“They’ve had their tickets for weeks now. I went online last night to get one, but they’ve sold out.”
“Bummer.”
“It’s not a big deal. They offered to stay home, but I told them to go.” With her hands now free, she wiggled her fingers to relieve the cramps. “I’m the one who showed up unannounced, and I would have felt terrible if I ruined their plans.”
He arched a brow. “Wait, after being gone for years, you came home without telling anyone?”
“I didn’t want to get Mom’s hopes up if I changed my mind.”
“Makes sense.” He pointed across the street. “Want to grab a late lunch/early dinner at the café?”
“Do they still have the garlic Texas toast?”
He nodded. “I get it every time I eat there.”
“Low carb diets are overrated. Let’s go.”
“Why don’t we drop these off at your car and then go.” He lifted the bags, made a gesture exaggerating their heaviness.
She counted the number of bags. “I went overboard, didn’t I?”
“I know why you bought most of the items, and I appreciate your efforts.” He graced her with a smile that warmed her chilled bones.
“I needed to buy gifts anyway—why not shop locally?”
His smile transformed into a frown. “Unfortunately, many of our families can’t afford to shop locally. Many can barely afford traveling fifteen miles to the discount store.”
She was struck by how sheltered she’d made her life since Dad passed away. The irony of it all was that she missed Dad as much today as she did the day he died. The pain didn’t go away simply because she ignored Noel. That was the thing with memories—they traveled with the person they belonged to.
“Do you have a list of young families who need help buying gifts for their children this year?” She took long strides to keep up with him as they walked.
“I have all the applications for assistance in my office.” He looked both ways before crossing an alley. “It’s a lot. Too many.”
“Have you called the churches and rotary and such?”
“Everyone is tapped out. I have calls to make Monday for service projects, but if it requires money, there aren’t many resources available.”
She pictured her bank account, inflated by a generous Christmas bonus for earning her company two awards for design this year. How could she continue with plans for a cruise next summer when a town full of kids wouldn’t have Christmas this year. “May I see the list before we eat?”
“Sure.” His face lit up. “If you could sponsor one or two kids, that would help tremendously.”
When they reached her car, she popped the trunk and helped Derek arrange her bags. She followed him inside and into his office. It had been years since she’d been in the mayor’s office, but it still looked the same.
Evergreen boughs were draped from the top of bookcases, a console table displayed a nativity scene, a fully decorated, artificial tree stood in the corner. In another corner, a display case held the Noel snowglobe collection, one for each mayor since the early nineteen hundreds.
“Have you picked out yours yet?” She stared beyond the glass at the whimsical balls.
“No.” He picked up a manila folder from his desk. “I haven’t been in office long enough and wasn’t sure if this would be a good year to add it.”
“You have to.” She gestured toward the case’s handle. “May I?” After she had his permission, she opened the display door and reached for her favorite, Joseph leading Mary who rode on a donkey. She turned the silver knob on the bottom, then released it to play “O Little Town of Bethlehem.”
“That’s always been your favorite.”
Derek’s comment unnerved her, or maybe it was the way he watched her. Few, if any, people knew her better than he had. For all the years she’d lived in New York, most of her friendships stayed at a surface level. Only a handful went deeper, and they couldn’t compare to what she and Derek had shared.
Unable to handle his scrutiny, she replaced the snowglobe and cleared her throat. “Do you have the applications?”
“Right here.” He handed over the folder.
