Her hum of approval punches straight through my chest. “That’s way too good. I can’t believe I was missing out on this all these years.”
“I’ll buy you another one on the way out if you want more,” I say before I can stop myself.
Her smile curves slowly, but she doesn’t say anything as she reaches for one of the brie bites in the bag. We walk back to the main street, ciders in hand, wandering through the market stalls strung with fairy lights. She pauses to admire handmade ornaments, knitted scarves, and sugar-dusted pastries. I buy her one of those stupid oversized gingerbread cookies shaped like a snowflake, mostly because she keeps staring at it but won’t reach for her wallet.
She takes it from me, rolling her eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”
“And you’re welcome,” I shoot back, but the truth is, I like seeing her with it. I like seeing her with all of this—her cheeks pink, her dark hair sprinkled with snowflakes, and her laughing because of something I said. It reminds me of how things used to be, and I miss it.
We’re surrounded by families and couples, people bundled in scarves and mittens, holding hands, leaning into each other. It should feel suffocating being here with my ex.
But it feels right. Like maybe this is how it should be.
We’re still drifting between stalls, Maisy pointing at literally everything from carved wooden nutcrackers to jars of spiced honey, when Jeff suddenly materializes out of the crowd.
“There you are,” he says, slipping into step beside her, way too close. “We’re all headed to the rink. Are you guys coming?”
Maisy opens her mouth to answer for us, but I beat her to it.
“I’m good here,” I say, calm but clipped. My fingers twitch, wanting to curl around her wrist, and pull her to me to create some distance between her and Jeff.
He blinks at me like I just spoke a foreign language, as if he can’t understand why I answered his question instead of Maisy, before he looks back at her. “Doyouwant to skate?”
Maisy hesitates, then shakes her head, smiling politely. “Maybe another time. I kind of like wandering the markets.”
Relief floods through me in waves, and I can’t hold back my smug smile again when Jeff gives me a once-over, like he’s sizing me up.
Jeff shrugs, trying to hide his disappointment. “Alright, suit yourself.”
The moment he’s gone, my jaw unclenches. I hadn’t realized how tight I was holding it until now. The bastard pisses me off.
Maisy glances at me, brows lifted. “What was that?”
“What was what?” I ask, playing dumb as I take a long sip of my drink.
“I’m good here.” She mocks me with a deep voice, lips pursed out as she does it.
“I don’t sound like that.” I roll my eyes. “Plus, you hate skating. I was just doing you a favour.”
Maisy throws her head back and lets out a cackle, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “You don’t like him, do you?”
I smirk. “Not when he looks at you the way he does.”
She eyes me for a beat longer, like she wants to say something, but she lets it go, turning back to the stalls.
We wander farther down the line of stalls, until Maisy stops at a booth covered in glass ornaments—tiny hand-blown pieces that glitter under the bulbs. Snowflakes, reindeer, stars. She picks up one shaped like a pair of skis, turning it carefully in her hands.
Watching her holding the ornament jogs a memory. For as long as I’ve known Maisy, she’s collected Christmas ornaments. She probably has a huge collection by now, but you can bet that every single piece has some sort of special meaning to her.
Her lips part slightly, like she’s about to say something, but then she sets it back down and steps away. While she’s looking at the chocolate selection they have, I grab the ornament and quickly pay for it before she notices.
The cashier catches on that I’m trying to be discreet and quickly places the ornament into a gift box, tying it with a bow as her eyes shift to make sure Maisy hasn’t looked over yet. She slides the gift box over with a wink and I flash her a grateful grin before putting the box in my jacket pocket just as Maisy turns around.
“Ready to check out another booth?” I ask, doing my best to sound casual.
“Actually, I think I’m ready to head home.”
My stomach plummets. “You want to go back already?” I ask, feeling disappointed that the night is coming to an end already.
