Page 40 of Her Cowboy Christmas
I hear Christopher yell for Grady in the background and push to my feet.“I’ll talk to you later.Good luck with your Angel.”
“You too.”
He hangs up, and I shove my phone into my pocket, wondering what I should do now.An idea blossoms as I stare at the Christmas tree.I need to go shopping.I haven’t bought Blair anything for Christmas yet, and if I have my way, she’ll be spending it here with me.
Grabbing my keys, I head back out to my truck, already thinking up ideas on what to get for her as I hop in and drive to town.
NINE
Blair
It’sthe night of the Winter Festival, and the whole town looks like it’s been dipped in sugar.
Snow dusts the rooftops and the pine boughs strung between lampposts.White twinkle lights crisscross the square, and music from the gazebo drifts over the chatter of neighbors wrapped up in scarves and cheer.It smells like cinnamon and woodsmoke and something fried.It feels like the inside of a snow globe, all soft and sparkly and contained.
“Girl, if that table were any straighter, it would be a ruler,” Larsen teases, hip-checking me as she sets another roll of tickets in the basket.
I pretend to scowl, but inside, I’m grinning.“I think it turned out good.It’s festive.And orderly.”
“You’re festive.Look at your cheeks.”She taps one with a mitten.“That’s not from the cold.That’s a post-coital glow if I ever saw one.”
“Larsen!”I hiss, heat racing to my hairline.“We’re at a family event.”
“Relax!”She sighs.“Come on.Let’s get a hot chocolate before everyone arrives.”
“People have already arrived,” I point out.
“We’ll be quick.I need something to warm me up.”
She grabs my hand, tugging me after her toward the food booths.We wait in line, and I take in the street lined with people and various stalls and stations.I smile.It seems like everyone in town is here.
I’ve never experienced anything like this before.This event would’ve been beneath my parents and siblings.They would’ve made fun of me for wanting to go to something so basic.
“Everything all right?”Larsen asks, passing me a hot chocolate.
“Yeah.I’m good,” I say, but she’s not listening to me.
She’s staring down the block at something.
“Speaking of, your cowboy is causing a traffic jam.”
I turn, following her gaze until I spot Cole over by our booth.
My breath stalls in my lungs.
“Whoa,” I breathe.
Cole’s wearing a navy beanie tugged over his dark hair and a flannel under his jacket, sleeves shoved to his forearms, while he kneels to show three tiny bundled-up kids how to toss the beanbags.He laughs at something one of them says, that low rumble I can feel in my ribs even across the booth.When the smallest gets shy, he crouches a little lower, eyes kind and patient as he shows her how to line up her feet and kiss the corner of the board with her throw.When her bag skitters short, he claps like she just landed a triple axel.
My heart does a weird somersault that feels suspiciously like falling.
“He’s good with them,” Larsen says softly, like she’s stepped inside the feeling with me.
“Yeah.”My voice is small but full.“He is.”
Another family wanders over, drawn by the lights we strung up on the arbor and the faux igloo entrance we built out of curved plywood.A little boy squeals as he toddles through the “ice tunnel,” while his dad looks at our sign about safe deposit boxes that reads, “Keep your memories safe with us.”
“We should get back,” I say.
