"Tell me more about Christmas Wishes!" A woman in her thirties leaned in to read our materials.
"Families in need can submit requests through the dropbox," I explained. "The philanthropy purchases gifts and matches every community donation dollar-for-dollar. Everything gets delivered on the 24th by volunteers."
"That's beautiful." She pulled out her phone, scanning the QR code. "I'm donating right now. And sharing this on Facebook."
"Thank you so much."
Over the next two hours, people donated on the spot. Families discreetly slipped wish lists into the dropbox, their expressions a heartbreaking mix of desperation and hope. Volunteers signed up to help with wrapping and delivery.
A few people recognized me from social media, asking for photos. I obliged with a smile, but kept redirecting attention to the program rather than myself.
Around noon, Bart glanced at me. "You're getting hungry."
I blinked. "How did you—"
"You get this look. Like you're trying to focus but can't quite manage it." His mouth quirked. "Noticed it yesterday around the same time."
He'd been paying attention. To me. Not just to the work, but to my patterns, my needs. My face heated.
"Am I that obvious?"
"Come on. Let's see what they've got."
We walked through the market together, weaving between booths. Somewhere nearby, a trio of carolers sang "Deck the Halls." Kids shrieked with delight on the ice skating rink.
"What sounds good?" Bart asked as we approached the food vendors. "There's sandwiches, tacos, that griddle doing cheesesteaks—"
"Cheesesteaks," I said immediately. "Definitely cheesesteaks."
He led me to the portable griddle where a bearded man was cooking.
"What can I get you folks?" the vendor asked.
"Two Philly cheesesteaks, please," I said. "Loaded."
"Good choice. Coming right up." The man started piling peppers and onions onto the griddle.
Bart pulled out his wallet. "Let me get this."
"You don't have to—"
"You've been handling everything perfectly. It's the least I can do."
Five minutes later, we had steaming sandwiches loaded with peppers, onions, and melted provolone on crusty rolls.
"Oh my god," I moaned around my first bite. "This is amazing."
"Told you." Bart had pulled his scarf down enough to eat, giving me a clear view of his mouth. His eyes crinkled at the corners—genuine amusement.
We walked between booths while we ate, stopping to watch ice skaters glide across the rink. A small girl in a pink coat fell, then got back up laughing. A couple held hands, moving in slow circles.
"This town really is something," I said softly. "It's like a snow globe come to life."
"People here look out for each other," Bart said. "That's rare."
I glanced at him, struck by the way he said it. Like community was something precious. Something worth protecting.
"Is that why you moved here?"
