Chapter Sixteen
Amariah
All week, the town had been buzzing about the opening of the Christmas market.
The first day always marked the official start of the holiday season in Skye Ridge, and this year was no different.
Growing up, those opening nights had been the highlight of the season, filled with all the wistful feelings of holiday cheer.
There was something for everyone—games for the kids, music for the adults, and plenty of food to go around.
My mother always sold her baked goods there, her booth a favorite stop for just about everyone.
Over the years, she and Mrs. Gold had turned it into a shared tradition, one that felt like an extension of family.
Mrs. Gold used to run the gingerbread decorating contest, but lately, she’d passed the reins to Jacob.
When he asked if I’d help him with it this year, I didn’t hesitate. Of course, I said yes.
Jacob, my Jacob. Ever since we’d agreed to be back in each other’s lives, he had been present every single day.
Each day was like a new adventure down memory lane.
From us delivering poinsettias to the church like we did when we were kids, to being a tag-team duo for game night at Bryce and Janelle’s with our signature Monopoly game pieces, even up to yesterday when I got to the store and smelled my favorite holiday candle scent—Christmas pinecones—wafting through the air (and he’d even given me one to take home), I had to admit he had reminded me of all the joy and fun we used to have, especially during the holiday season.
That was one of the main reasons I was quick to agree to assist with the gingerbread making… it meant more time with Jacob.
Today was the day, and I had to admit, I was giddy about it.
Since my mom had to be at the market early to set up, I stayed behind to tend to my father and make sure he was comfortable before heading out.
He hated missing the festivities this year, so I promised to bring him some of Ms. Jenn’s famous hot cider and a few of the white chocolate-dipped Christmas pretzels he and I both loved.
That promise seemed to lift his spirits, and seeing him smile lifted mine, too.
When I arrived, the scent of cinnamon, cocoa, and roasted nuts filled the air, mingling with the crisp chill of December.
The Christmas market was alive. Strings of twinkling lights hung from the awnings, wreaths adorned every booth, and children darted between tables with faces painted like snowflakes and reindeer.
A faint melody of “It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas” floated from the speakers, blending into the hum of laughter and chatter.
I tugged the wool beanie lower over my ears, smiling when I arrived at the craft table, where I saw Jacob carrying a tray of gingerbread house kits. The sight of him made my heart squeeze in the most bittersweet way.
“Alright, little builders,” he said, his voice booming with excitement as he set down the tray, “let’s see who can make the tallest gingerbread house.”
The kids cheered, and I couldn’t help laughing as they scattered frosting tubes and gumdrops everywhere in a rush to build the most colossal gingerbread house in all of Skye Ridge.
Jacob glanced up, spotted me, and captured my heart with his infectious smile.
Before we could speak to each other, a little boy tugged at his hand, and he gave him his undivided attention.
I decided to do the same and slipped into the seat beside a little girl who was diligently spreading icing between two cookie walls.
“Need a hand, sweetheart?” I asked.
She shook her head, tongue poking out in concentration. “No, ma’am. I’m making the Gingerbread Castle of Skye Ridge.”
I chuckled. “A castle, huh? Ambitious. I like it.”
Across the table, Jacob knelt beside the boy who was attempting to fix a collapsing roof.
His patience was endless. The same as it used to be when he’d help neighborhood kids back in the day, when his mom was running this show.
Watching him now, I could still see the high schooler who once gave up an entire Saturday helping me make a gingerbread village for the church fundraiser at his parents’ house.
Mrs. Gold used to go all out for the holidays.
Her kitchen had smelled like vanilla and ginger for weeks, and she’d laugh when we sampled more candy than we decorated with.
I could still picture Jacob sneaking extra gumdrops into my apron pocket when he thought I wasn’t looking.
My throat tightened with the memory. Those days felt so vivid now.
Every moment lately seemed to circle back to Jacob.
The sound of his laugh. The way he said my name.
Even the quiet spaces between words where comfort used to live.
“Hey,” his voice broke through my thoughts. “You okay over there, or are you sneaking frosting?”
I blinked, smiling. “Just…reminiscing. Remember when we made that gingerbread village at your parents’ house?”
He grinned, his eyes softening. “Of course I do. We ate so much that I had a stomachache the next day. My mama loved the village when it was finally complete. She always said it wasn’t Christmas without the sweet smell of vanilla and ginger.”
