped along storefronts, and people bundled in coats and hats making their way toward the enormous evergreen at the center of the square. The whole town glowed, and I felt completely out of place.
I sat for a moment at the intersection, the engine idling, watching families cross the street and laughing as their kids tugged them toward the tree. The entire town had shown up. Memories I tried hard not to revisit pressed at the edges of my thoughts. Scarlett and I used to weave through these same crowds on winter nights, her hand tucked in mine, her laugh easy and bright. Tonight, she was somewhere out there without me.
The idea twisted painfully and, at the same time, pushed me out of the truck before I could talk myself out of it. The cold slammed into me, sharp enough to sting my lungs. Snowflakes caught in my eyelashes as I shoved my hands deep in my pockets and started toward the square.
People noticed me before I’d even crossed the street. Conversations paused. A few heads turned. Someone nudged someone else. I kept walking, my breathing slow and controlled, every instinct urging me to keep my eyes down and pretend I didn’t hear the whispers.
Then I spotted her.
Scarlett stood at the front, close to the tree, her coat zipped tight against the cold, a knit hat pulled low over her curls. She looked steady and unsure all at once, exactly how I felt. When her gaze lifted and caught mine, something warm and solid clicked into place inside my chest. I didn’t think. I just moved toward her.
Her breath fogged the air as she exhaled, her eyes roaming over my face like she needed to make sure I was real.
“You came,” she said low enough that only I could hear her.
“I wasn’t going to let you stand out here all alone.”
She let out a breath that sounded almost like relief. The glow from the streetlight behind her softened everything: her cheeks, the curve of her mouth, the shine in her eyes.
Orville’s voice cracked over the loudspeaker, announcing that the countdown would start soon, but the noise faded as the two of us stood there, neither one of wanting to look away first.
“I meant what I said last night,” I told her. “About wanting to make things right.”
Her voice wavered. “Then do it. Say what you need to say.”
“I love you.” I didn’t ease into it or soften the edges. I told her the truth. “I’ve loved you my whole damn life, and I hated myself for pushing you away. But I did it because I thought it would keep you from getting pulled under with me.”
She blinked hard, but a tear still escaped and rolled down her cheek. She didn’t hide it and didn’t apologize for it either. Instead, she stepped a little closer, her voice low and quiet.
“I lost you anyway, Kingston. I would’ve rather stood beside you than spend years wondering if it was something I did wrong.”
The ache in my chest tightened. “There was nothing wrong with you. There never has been. Only me.”
“That’s the part you still don’t see,” she whispered. “You think your past is the worst thing about you, but the only thing that ever broke my heart was that you decided to end things without ever giving me a choice. I love you. I would have waited a lifetime for you.”
I held her gaze as the crowd around us went quiet. Somewhere behind us, a small voice shouted, “Start the countdown!” Mayor Nelson laughed, shuffled his notes, and finally announced it was time.
Scarlett’s eyes shifted toward the lights overhead for a split second, then back to me. “Stay,” she said. “Not just tonight. Stay and let people see you. Let them know you’re not hiding anymore.”
I hesitated out of habit, my chest tightening. The familiar urge to run and protect myself surged, but the way she looked at me, like she would single-handedly fight off the crowd, made something inside me unlock.
“I’ll stay,” I said. “If you stay with me.”
Scarlett reached for my hand. “That’s the only way I want to do this.”
We interlaced our fingers as the crowd started the countdown.
“Ten!”
“Nine!”
“Eight!”
Families pressed closer to the tree. Kids bounced on their toes in excitement. The cold bit at my nose and the wind tugged at my coat collar, but Scarlett’s hand was warm, her grip firm.
“Seven!”
