Have all the shops down Main Street prepared properly for this?
My mind is spinning when an arm slides around my shoulders, and I find Greyson at my side, his warmth immediate.
His smile is easy, like it always is. “Hey, firecracker. I could tell from across the street that your brain is working overtime.”
“Always.”
He tips his head from side to side, that smile turning dirty. “Almost always.”
Heat swathes my cheeks, and I elbow him lightly to his warm laughter.
“Relax. Let them have fun. They’re not going to get lost, and the shuttle is running. There’s nothing for you to worry about.”
I nod and take a deep breath. Things can always go wrong, though.
“You should go taste along with them. You’ve been gone a long time.”
I make a face at him. I doubt it’s changed all that much.
“You’d be surprised how seriously the townsfolk are taking this, and we’ve got a few new shops with the generational turnover.” Greyson shakes my shoulder a little and nods me toward the lone pub. “Come on, I’ll even go to the first one with you.”
Without waiting for me to huff and puff, he steers me toward the door and leads me inside.
It’s crowded and blessedly warm, but a free spot at the bar is perfectly made for us.
A holiday menu is lit up at the end of the bar, and fliers are propped on every table.
I go with a classic—a spiked cider—and Greyson orders a festive beer. It’s hard work to relax.
“You should forgive Gabe. I miss having you in the house in the evenings.” Of course Greyson would advocate for his brother in the simplest way. Disguised as a selfish request.
I laugh a little, sipping my cider. “I already did.”
His brows shoot up, and his playful smile morphs into something more. A genuine happiness. “That means you’ll be coming over tonight?”
The look he gives me says that might be its own kind of minefield, but I agree anyway. “Yes. I’ll be over tonight.”
Taking another long drink of my cider, its effects seep in along with the savory and sweet spices—cinnamon, clove, allspice, brown sugar, and…rosemary?
The combination lingers on my tongue in such a pleasant way.
Okay, well, that’s new. Like Greyson said, they’re upping their game. The undercurrent of alcohol is hidden amongst the robust flavor, but it hits my bloodstream in a strong woosh.
Greyson’s hand is a stabling presence at my hip, and I like this, being out with him in public, feeling comfortable with his touch on me.
There’s no sneaking.
And it’s so easy.
“Did you see the sculpture this year for the festival?” His eyes glitter at me. There’s so much joy in them.
“No, it wasn’t complete when I saw it last.” One of the things Pinebrook takes seriously is their art program.
Which made it’s home to Alice Wardorf, our very own MacArthur Fellowship winner.
She moved here ten years ago to pursue her art, winning the award a year later.
Half of her winnings went into our arts program.
