I huffed a laugh. “You already do that.”
His expression softened. “I like being near you.”
My throat tightened. I stared at the pastry case as if croissants could save me from emotional vulnerability.
We carried our drinks outside. The steam rose in warm curls. Braxton handed me the peppermint hot chocolate like it was something precious. The cup warmed my hands immediately, and the scent made me feel like I had been wrapped in a blanket from the inside.
We walked toward the town square. Sleighbells chimed softly in the distance.
“There are sleighbell rides near the square,” he said, as if confirming the plan in case I had changed my mind.
“I remember,” I said. “I’m not backing out.”
His shoulders eased. “Good.”
The sleigh ride line was longer than I expected, families and couples bundled in layers. The horses stamped patiently, breath puffing out in clouds. Bells jingled with every small movement, a sound so cheerful it felt almost unreasonable.
Braxton and I stood in line, sipping hot chocolate. The warmth spread through me slowly. My nerves didn't vanish, but they settled, like they had found a place to sit.
Braxton glanced at me. “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” I said, and realized it was true. “I am. This is just… new.”
He nodded. “For me. too.”
That surprised me. He always seemed so confident. Like he knew what to do in every situation, even when everything was falling apart. But he was looking at me now with something slightly uncertain in his eyes, like he was aware this mattered.
I took a breath. “Thank you for not making me feel rushed.”
He looked genuinely puzzled. “Why would I?”
“Because some people do,” I said softly.
Understanding flickered across his face. He didn't ask for details. He simply nodded once.
“I want you to feel safe,” he remarked.
I swallowed. “I do.”
When it was our turn, the driver helped us up. The seat was narrow enough that we sat close without trying. The blanket he handed us was thick and smelled faintly like wool and winter air.
Braxton tucked it around us both with careful movements, his hand brushing my arm through the fabric. The touch was brief. It still made my pulse jump.
The sleigh moved, bells chiming softly, and Maple Ridge rolled past in a blur of lights and laughter. The horse’s hooves made a steady sound on the packed snow, like a slow heartbeat.
For a while, we didn’t talk.
It wasn’t awkward. It felt like a shared pause, like we were both absorbing the fact that we were here, together, without pressure or expectation.
“This is nice,” I mentioned.
He nodded. “It is.”
The driver pointed out landmarks, stories I had heard a hundred times from my parents who had grown up in this town. There was the old courthouse, the square where the tree lighting happened, and the little bridge over the river.
Braxton listened with interest, asking questions. His curiosity was sincere. It made me feel like Maple Ridge wasn't just a backdrop to him, but something he wanted to understand because it mattered to me.
“I like how everyone knows each other here. It’s different being in the city,” Braxton commented. “Here people wave, and greet each other. Although I imagine there are still some surprises.”
