Chapter 19
By Wednesday afternoon, Natalie had decided that shopping for a Christmas dance dress while pretending not to care about the man who would see her in it required more discipline than she currently possessed.
“This one,” Bethany Ruiz declared, holding up a red velvet dress as if she had personally discovered the answer to every romantic crisis in Texas.
Bethany had been Natalie’s best friend since their Sunday school Christmas pageant days, back when Natalie had been an angel with a crooked halo and Bethany had been a shepherd who refused to give up her homemade glittery sash.
Now Bethany taught music at the elementary school, wore cat-eye glasses that made her look stylish, and had glossy black curls that bounced around her warm brown face whenever she was excited, which was often.
Natalie stood in the fitting room doorway at Marigold Lane Boutique and eyed the dress with deep suspicion. “That is a lot of red.”
“It’s a Christmas dance.”
“I know.”
“Good. Then stop dressing like you’re attending a tasteful committee meeting and try on the dress.” Bethany thrust the hanger toward her. “You own Winter Wishes. You should look like the woman who invented Christmas.”
“I’m helping with the refreshment table, not accepting a holiday crown.”
Bethany’s smile widened. “Will Mark Clemons be at this refreshment table?”
Natalie took the dress because refusing only made Bethany more determined. “Mark will be at the dance.”
“With you?”
“That’s the current plan.”
“The current plan.” Bethany crossed her arms, her bracelets clinking at her wrist. “You say that like you’re discussing a shipment of wrapping paper instead of a handsome cowboy taking you to the biggest Christmas dance in town.”
“He is not taking me exactly. We are both attending.”
“Together?”
Natalie stepped back into the fitting room and pulled the curtain halfway closed. “Possibly in the same vehicle.”
Bethany made a triumphant sound. “That means together.”
“It means fuel efficiency.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
Natalie could not argue with that, mostly because she was too busy trying not to smile.
The truth was that she had been thinking about the Christmas dance since Mark left Parker’s Diner the night before.
She had run the shop, helped Aunt Eleanor unpack, wrapped gifts, answered customer questions, and sorted inventory, but beneath all of that, like music playing quietly in another room, there had been one constant thought.
Mark would be there.
Mark would see her.
Mark had sat beside her after Jenna Bogle walked into the diner, and he had said, “I am,” as if seeing Natalie was not a complication, not a temporary arrangement, not a performance for gossiping townspeople.
As if seeing her was a fact.
Natalie changed into the red velvet dress and stared at herself in the mirror.
Oh no.
The dress fit beautifully. The sleeves were soft, the neckline modest but flattering, and the skirt moved when she shifted her weight. The color made her cheeks look warmer and her eyes brighter, and for one weak, reckless second, she imagined Mark’s face when he saw her wearing it.
Her stomach fluttered. Absolutely not.
She pulled the curtain open. “It’s too much.”
Bethany stopped mid-sip from the iced coffee. Her best friend drank iced coffee all year long. “That is a lie, and you know the Lord hears you.”
“Bethany.”
“You look stunning.” Bethany set the cup down and walked a slow circle around her, studying the dress with the seriousness she usually reserved for selecting music for the school Christmas program.
“It’s festive, classy, romantic, and not so fancy that you look like you’re trying to defeat every woman in the room. ”
Natalie looked at herself again. “I don’t want to defeat anyone.”
“You don’t have to want it. The dress will do it on its own.”
“You’re not helping.”
“I am helping enormously.” Bethany reached past her and tugged gently at the sleeve so it sat right at Natalie’s wrist. “Text him.”
Natalie looked at her in the mirror. “Text who?”
Bethany glared at her.
“Fine.” Natalie reached for her phone on the little bench beside the fitting room door. “What am I texting him?”
“Ask what color shirt he’s wearing.”
“That sounds too serious.”
“You are going to a dance together. People coordinate.”
“We are not people who coordinate.”
“Then become people who coordinate.”
Natalie opened Mark’s message thread, stared at it for three seconds, then typed before she could lose her nerve. Do you know what you’re wearing to the Christmas dance?
His reply did not come immediately.
Natalie told herself that was good. It meant he was busy. It meant she could put the phone down and not act like a woman waiting for a message from a man who made her feel seen in ways she had not known she needed.
Then her phone buzzed. Clean jeans.
Bethany leaned over Natalie’s shoulder and read it before Natalie could stop her. “That man needs supervision.”
Natalie laughed, a burst of nervous happiness she could not contain. She typed back, Very helpful. Shirt color?
