Page 134 of My Merry Mistake
“This isn’t like, a pity outing, is it?” I ask. “Because of my humiliating confession? About Justin?”
He looks at me, face serious, and says, “Of course it is.”
I hold eye contact for a couple of seconds, then his face brightens with a wide smile, and I burst out laughing. I shove him in the shoulder, and he grins at me. “You’re obviously a hopeless case, sosomeonehad to take pity on you.”
I roll my eyes, and he parks in front of a Loveland pub a few blocks away from Poppy’s Kitchen.
We meet up with about ten other people in ugly sweaters, and the tour organizer hands out lanyards that show we’re all together. We spend the afternoon sampling food from bakeries, and restaurants, and coffee shops in and around downtown Loveland. It’s more food than I’ve ever eaten in the span of two and a half hours, but it’s allso good. Finn makes fast friends with the other people in our group, including three college guys who are—no surprise—huge Comets fans. He’s gracious and funny and kind, and never once does he leave my side. Instead, he looks for ways to draw me into the conversation, sometimes in very clunky, but endearing ways.
He takes tons of pictures and sends them to his family. His mom sends back photos of his two nieces, Libby and Jordy, both wearing tiny Christmas aprons and making cookies in her kitchen. The little one holds up both of her flour-covered hands while the older one licks a wooden spoon.
Finn wraps an arm around me and snaps a selfie—which I make him retake because “I was not ready!”—then sends it back.
His mom responds, but he doesn’t show me what she says.
As the tour comes to an end, we leave our final stop, stuffed to the gills, but somehow—I don’t feel tired.
I haven’t felt thisnot tiredin months.
It’s nearly dark out, and as I look around, I see several luminaries are already glowing for The Luminaria, a night when the entire town is shines with candlelight in celebration of the season.
“Okay, this next part is up to you. No more surprises. Do you want to get home or . . .?”
I zip my coat and shove my hands in my pockets. “We could walk for a little bit? I’ve come to The Luminaria before. I think you’ll like it.”
“Yes! I was hoping you’d say that.”
We start to walk, and I tell him what I know about Loveland’s Christmas traditions. “The Christmas Carnival kicks it all off, but Loveland really knows how to do holidays. Tonight, as part of The Luminaria, they’ve brought back the”—I stop in front of a storefront—“living windows.”
We watch as three girls dressed as ballerinas spin in unison. “Tourism has really been up over the last few years, so they go all out.”
We move on, weaving through the slow-moving crowd, pausing to look at the windows, smile at neighbors, and marvel at how beautiful this town is, glowing from the candles inside the luminaries. In the middle of the block, in the town square, live musicians play in front of a huge Christmas tree—which is impressive to me because they must be freezing.
The foot traffic picks up, and at one point, I end up boxed in on one side of the sidewalk. Finn moves to the other side and waits until I can make my way over to him.
When we reenter the fray, he takes my hand, then looks at me. “Just so we can stay together.”
I don’t say anything, even as the alarm bells go off in my mind. I should pull away. I should reinstate the “strictly platonic” boundary. But I don’t. Instead, I let him lead me around my little hometown, soaking in the quiet glow of Christmas, letting myself experience everything without overthinking it for once.
At the end of the night, he drives me back to my house. We pull into the driveway, and I smile at the sight of the tree glowing in my window.
“Looks cool, right?” Finn puts the SUV in park.
“Festive,” I say.
“Did you have a good time?”
I nod. “I did. Christmas is growing on me.”
He smiles. “Then my work here is done.”
There’s a lull, the kind I’ve never known how to fill, so I open the door. “Thank you for hanging out with me today.” I turn back and find him watching me.
“Thankyoufor showing me around.”
I smile and step onto the pavement, lingering, I realize, because—I don’t want to say goodnight.
“We’re going on the road again,” he says. “But I’ll check in. Someone has to make sure you’re taking it easy.”
