Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Ten a.m. on the morning after Thanksgiving, Home Depot smelled like fresh-cut pine.
Eli stood in the lighting aisle with Aileen’s shopping list that might as well have been a novella.
extension cords (green, outdoor)
timers (digital preferred)
warm white lights (NOT cool white)
She’d underlined that last part three times.
He had a coffee in one hand and a cart half-filled with things that jingled faintly when he moved it. The soundtrack filling the air was pure holiday capitalism: carols piped through tinny speakers, jingling cash registers, and someone arguing about socket adapters three aisles over.
“Eli Winters? Is that you?”
He turned and peered at the speaker, a woman in her late fifties, her silver hair tied in a scarf. That was the clincher. Millie Bouchard’s scarves had been a regular sight around Mapleford when he was growing up.
Nice to see some things don’t change.
“Hey, Mrs. Bouchard.”
She frowned. “I think you’re old enough to call me Millie. What are you now, thirty?”
“Thirty-two.” He smiled. “Do you still decorate the diner with wreaths that smell of cinnamon?” The Mapleford Diner was across the street from the bakery, and Millie had owned it forever, or at least, that was how it felt.
She was everyone’s unofficial mother, an organizer of awesome cookie drives, and keeper of everyone’s secrets.
And when Eli had been fifteen, she’d caught him in the park with a gay mag, and hadn’t told a soul.
Millie grinned. “You know it. Are you home for long? The Festival could always use fresh help.”
He bit his lip. “Just a couple of days. I’m sure there’ll be plenty of help, though. Everyone always pitches in.” He was pretty certain that hadn’t changed, even though there seemed to be more selfish assholes crawling out of the woodwork with each passing day.
Or maybe that’s just me being cynical.
“Stop by the diner before you disappear, then, and we’ll have some cookies and a glass or two of mulled wine.”
He couldn’t rein in his smile. “Is that still a thing?”
“It is in my diner,” she retorted. She patted his arm. “Good to see you. It’s been too long.” Then she pushed her cart toward the end of the aisle.
Eli shook his head. Millie was a welcome blast from the past. Then he remembered his list.
Back to lights.
He finished his coffee and deposited the cup in his cart. He was debating between “twinkle” and “steady glow,” when a voice came from behind him.
“Oh my God. I don’t believe this. My ex just walked in.”
Eli turned automatically.
That low voice hissed, “No! Don’t look!”
A man stepped up beside him, taller than Eli, maybe in his mid-thirties, a tool belt slung low on his hips, his short dark hair peppered with sawdust. His eyes were blue-gray, almost the color of a storm, sharp and a little panicked.
His warm, calloused, slightly trembling hand caught Eli’s.
“Please,” the stranger whispered. “Just hold my hand?”
Eli blinked. “What?” What the hell is going on? It had all the markings of a prank.
“Just for a couple of minutes, max. I swear. He’s standing over there by the paint samples.”
He blinked again. “Paint samples?”
The stranger nodded urgently. “With someone new. It’s—look, it’s a long story, and I don’t have time to explain. Please?” The pleading note in his voice tugged at Eli’s heart.
Three thoughts flashed through his mind in rapid succession.
This is insane.
God, his hand feels good.
Why am I so terrible at saying no to people in distress?
Eli went with his gut and squeezed back. He took a breath.
“Okay, you’ve got two minutes. Maybe three if this gets me out of choosing between soft white and daylight bulbs.”
The man exhaled as if he’d just finished a marathon. “You’re a saint.”
Eli shrugged. “My sister might argue otherwise.” The guy’s hand was warm, but not overly so.
They stood there, side by side, pretending to compare light fixtures while the stranger brushed his thumb over Eli’s knuckles, probably by accident, but Eli’s pulse didn’t get that memo.
“So,” he murmured, scanning the shelves. “Is he really over there?”
“Oh, absolutely,” the man said gravely. “It’s tragic, really. I’m sure he’s telling his new guy how emotionally unavailable I was while simultaneously wearing a scarf that doesn’t match.”
Eli bit back a smile. “He sounds like a monster.”
“The worst,” the man agreed. “I barely escaped with my flannel.”
Eli dared a glance at him. Up close, he had laugh lines that hinted at a habit of smiling. There was a smudge of sawdust near his temple. He looked like the kind of person who could fix a wobbly chair in a heartbeat.
Then he looked again. There was something familiar about the guy.
Who was still holding his hand.
A laugh tumbled from Eli’s lips before he could stop it. “This is ridiculous.”
“Entirely,” the man said. He grinned. “But you’re committing beautifully.”
They shuffled a few steps down the aisle, their hands still linked. Eli realized he didn’t want to let go first. It was the strangest thing. Their shared warmth felt easy, as though gravity had simply decided this was where his hand belonged.
They reached the end of the aisle, and the man peered around it. He turned back with exaggerated relief. “He’s gone. You’re free.”
“Oh good.” Eli’s voice was drier than the lumber section. “For a moment there, I thought I was in real emotional danger.”
The man laughed, the sound bright and genuine. “You’re good at this.”
“I’ve been told I have excellent hand-holding skills.”
“Modest, too,” the man said. “Thank you. Seriously. That was above and beyond.”
Eli shrugged, trying to look casual and failing. “Happy to be of service. I charge by the minute.”
The man grinned again. “Then I owe you, what, six bucks?”