This time, his answer came faster.
I own blue, white, gray, and one green shirt Julia says makes me look less like a fence post.
Natalie pressed the phone to her chest and laughed again.
Bethany narrowed her eyes. “Oh, you are in trouble.”
“I am not.”
“You look like someone just handed you the last cinnamon roll at Honey Creek Bakery.”
Natalie lowered the phone. “I do not.”
“Trust me. It’s an accurate description.”
Natalie looked down as another message came through.
Do I need to coordinate with you?
The question was so simple. So Mark. Practical on the surface, careful underneath. She could picture him standing somewhere at the ranch, his hat pushed back, his brow faintly furrowed as he tried to figure out whether this mattered to her.
She typed slowly. Maybe. I’m trying on dresses with Bethany.
After a short pause, he sent, Do I need to be concerned?
Natalie smiled so hard her cheeks hurt. Probably.
Mark answered with one word. Noted.
Bethany made an exaggerated choking sound. “That’s it? Noted?”
“It’s very Mark.”
“It’s barely a sentence.”
“He’s paying attention.”
Bethany’s expression changed then, the teasing fading in favor of realization. “You like him.”
Natalie looked at the phone. “Yes.”
“No, I mean you like him.”
“I know what you mean.”
Bethany stepped closer, her voice gentler. “Nat.”
Natalie’s chest tightened. Hardly anyone called her that anymore except Aunt Eleanor and Bethany. It belonged to scraped knees and church picnics and nights when Bethany slept over because Natalie missed her mother.
Natalie looked at herself in the mirror again, wearing the red dress, holding her phone, waiting for another message from Mark Clemons like the whole afternoon now revolved around him.
Her smile slowly faded.
Bethany wasn’t often wrong, but Natalie did not merely like Mark.
She liked the way he noticed when her water glass emptied.
She liked the way he repaired shelves without her even having to mention them.
She liked that he had sat beside her when Jenna approached, not to prove a point to Jenna but because he knew Natalie needed him there.
She liked that he did not make her feel like a project.
She liked his family, his attentiveness, his dry humor, his hands, his quiet, and his careful kindness.
No. Not liked. Loved. The realization settled over her, warm and terrifying and impossible to argue with.
Natalie Winters was in love with Mark Clemons.
Her stomach dropped. “Oh,” she whispered.
Bethany’s face softened. “There it is.”
Natalie shook her head at once. “No.”
“Sweetie.”
“This is a terrible idea.” Natalie stepped back into the fitting room and pulled the curtain mostly closed. Then, she opened it again. Hiding from Bethany had never worked once in her life. “It’s fake. Or it started fake. It was supposed to be temporary and helpful and very sensible.”
Bethany lifted one eyebrow. “Fake dating is never sensible.”
“It was when we made the rules.”
“You made rules?”
“Yes.”
Bethany stared at her for a long second. “Did one of those rules include not falling in love?”
Natalie’s throat tightened. “Not in those exact words.”
Bethany beamed and threw out her arms. “Then you left a loophole.”
“This is not funny.”
“I know.” Bethany came to the fitting room doorway and rested one hand on the frame. “But you don’t look unhappy.”
“That’s part of the problem.” Natalie glanced at the phone when it buzzed again.
I’ll wear the green shirt unless you want me to wear a different color. Julia says it’s decent. She also said it would work if you wore green or red or white or silver or a bunch of other colors.
Natalie closed her eyes.
Bethany read it and sighed. “Oh, honey.”
Natalie opened her eyes and looked down at herself in the red velvet dress. She had wanted to look pretty for the dance.
Now that want felt dangerous.
Mark was not a harmless temporary arrangement anymore. He was not a shield against pity or a convenient answer to matchmaking questions. He was the man she wanted at the table, in the truck, beside her in church, across from her over coffee, standing under mistletoe without any rules between them.
He was the man who could break her heart without meaning to.
Natalie typed with fingers that were not quite steady. The green shirt sounds nice.
His reply came a moment later. Then green.
Bethany smiled. “Buy the red dress. Julia’s right. Green and red go together wonderfully at Christmastime.”
Natalie looked at herself one more time, heart full and frightened. “It’s a terrible idea.”
“The dress?”
“No.” Natalie smoothed her hands over the velvet skirt and tried to breathe around the truth she could no longer un-know. “Being in love with him.”
Bethany did not argue. She only stepped inside and hugged Natalie carefully so the dress wouldn’t wrinkle.
Then Natalie bought the dress.