I roll my eyes. “You can buy the food. Also this one you can’t open till you get back home.”
I not-so-subtly remind both of us where this is going, in case anyone (like me) forgets and gets too comfortable with someone to hold my place in line while I go shopping. This is why I never did couple things with partners in the past...it’s too easy to get distracted by the good times sucking you in, little by little, and to forget that every time the high gets higher, you have further to fall when it all goes wrong.
Finally, we get to the front of the line and order a variety of savory pierogis. We claim an empty barrel in a row that are set up as tables and lay out the food like a feast.
“The people watching is much better here than at home. I’ll give you that.” Beau munches on his food and looks over the crowd in front of him.
I follow his line of sight and see a little boy steal the last bite of chimney cake from who I assume is his sister. Instead of telling the two adults in front of them, the little girl gives her brother a wedgie. The parents, oblivious to the battle unfolding in front of them, cuddle into each other, enjoying the moment of peace on their night out.
And that’s just what’s happening at the table next to us. I haven’t even gotten to the table on the far side, where a couple is in the midst of breaking up or passionately debating the best Christmas traditions; verdict unclear without hearing the conversation. Either way, strong emotions are involved.
“I’m telling you, Christmas markets are one of the best parts of the season.”
“Better than presents?”
“It’soneof the best parts of the season.”
“You know, Christmas is my favorite holiday of the year as well,” Beau says.
“Hey, you do have okay taste. Sometimes.”
“Hmm.” He doesn’t comment on the dig. “It was the one holiday that Dad made sure to be around. Birthdays and accomplishments came at an inconvenient time during harvest or planting seasons, but Christmas was always during the winter season, so Dad didn’t have as much work to do.”
“That sounds like it was a special day.” His dad sounds like a watered-down version of my parents, except closer geographically. I chew the inside of my mouth, aware that we’re getting even deeper in this fling. It’s hard to keep a distance when I keep finding things we have in common. And realizing how much I like doing my favorite things with him.
Which are not things I was prepared for with this man from the South.
And there hasn’t been any awkwardness all day. He hasn’t changed how he treats me after we slept together. He didn’t make an excuse to blow me off today, just so he could call at midnight to ask me to come over for some late-night business. He’s been the same considerate, sometimes contrary, sometimes flirty Beau that he’s been since I met him.
Maybe even sweeter.
A nice surprise, but a surprise that makes it even harder to keep my distance. A distance that’s necessary since he’s leaving, and I still don’t want a relationship.
This Christmas is a lot more fraught than last year.
Pile of pierogis demolished, Beau tosses the empty plates in a trash can nearby. “I couldn’t even begin to choose dessert, but I think you’ll have a pretty good idea.”
“Wait till you have oliebollen.” I direct him to one my favorite dessert stalls of the market.
“What’s that?”
“Dutch doughnuts,” I answer succinctly, knowing they’ll speak for themselves in a second.
Dessert eaten, we wander around the stalls, looking at all the wares. I use the excuse of the crowd and the cold to get closer to Beau’s body. Very obliging, this Christmas season.
I pick up some holiday socks for the family to wear on our Christmas Eve celebration, and Beau gets his sister a shirt with Santa and Mrs. Claus in bathing suits, by the ocean. He said it best represents his Christmas, which doesn’t get beach warm, but is a lot warmer than here.
“One last food item,” I say.
“More? I’m stuffed fuller than our Thanksgiving turkey.” He pats his stomach.
“This is worth any stomach discomfort that will follow. Trust me.” I tug him in the direction I want him to go, hands intertwined like they have been all night except for when we dipped into stalls to do some shopping. I stop in front of a stall that’s set up like an ice cream stall.
“Ice cream? I can get that anywhere.”
“It’s not ice cream.” I tug him even closer to the glass counter and he settles in behind me, both arms around me as the crowd pushes against us.
“Cookie dough?” There’s laughter in his voice, delight at the unexpected treat.
