"The Lightkeeper tradition is one of Beacon Hill's most cherished customs," he said confidently. "It's a privilege to carry that responsibility and to represent the values this community holds dear."
The reporter beamed. "And your Hearthkeeper? We understand Veronica Tate had to step down. Will you be announcing your new choice today?"
My heart was racing so hard and my body went into hypervigilance.
His expression didn't falter, but I swear I saw a slight tightening around his eyes. "We'll address that during the ceremony." His confident smile didn't fade a single bit.
"Any hints?" the reporter pressed, shoving her mic closer to his mouth, but he winked at her in an ultra-confident move that had my insides shrinking and my stomach roiling.
It was so easy for him to face reporters because he probably hadn’t had a day of trauma in his life.
"You'll have to wait and see." Dr. Bradley clapped his hands once before clasping them and tilted his head sideways as the reporter chuckled.
I watched him from my hiding spot, my fingers clenched around my phone and clinging to my tote.
He was good at this.
The camera loved him.
He looked every inch the respected physician and leader, the man who had his whole life organized and in control.
I was jealous of that confidence and control, but curious too.
Men like Nathan Bradley were usually scooped up by the time they were thirty, with three kids, a dog, and a white picket fence.
Especially here in Boston, of all places.
My wonder over why this attractive, successful man was still a bachelor at his age helped me ground myself and push the panic away enough to listen to the rest of the questions.
As the interview wrapped, Dr. Bradley scanned the crowd around himself, spotting me in my hiding spot, and gestured at me with a hand. "Let's go," he said. "They want us backstage in five minutes."
I fell into step beside him, still scrambling to keep up, but the pause in our walk at least allowed me to catch my breath. "Do you need anything else before the ceremony?"
"No," he said without looking down at me.
And that was that.
Sometimes, I got a list of orders so long, I had to scramble to write them down, and sometimes, nothing.
We reached the stage entrance, and a young man with a headset gestured us toward the wings.
The backstage area was chaos—volunteers rushing past with props, someone adjusting sound equipment, a woman in a Mrs. Claus costume fanning herself with a program.
I pressed myself against one of the posts holding up the curtains that created the makeshift area, trying to stay out of the way, and watched Dr. Bradley as he rose on his tiptoes and looked over people’s heads.
The coordinator from earlier appeared again, this time with a fan in her hand making her hair dance. "Dr. Bradley, we have a problem."
His jaw tightened as he fought through a range of emotions I read on his face.
I assumed this was what the reporter was talking about when they said his Hearthkeeper was out.
I hadn't seen a thing about it, but then, this event had been news to me too.
"Your Hearthkeeper. We sent you an email last week explaining that Veronica Tate had to withdraw due to her diagnosis. You were supposed to submit a replacement name by Monday."
The woman’s eyebrows furrowed and she cocked her head.
I watched the realization dawn on his face—the slow, terrible understanding that he'd missed the email because his last assistant had quit.