I laughed quietly. “I remember her fussing at you for eating all the gumdrops.”
Jacob feigned offense. “I was quality testing. Big difference.”
I rolled my eyes, but warmth spread through me. It was the same playful banter we used to share—always fun, always easy.
As the kids decorated, Jacob and I helped refill bowls of candy and laid out more frosting tubes, our hands brushing more times than I could count.
Each touch sent a spark up my arm. I caught him looking at me once, his gaze lingering longer than it should have.
I looked away first, focusing on the tiny candy cane in my hand.
When the last gingerbread house was assembled, the kids posed proudly behind their creations of leaning roofs, collapsing walls, and all.
We clapped, showering them with praise, and Jacob handed out ribbons to all of them that read, Sweetest Architect.
One by one, the children were collected by their parents, leaving behind the scattering of sprinkles and crumbs.
As the crowd thinned, Jacob and I remained, tidying up the aftermath.
“You always were good with kids,” I said softly, stacking frosting tubes into a bin.
He shrugged, wiping his hands on a napkin. “Guess I learned from my mom. She believes every kid deserves special memories on Christmas.”
I smiled at that, blinking against the sudden sting behind my eyes. “You learned it from your dad, too. The entire football team loved the unofficial coach, Mr. Gold.”
Jacob paused, looking at me. “Of all my friends, you were his favorite, you know?”
I glanced up, surprised. “Really?”
He nodded. “He used to tell me you had the kindest heart he’d ever seen. My vision may have been sidelined for a while, but I see clearly now, and I couldn’t agree more.”
My heart warmed at his sentiment. Truthfully, it had been fluttering all week. Jacob had wrapped me in an unexpected kind of sweetness with his quiet gestures, knowing smiles, and easy laughter. Every shared memory reminded me just how deeply he’d always been a part of my world.
“It takes a kind heart to know one,” I teased, nudging his shoulder.
Smiling, he slipped his arm around me as we explored the market.
We stopped at nearly every booth, admiring handmade trinkets, sampling different treats, and playing small-town games.
I bought a handcrafted ornament, and the ever-competitive Jacob won me a scarf by playing Pin the Red Nose on Rudolph.
We ran into Bryce, Janelle, Koby, and Alicia with their kids, and for a while, it felt like we were all teenagers again, even though our bodies reminded us that we weren’t.
Bryce’s girls fawned over their Uncle Jacob, and watching him with them was an endearing sight to behold.
He was so protective, patient, and playful with them.
It was as if being a father came naturally to him.
By the time the night wound down, the air was crisp, reminding me of the promise I’d made to my dad. “I almost forgot. Let’s stop at Ms. Jenn’s table.”
“Hot cider for your dad?” he asked.
“How’d you guess?”
“He only asked no less than a trillion times to grab him a cup every time he had to help Mr. James with the Christmas trees here.”
I gasped, laughing. “He did, didn’t he? I think he single-handedly kept Ms. Jenn in business.”
We shared a laugh as I picked up a large to-go cup of her famous cider for my dad and a small one for me to warm up as we continued walking. Jacob insisted on paying, still sulking that I’d secretly bought the ornament earlier while he was talking to an old football buddy.
“Oh, and I need to stop by the candy shop,” I remembered. “Daddy wanted those Christmas pretzels. Honestly, so do I. I haven’t had them in years.”
Jacob’s expression softened with regret. “I’m sorry, Mari. They stopped selling those a couple of years ago. The supplier went out of business, and they never found a replacement. They still sell everything else if you want something different.”
My heart sank. “Oh no,” I said, pouting. “That’s what we wanted. I guess Daddy forgot. I was really looking forward to those.”
“I wish I had better news,” he said gently.
I nodded, forcing a small smile. “It’s okay.”
But as I sipped the cider, taking in the last sights of the market, I couldn’t shake the thought of how things disappeared without you realizing it—traditions, moments, people.
Sometimes they slipped away quietly, only to find their way back when you least expected.
And as Jacob brushed his fingers over mine, my thoughts came full circle about the fact that the feeling wasn’t just about pretzels or old memories.
It was about relationships and how they could slip away if you weren’t careful.
Yet, as he tucked me closer into his arms, it gave me hope that all was not lost. There was certainly beauty that could be found when taking the time to nurture and cultivate, even if that meant rebuilding and starting fresh.