“It must have been at least six years ago. It’s hard to believe it’s been that long. Life just gets in the way sometimes. There were a few years when I had plans to come back for Christmas and the festival, but then I would get called in for a last-minute assignment. I didn’t have the choice to turn them down, so I canceled. But no, a big benefit of owning Timeless Tales now is I’m the boss. I make my own schedule.”
“Well, I’m glad your boss is more understanding this year,” I tease, as we arrive at Mr. Bradford’s cocoa stand.
Jane laughs at my joke, the sound echoing around us like a joyful bell. “She’s a tough one, but I managed to negotiate some time off.”
We order two Christmas-in-a-cups aka peppermint hot cocoa. Its warm, chocolatey, minty goodness is a perfect addition to the festival.
“Thank you, Mr. Bradford,” I say gratefully as he hands us our drinks.
“Have fun, you two,” he replies with a smile.
As Jane takes a long sip from her cup, she closes her eyes in bliss. “I can’t believe I’ve been missing out on this. It’s amazing.”
“It’s become a must for me during this time of year.” I grin.
“I see why. Have you seen the tree for this year yet?” Jane’s cheeks are flushed with excitement. The holiday lights surrounding us seem to add an extra glow to her already happy expression.
“No, I have been purposely avoiding it. I want to be surprised,” I admit, a hint of my boyish thrill seeping into my voice. “There’s something magical about seeing it all lit up for the first time.”
“I agree,” she says, taking another sip of her hot cocoa. “The surprise is half the fun.”
“And the other half is?” I ask.
She looks at me, her green eyes sparkling in the lights from the surrounding stalls. “The other half is the people you share it with.”
I return her smile, feeling a warm fluttering sensation in my chest. My hand finds hers, our fingers intertwining naturally as we continue our walk down Main Street.
The shop windows are adorned with festive winter scenes—faux snow, jolly Santas, and cheerful snowmen. The trees are decked out with giant ornaments and shimmering lights, while garlands and tinsel drape over every lamp post. The air is filled with the scents of fresh pine, gingerbread, and vanilla as we approach the town square.
At the entrance, there’s a grand display featuring Santa’s sleigh and his trusty reindeer, which visitors can pose for photos with. Flurries of fake snow cascade through the air as we pass under the archway. It feels like stepping into a magical snow globe. Jane catches my eye and twirls around with arms outstretched. Her blue scarf frames her glowing face, and flecks of fake snow cling to her hair.
“Andrew, isn’t this magical?” Her voice is full of childlike wonder, and I can’t help but chuckle. She’s so endearing when she’s excited.
“It certainly is,” I agree, giving her hand a gentle squeeze.
Her eyes light up, and she pulls me over to a stall selling ornaments and trinkets, Angus bounding happily alongside us. After much deliberation, Jane picks out a small painted ornament of the town square. The artisan behind the counter wraps it carefully in tissue paper and hands it to Jane.
“It’s a tradition,” she explains, with her signature grin. “Every year we come to the tree lighting, we get an ornament as a memory.”
“I love that idea,” I say, my gaze warm on her face.
As we approach the tree, the crowd gets thicker. The hum of chatter fills the air with anticipation for the main event. We find a spot where we can see the massive tree clearly, currently unlit and waiting for its moment of glory.
“Ten minutes to lighting!” the mayor’s voice booms through the loudspeakers.
Jane turns to me. “Are you ready?”
“Absolutely. The committee has been hyping this year up more than ever.”
“Oh, I know. My dad’s been on the committee for years. Even when I couldn’t see this live, I’ve sat through long conversations on the phone with him talking about it,” Jane laughs. “I love how passionate the entire committee is about making this event so special.”
“Your dad loves Christmas, huh?”
“More than you know! Dad does all the decorating—outside and in. Mom does all the cooking, which she loves. Have you had her famous fruitcake?” Jane asks.
“No, but I’m not a huge fan of fruitcake,” I tell her, but I’m worried now I might offend her mother in some way.
Angus whines as he looks up at us.
