Kitty laughed. “How do you keep track of who he swapped boxes with?”
“Honestly? I haven’t figured that part out yet,” I remarked.
“What about you? Where is your box of cookies?” she asked as she grabbed a box from a chair that had been set aside.
“I didn’t bring one. I’m just happy to walk with you and sample some hot cocoa.”
We stepped away from the table together, ready to wander the town, enjoy some beverages and cookie mayhem while frequenting the businesses that had kept their doors open late for the event.
I realized that this was exactly where I wanted to be.
Chapter Fifteen: Cookies and Conversations
Kitty
Caleb walked beside me, hands in his pockets, shoulders loose. He looked at windows instead of crowds. It was the most at ease I had seen him since skating at the rink together.
We stopped at the first cocoa station, accepted small samples, and moved on without lingering. The crawl ran by itself with no help from me now that people had their cards. The crowd was drifting in all sorts of directions, looking for businesses who were participating. Others were laughing as they changed cards and cookie boxes. I played my first card almost immediately and lost my box of Jane’s baked gingerbread cookies to a woman who looked far too pleased with herself when she gave me plain shortbread biscuits in return.
“You are telling me that this is considered acceptable behavior?” I laughed as I questioned
“It is festive and a tradition with the town. Hopefully you end up with a good batch of assorted cookies by the end,” Caleb commented.
“It seems a little questionable. How do you know that someone won’t get food poisoning, or stale biscuits?” I wondered.
“So far, no one has complained,” he replied with a shrug. “I think the town has been doing the event for almost a hundred years now.”
We chatted about the town, our families and nothing much as we walked. The hardware store had vanilla hot chocolate. The pharmacy made hot chocolate bombs that we had to stir. The local restaurant made peppermint hot chocolate with raspberries and marshmallows. Each sample was interesting and none were duplicated.
A few blocks in, Caleb slowed down a little.
“Can I explain something?” he asked, eyes forward, not reaching mine.
“If you want to.” I tilted my head to look up at him, wondering why he had suddenly turned so serious.
He smiled faintly but there wasn’t any humor in it. “I just want you to understand what’s going on.”
We passed Lattes and Laughter, lights warm behind the windows, and turned down a quieter stretch of street.
“The music shop was my dad’s. I learned to love music from an early age. I liked being in the shop with him, learning the business and spending time with him and the customers.”
I glanced at him, surprised by the softness in his tone.
“He loved that shop,” Caleb continued. “He believed music was something you shared because it made the soul feel better. It wasn’t big business, but he always managed to keep our family doing okay with it.”
“That sounds like my parents. They struggled but we never really lacked for anything we needed,” I mentioned, realizing it was true and how difficult it probably had been for Mom and Dad raising five girls.
We stopped briefly at another cocoa table, accepted two small cups, and moved on again.
“I liked writing songs,” he said. “I liked singing them. When I got offered a recording deal, I thought it meant freedom from a small town. I wanted to see the world at that time to figure out exactly who I was. I thought it meant I could do what I loved and keep the parts that mattered.”
“And you couldn’t,” I said quietly.
“No. I signed a contract that took more than it gave. The touring never stopped. Towns blurred together and honestly, I really didn’t see much of anything. I stopped knowing where I was unless someone told me. I got homesick,” Caleb revealed with a sigh. “The worst part is that it never really stops. People wanted things from me all the time and it felt like there was always an ulterior motive. I got burned a few times. Girls that liked Caleb Green the up and coming country star, not the person I really was. Then my agent would add to our schedule, or the record company wanted me to change how I did things, or act a certain way. I never knew how to give them what they wanted without losing myself.”
We crossed the street with a group, boots crunching over packed snow. A child darted past holding a tin nearly as big as his head. The normalcy of the moment made Caleb’s words feel sharper.
“That must have been hard,” I murmured. I thought of all the times I had envied Lydia, her social media following, how people just seemed to know her and how she thrived on the attention. Suddenly, I didn’t feel as jealous.
