"Okay. Saturday morning, seven AM. We'll need to load supplies."
"I'll be there."
SATURDAY THE 13TH DAWNEDcold and bright—the day of Hope Peak's holiday market.
I arrived at Bart's property at 7 AM to help load supplies into his truck. The market opened at 9, and we needed to set up our booth before the crowds arrived.
"You look nervous," I said as we carried boxes of flyers and the dropbox to his truck.
"I hate crowds." He secured a box with a bungee cord. "Too many people asking questions."
"I'll handle the people. You can lurk mysteriously in the background."
"I don't lurk."
"You absolutely lurk. It's one of your most defining characteristics."
He shot me a look, but his mouth twitched. "Get in the truck."
The town square was already bustling when we arrived. Vendors set up booths selling handmade ornaments, local honey, knitted scarves. The massive tree sparkled even in daylight, and the ice skating rink beside it was being prepared for the day. Families bundled in colorful coats moved between booths, their breath fogging in the cold air.
An older couple approached as we started unloading—the man tall with a Santa-like build and suspenders, the woman with silver hair in a long braid.
"Bart!" the man said warmly, extending his hand. "Good to see you again."
"Gerald. Laurel." Bart shook hands with both of them, his demeanor polite but reserved. "Thanks for the booth space."
"Of course! Anything for Christmas Wishes." Laurel turned to me with a welcoming smile. "And you must be the young woman coordinating everything. I'm Laurel Thompson—my husband Gerald and I own Peak Provisions, the general store on Main Street. We organize the market every year."
"I'm Candi Reed," I said, shaking her hand. "Thank you so much for supporting the program."
"It's wonderful what you're doing," Gerald said, glancing between us. "The whole town is talking about it."
"It's all thanks to an anonymous benefactor," I said quickly. "I'm just helping with coordination and social media."
"And you're volunteering too?" Laurel asked Bart.
"Just helping where I can," he nodded, pulling a beanie low over his silver hair.
Laurel's eyes sparkled. "Well, you two make a wonderful team. Lovely to see couples like you giving back to the community."
"Oh, we're not—" I started, heat creeping up my neck.
"Just fellow volunteers," Bart finished, his voice slightly strained.
The Thompsons exchanged a look that clearly said they didn't believe us for a second.
"Well, your booth is right over there by the tree," Gerald said, gesturing. "Best spot in the market. Let us know if you need anything."
After they left, I glanced at Bart. Even with most of his face covered by the scarf he was wrapping around himself, I could see the tension in his shoulders.
"You okay?"
"Fine. Let's just get through this."
We set up the display—dropbox for new submissions, flyers with QR codes for donations, a sign-up sheet for volunteers, and a display board showing photos of wrapped gifts and the organized workspace.
Within thirty minutes of the market opening, we had a steady stream of visitors.
