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“Wait until this afternoon when it’s in full swing,” Henry said, pleased by her reaction. “There will be carolers and musicians, families with children running everywhere, even more food and drinks. It’s something special.”

He guided her toward the far corner of the square, where he’d spent the better part of yesterday evening setting up her booth. He’d wanted it to be perfect for her, and had enlisted Christopher’s help with some of the fancier touches.

When they rounded the corner and Nicole saw her booth for the first time, she gasped.

Henry had draped the table with a cream-colored linen cloth that complemented her knitted pieces perfectly. He’d strung fairy lights along the edges of the booth, creating a soft, warm glow that would make it inviting even after dark. Behind the display table, he’d hung a hand painted wooden sign with elegant script reading “Nicole’s Knits” with small evergreen branches painted in the corners.

And to one side, Nicole saw, was a display rack that looked handcrafted. It was a standing wooden frame with multiple arms at different heights, designed specifically to showcase scarves and shawls. It was stained a rich walnut color, with small blunt hooks that would hold the knitted items without stretching or damaging them.

Nicole’s hands flew to her mouth, her eyes misting over as she stared at him. “Henry,” she whispered. “You did all this? For me? Did you make those things?”

“I wanted your first market to be special,” Henry said, feeling suddenly shy. “I know how hard you’ve worked on your pieces, and they deserve to be displayed beautifully.”

Nicole threw her arms around him right there in the middle of the town square, not caring who might see. Henry wrapped his arms around her, breathing in the vanilla and jasmine scent of her perfume, feeling her warmth against him despite the cold.

“Thank you,” Nicole said into his shoulder. “Thank you for securing this booth for me, for believing in me, for all of this. Thank you so much. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.”

“You don’t need to repay me,” Henry said, pulling back just enough to look into her eyes. “Seeing you this happy is more than enough.”

They spent the next hour setting up her display, carefully arranging each scarf, beanie, and set of mittens on the rack Henry had built. Nicole had brought price tags and business cards—simple ones she’d designed on her laptop and printed out at the library, listing her email and phone number for anyone who might want to place custom orders.

By the time the market officially opened, Nicole’s booth looked like something out of a magazine. The lighting that Henry had put up accentuated the items spread out and displayed carefully, and it all looked so official and professional that she was finding it hard not to cry. She held the happy tears back though, so as not to scare off any potential customers.

The festivities began with the mayor ringing the ceremonial bell. Before long, the square was flooded with people. Families with children, elderly couples holding hands, teenagers in groups, visitors from neighboring towns—everyone came to the Fir Tree Grove holiday market.

Henry stayed close, wanting to help if he was needed without being too obtrusive. He could hear people marveling over her work as they approached, could see their faces light up when they touched the soft wool and examined the intricate patterns.

“Did you make all of these yourself?”

“The detail work is incredible!”

“How much for this infinity scarf? It would be perfect for my daughter.”

“Do you do custom orders?”

But Henry wasn’t focused on the sales or the compliments, as wonderful as they were. He was simply enjoying watching Nicole’s face glow with joy. She answered questions with enthusiasm and helped customers choose colors that would complement their style, giving everyone care instruction slips with their purchases. She was clearly in her element, and seeing her shine like this made Henry’s chest swell with warmth.

He was falling for her, he knew. And for the first time in a long time, he simply let himself feel, without worrying about what it meant. He just wanted to enjoy the moment.

Three hours into the market, there was the sound of cheering near the center stage that had been set up by the Christmas tree. Henry looked over to see Mabel Stewart and George Lowery making their way up the steps, Mabel’s hand firmly clasped in George’s. Christopher appeared from somewhere and handed them a microphone, his face split by an enormous grin.

The crowd quieted as George tapped the microphone, and Henry saw Nicole pause mid-conversation with a customer to watch what was happening.

“Good afternoon, everyone,” George said, his gruff voice carrying across the square. “Mabel and I have an announcement we’d like to share with you all.”

Mabel took the microphone, and even from this distance, Henry could see the joy radiating from her face. “George has asked me to marry him,” she said, a smile wreathing her face. “And I said yes!”

The town square erupted in cheers and applause. People were clapping, whistling, calling out congratulations. Henry found himself grinning and clapping along with everyone else. Mabel and George’s relationship had been the subject of an official town betting pool, their prank war the stuff of local legend, and seeing them finally together—and now engaged—felt like a fairy tale ending.

He looked over at Nicole and saw that her eyes were damp with tears, although she was smiling broadly. She pressed one hand to her heart as she watched Mabel and George embrace on the stage, the older couple looking happier than Henry had ever seen them.

“It’s just wonderful,” Nicole said, her voice thick with emotion. “They look so happy together.”

Henry stepped closer to her, speaking softly so only she could hear, while the customers were focused on the merriment on stage. “In that case, Nicole, would you be my date to their wedding?”

Nicole turned to look at him, her smile so bright it was almost blinding. “Of course!” she gasped, another happy laugh bubbling from her. “I’d be honored, Henry.”

Around them, the holiday market continued—vendors calling out their wares, children laughing, the smell of cinnamon and pine filling the air. The Christmas tree lights had begun to twinkle as the afternoon light faded, and somewhere a choir had started singing “Silent Night.”