I assumed they were normal kids, meaning all kids probably did this. It had just been so long since I had hung out with kids it felt foreign. Maybe I needed to spend more time with my nephews and nieces, desensitize myself.
“Dominic the Donkey” blared from their little lungs with enthusiasm that was both impressive and deeply painful to experience. The song was bad enough on its own, but hearing it performed by two children who had no respect for harmony, rhythm, or style was a special kind of torture. Pitch and tonewere not a thing with these two. I was certain my ears were bleeding. I would never hear properly again.
I caught Sylvie looking over her shoulder at me from the passenger seat. Her green eyes danced with mischief, and she was barely containing her laughter, clearly enjoying my obvious discomfort. I thought I was being a gentleman by offering to take the back seat.
Just when I thought it couldn’t get worse, the radio DJ apparently decided to inflict maximum holiday pain on his listeners. The opening notes of “I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas” filled the SUV, and both kids immediately switched songs without missing a beat.
I only knew of the song because I had been subjected to the horror last year at a family gathering. I rarely attended family functions but the one I did was all about the kids. I made it a point to make sure that didn’t happen this year.
But here I am, stuck in hell.
I groaned audibly and let my head fall back against the seat, which only made Sylvie’s grin widen. She was snickering now, gleefully watching me suffer through what had to be the most aggressively cheerful car ride of my adult life.
Despite myself, I found I couldn’t help but give her a sheepish smile in return. There was something infectious about her amusement, even when it was at my expense.
“Having fun back there?” she asked.
“This is exactly how I imagined spending my Saturday evening,” I replied dryly. “Trapped in a musical prison with two tiny Christmas carolers that could seriously use some voice lessons.”
Alder paused his hippopotamus serenade long enough to inform me that they knew at least fifteen more Christmas songs if I wanted to hear them. I politely declined, which seemedto disappoint him. I could have told him I would rather stick screwdrivers in my ears.
I thought I had been kind with my rejection.
By the time we reached Main Street, I was prepared for Northwood to be as aggressively quaint as everything else I had encountered since I showed up in this place. What I wasn’t prepared for was how genuinely beautiful it looked.
The street was perfectly decorated for the season. There was garland wrapped around every lamp post and twinkling lights strung between the buildings. Wreaths, candy canes, and bells hung from every pole. They all lit up and added to the festive feeling. A fresh coating of snow had fallen during the day, covering everything in a pristine white blanket that made the whole scene cozier than I was ready for.
The market was in full swing, with vendors set up along both sides of the street selling everything from handmade crafts to seasonal treats. The smells hit me as soon as we got out of the car. Cinnamon and nutmeg with a hint of pine. Christmas in every breath.
I scanned the area and noticed everything from donuts to pumpkin pies. There were also plenty of things to wash the sweet treats down, including mulled wine, hot cocoa, and apple cider. It was like walking into a huge bakery crossed with a spice shop.
Local farmers had set up booths, while artisans displayed pottery, quilts, jewelry, and other handcrafted goods that looked far more sophisticated than I had expected from a small mountain town.
Stacy immediately went into full mom mode, rattling off a list of rules and expectations for the evening. The kids were to stay together, check in every hour, not eat too much candy before dinner, and absolutely not leave the market area without permission.
She was letting them run wild?
That was not something I would ever imagine doing anywhere in the city. I supposed that was just part of the small-town charm.
“And if I catch either of you pestering vendors or running between the booths, you’ll be spending the rest of the evening in the car,” Stacy warned with the kind of authority that suggested it wasn’t an idle threat.
Alder and Aspen nodded solemnly, then immediately took off running toward a group of other children who were gathered around what appeared to be a puppet show. Stacy sighed and followed at a more reasonable pace, leaving me to wander the market with Sylvie.
I found myself genuinely impressed by the whole setup. This wasn’t some thrown-together tourist trap. It was a real community event, organized by people who clearly cared about creating something special for their neighbors and visitors.
I had been to a few farmer’s markets, but they were a little hipster. The vibe here was different. Authentic.
Sylvie was in her element, moving through the crowd like someone who belonged here completely. She seemed to know everyone, stopping to chat with vendors and asking about their families. Somehow she remembered details from previous conversations that made it clear these weren’t casual acquaintances but genuine relationships built over years.
It reminded me of when my extended family got together. The people around here were basically her extended family.
I watched her talk to an elderly woman selling handknitted scarves, listening patiently as the woman explained the different patterns and where she’d learned each technique. She complimented a teenage boy on the wooden ornaments he’d clearly carved himself. She asked questions about his process. The kid beamed as he explained it. I didn’t know if she actuallycared or if she was planning on picking up a new hobby or just being nice.
It was mesmerizing, watching her connect so effortlessly with everyone around her. I’d spent my entire adult life in social situations where every conversation was strategic. My socializing typically involved people that talked to each other because of what they wanted or what they could gain. It was calculated.
This was something entirely different. It was genuine human connection based on nothing more than shared community and mutual affection.
I was starting to understand why she loved this place so much.
