So that’s what we do.
I promise to keep it simple—just stopping by a few stores and maybe grab a hot bite afterward.
She doesn’t know it, but I’d take her anywhere if it meant seeing that spark in her eyes again.
As we grab our coats, I feel the tightness in my chest ease for the first time all week.
Maybe this won’t fix everything, maybe it won’t fixanything, but it’s something.
And right now, that feels like a start.
We head out just after nine.
The morning air is cold enough to sting my cheeks, the air a sharp and bitter chill that makes your lungs ache on the first inhale.
Noelle pulls her hood up as we walk to the car, her hands tucked deep into the pockets of her jacket.
She moves a little cautiously before climbing into the truck, glancing over her shoulder once or twice, but she’s out here and that’s already a win.
The drive is quiet at first when we get going.
I keep the radio low on some soft old Christmas station that I hum under my breath as we drive.
Every now and then I catch her watching the world blur by out her window.
Her reflection in the glass looks distant and tired and a little thoughtful.
I want so badly to reach over and put my hand on her knee, to give it a tight squeeze before telling her I’ve got her.
It would be so easy to with how close we are, but then again it terrifies me to think about her shoving my hand away and rejecting me.
By the time we pull into the strip mall’s parking lot, the entire place is packed.
Strings of lights hang from every lamppost dotted along the sidewalk, the store windows glow with reds, golds, and greens.
There’s laughter spilling from a nearby cafe at the end of the plaza as people pour in and out, the scent of cinnamon and roasted chestnuts drifting through the cold when we climb out of the car.
It’s complete and utter chaos, but underneath it feels nostalgic.
Noelle’s eyes track a group of kids running past us while we head to the first store front, all of them holding paper cups of cocoa that spill onto the ground and leave trails following after them.
She smiles slightly, half of it hidden under the scarf pulled up to her chin, but at least it’s something.
“I say we hit up two stores then grab something from that chocolate store that has the line wrapped around the building,” I say lightly, shoving my hands in my jacket pockets.
Noelle’s mouth twitches. “Just admit your sweet tooth is getting the better of you.”
I laugh. “Guilty. But can you blame me? This place smells like every glutton’s wet dream.”
We start walking, weaving through the crowd. I let out a soft breath when we step into one of the stores, the warm air wafting over us and shaking the chill from my bones.
Every few minutes she stops to look at something: a display of little trinket-sized ornaments, a rack of plush scarves, a little stand selling “gifts for him.” I don’t rush her.
I let her take her time, watch her fingers brush over the edges of things while taking it all in.
She ends up lingering in front of a display of children’s books.
Her expression softens as she flips one open, scanning the pages.
