Taylen pulls back slightly, but his hands remain on my back while he catches his breath. “It’s working,” he whispers against my mouth.
We take a moment to compose ourselves before returning to the dining room for the next serving slot.
The rhythm of the afternoon continues. More plates filled, more smiles exchanged, more stories shared. Time blurs into a comfortable pattern of service as the crowd gradually thins, children growing sleepy in their parents’ arms, and elderly guests lingering over coffee and conversation.
Before I realize it, we’ve moved from serving to cleanup. Taylen wipes down tables while I stack chairs. The volunteer in charge approaches us as we’re collecting the last of the serving utensils. Her arms cradle two boxed portions of food.
“Thank you so much for your help this afternoon,” she says, her smile carrying genuine gratitude that makes my chest warm. “We’ve got plenty of volunteers to finish the cleanup. You two have done more than enough today, but I hope to see you again next week.”
“Absolutely,” we reply in tandem.
“The children’s choir will be here singing Christmas carols tomorrow,” she adds, her eyes twinkling. “You should come if you can. It’s always magical.”
Taylen carries the lunch boxes to my truck. The winter air feels harsh after the community center’s warmth, making us both inhale sharply as we step outside.
“Where to now?” he asks as we climb into the truck.
I hadn’t planned this next part, but as I see the sun slowly lowering on the horizon and the steaming boxes between us, I know just what to do.
“Dinner with a view,” I say as I drive us back to the farm, past my parents’ farmhouse and my cabin, toward the frozen lake.
I park near the water’s edge by the oak tree, reversing in. Taylen grabs the food and steps out of the truck. I grab the blanket I always keep in the cab and drape it over the lowered tailgate.
We sit side by side, taking a box each.
“Bastian Hall,” Taylen says, “a romantic soul. Who’d have thought it?”
I chuckle. “Sometimes all you need is someone to be romantic for. Besides, who do you think wrote half of the love songs for the band?”
He takes a piece of turkey and puts it in his mouth. I could write songs about that mouth.
The food tastes better somehow in the open air, even though we have to eat it quickly before it cools completely.
“Thank you,” he says, closing his almost-empty box. “It was a really fun day.”
His head finds my shoulder as the last light fades completely from the sky. I wrap my arm around his waist automatically, holding him close against the winter chill that grows sharper with each passing minute.
“Still not a date though,” he murmurs against my jacket, his words carrying a smile I can hear without seeing. “Just dinner, remember? Or more accurately, a late lunch with a sunset.” But his body remains pressed against mine, betraying how little he means to protest.
“Of course not,” I agree easily, letting my cheek rest against his hair. “Just food, community service, and stargazing. Totally casual. Not a date.”
The darkening sky deepens around us while we sit together, watching the stars become brighter in the sky. Neither of us seems inclined to move despite the growing cold.
Taylen’s fingers find mine in the darkness. “You know how this non-date would end perfectly?” he asks.
“How?”
“Take me home and kiss me on the porch.”
I chuckle. “Trust me, I have full intentions of doing that.”
“Good. Because I might invite you in. For coffee, you know?”
“Coffee is good. I love coffee.”
26
TAYLEN