“Seven. I’m union.”
That earned him another laugh, this one quieter. The man’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “Noah,” he said, offering his free hand, the other still loosely wrapped around Eli’s. “Noah Carter.”
“Eli Winters.”
They shook, a brief pressure of skin that made Eli’s heartbeat do a small, inexplicable stumble. He glanced at their still joined hands. “So… do I get my hand back now?”
Noah flushed. “Oops. Sorry.” He let go, and Eli felt the loss instantly. Noah glanced into Eli’s cart. “You buying out the lighting department?”
“It’s for my sister’s bakery,” Eli said. “We’re doing a window display.” He rolled his eyes. “Apparently, I’m now head elf.”
“Head elf is a sacred role,” Noah said solemnly. “I hope she’s paying you in baked goods.”
“Croissants, mostly. I’m underpaid but well-fed.”
“That’s the dream.”
Something about his grin made Eli’s stomach do that odd little swoop again, the one that had been dormant since his breakup.
He had no idea what put the thought into his head, but his mouth went into overdrive.
“There wasn’t really an ex, was there?”
Noah blinked, then winced. “Ah. You caught that.”
“I’m observant.” The only people he could see were Millie and a couple in their sixties, still arguing about socket adapters.
Noah rubbed the back of his neck, sheepish. “You looked cute. Approachable. And technically, you saved me from an existential crisis over outdoor wreath sizes, so I regret nothing.”
Eli should have been irritated, but instead he was intrigued. “You’ve got nerve, I’ll say that for you.”
“It’s an occupational hazard. I coordinate the town’s Christmas Festival. If I can survive one thousand five hundred people arguing about the placement of inflatable reindeer, I can survive asking a stranger to hold my hand.”
“Fair point,” Eli said. “Although I think I should get a badge for ‘Most Confused Participant.’”
“I can probably arrange that,” Noah said, his smile widening. “I make the badges.”
Of course he did.
They lingered another moment, the world strangely suspended between carols and laughter and the hum of fluorescent lights. Finally, Noah took a small step back. “Well, thanks for saving me from imaginary heartbreak.”
“Anytime,” Eli said. “Next time, however, I’m charging extra for public displays of affection.”
“Noted.” Noah’s gaze flicked down then up again, brief and warm. “I’ll see you around, Eli Winters.”
Eli nodded, trying not to look like someone had just stolen his equilibrium. “Yeah. Probably.”
Noah gave a little salute with two fingers, turned, and disappeared down the aisle, leaving the faint scent of sawdust and cedar in his wake.
Eli stood there for a second, the lights buzzing overhead, the list crumpled in his hand. His palm still tingled. He stared at it, then at the empty aisle, and shook his head.
“Well,” he muttered. “That’s new.”
The moment had all the essence of a Hallmark movie, except for one thing—it felt real.
He tossed another box of lights into the cart, whistled a little off-key, and tried unsuccessfully not to smile.
He did all that because he thought I was cute.
Eli could live with that. It had been a while since a good-looking guy had paid him a compliment, and Noah was definitely good looking.
And familiar. There was still that tug of memory, like a half-remembered dream.
Where do I know you from, Noah Carter?
Noah made it as far as the next aisle before he stopped walking. He leaned against a stack of storage bins and let out a breath, his pulse still sprinting.
God. What did I just do?
He looked down at his hand, the one that had been wrapped around a stranger’s. Eli’s warmth lingered. He flexed his fingers, half expecting to see the imprint of that calm, careful grip still there.
It had been impulsive, even for him. He’d spotted the man in the lighting aisle, dark-haired, bearded, soft warm brown eyes, quietly self-contained, and something in Noah had tilted.
He hadn’t thought pickup line.
He’d thought safe.
And maybe, if he were being honest, lonely.
The lie had slipped out before he could stop it, a sort of half joke, half wish.
My ex just walked in. Ridiculous. But the stranger hadn’t laughed at him or walked away.
He’d stayed. He’d said okay. He’d taken Noah’s hand as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
And when their fingers had fit together, firm and unhurried, Noah had felt it, that impossible, weightless moment when connection stopped being theoretical and became real.
He scrubbed a hand over his face. “You’re a disaster, Carter.”
The echo of Eli’s dry humor lingered in his head. I’m union. That low, amused voice, edged with something that hinted at self-protection.
A voice Noah realized he wanted to hear again.
He pushed off the storage bins, glancing down the aisle toward where Eli had been. The space was empty now, save for a couple arguing about snow-blower attachments.
“Well,” he murmured, “that was… interesting.”
Noah went along the aisles, placing stuff into his cart but with one eye peeled, hoping to catch sight of Eli once more.
Nope. No such luck.
When he was done, he stepped outside to where snow was starting to fall, fine flakes he knew would grow fatter as the day progressed. He pulled his jacket tighter, smiled at nothing, and felt that small, surprising flicker of joy people so often mistake for hope.
He’d meant to start his day with errands and ended up meeting a man who’d taken his hand without hesitation.
Maybe that wasn’t such a terrible omen for the season.
As he climbed into his truck, he found himself still smiling.
And for the first time in a long while, the idea of Christmas didn’t feel like a performance.
It felt like possibility.
Then he froze. His sister’s bakery? Eli Winters? That would make him…
Aileen’s brother.
Hoo boy.