Chapter 9 Briar
brIAR
The week before Christmas in our small town is a whirlwind of holiday activities on steroids.
But surprisingly, I’m enjoying it as much as Dawson.
Seeing it through his eyes is making me feel like that hopeful kid again.
And last night at the tree lighting it felt so real between us.
But also scary because it seems like the lines are blurring, at least on my end.
Plus, I can’t stop thinking about what he said to Wilson at Hattie’s.
Was it a true confession that he was drawn to me from the beginning at Sip and Savor, or was he only playing the part?
Either way, I liked how that made me feel, and him acting all protective of me only added to the intensity.
Not that I needed saving from the townsfolk, but it was tiring hearing similar comments from people equally surprised to see I’d brought someone home.
Christ, relationships aren’t the end all be all.
But I sure have acted like they are, haven’t I?
Dawson’s right that I’ve made a good life for myself regardless.
I don’t need a boyfriend. I just wanted someone to spend my time with.
But all the men I’ve dated over the years didn’t feel the same about me, so it’s better to be alone until a good one comes along.
Or the right one. Someone like Dawson, who is the epitome of what a good boyfriend would look like.
Kind, affectionate, considerate, fun. And of course, hot.
I watch as he and my mom laugh over something our seasonal worker, Connie, said as he helps her straighten the tablecloth with Blooming Acres embroidered across it. He fit right in, helping pack the boxes and assisting me with the tent when we got to our assigned spot on Main Street.
It’s late morning by the time we’re set up, and the fair will last all afternoon. Dad will stop by on one of his breaks, but this event has always been Mom’s forte. She loves crafting the wreaths, table runners, and ordering unique holiday trinkets we sell at the farm store and at the fair.
“How about a quick walk through before it gets busy?” I ask Dawson because he seems very interested in what the other booths are selling.
“You two go ahead. Connie and I will hold down the fort,” Mom says, shooing us away.
We head to the center of the street so we can check out the displays on either side of us.
We wave to Grace with her ornaments and Hattie with her pie stand and then stop at a booth with framed watercolors.
I smile at the guy I went to high school with who won too many local drawing contests to count.
The scenes depicted are mostly of nature, but I recognize key points of interest of our small town as well.
“You’re very talented,” Dawson tells Craig, who murmurs a thank-you. Dawson zeroes in on the smaller framed paintings of Bright’s Hollow—one of the town’s Christmas tree and another of the mountains—while I spend time checking out Craig’s dreamy portrayal of various birds.
When a foursome of women steps inside the tent, it feels crowded, and I realize that the fair has already started. “Time to go.”
We head back through the throng, and as Dawson steps around a family, he grabs my hand to pull me along, then…
doesn’t let go. And neither do I, even when a path clears for us to walk with more breathing room.
I like how his hand feels in mine, how strong his grip is, and I don’t want to let go.
It feels wholly confusing, and after several sidelong glances his way, I’m hoping to get some clarity. “What are we doing?” I blurt.
His eyebrows pull together before he glances at our hands. “You mean this? Showing the town you’re taken.”
I stop abruptly and twist to face him. “After hearing all the same comments in the diner, and you coming to my defense, I realized I don’t need to prove anything to these people.”
“You’re right, you don’t.” He lets go of my hand. “I was just trying to stick to what we agreed.”
I sigh. “I know, and the truth is, I like holding hands and the idea of having a boyfriend. I’d hoped to curb the gossip by bringing you, but instead, I think we created more.”
“Spot on.” He chuckles, relief crossing his features. “And it’s nice to have someone in your corner, someone to do things with. It’s been a long time for me.”
“Besides what you already told me, is there any other reason?”
He shrugs. “Like I said, it’s just never been right.”
“Oh, I know all about that, don’t I?”
“Unfortunately, you do.” He winces. “Don’t worry, I’ll tone it down.”
“No, you don’t have to.” I grab his hand, hoping he doesn’t stop touching me. I enjoy it too much. “I was only checking in with you.”
He squeezes my fingers. “I’m glad you did.”
I’m not sure we’re on the same page, but maybe I’m not the only one confused about what we’re doing here. Most of it is for show, but it’s starting to feel…real.
We continue through the festival, lingering at interesting booths, talking to folks, sometimes with our hands clasped, sometimes not, and even that feels as natural as breathing. Everything with Dawson does.
By the time we get back to our tent, it’s bustling. We get to work assisting customers, wrapping gifts and ringing them out, and before we know it, the afternoon has flown by and the fair is finished. Dad stops by again to ask if we need help packing up.
“We’ve got it,” I tell him.
“Okay, good, because we’re busy at the farm.”
Once everything’s loaded in the truck, we’re on our way back to the farm, where indeed it’s hectic, crowded with last-minute shoppers. We help wherever we’re needed before Mom says she needs to get dinner started.
“How about we pick something up instead?” Dawson suggests, throwing me a look.
“Good idea,” I chime in. “Pizza?”
Relief softens her features, making her weary eyes brighten after such a busy day. “Are you sure?”
“Of course.” I pull out my phone to order. “We’ll meet you back at the house.”
We pile in the truck and head to a little place just outside of town in comfortable silence.
It’s the first time I can process the flurry of the day.
It’s always been like this, but maybe I need to pay better attention to how ragged my parents seem in the evenings.
Not that they’ll stop working so hard, but Dawson noticing—which is not surprising—just makes it more obvious.
“Better watch out, my mom might want to keep you around.”
He huffs out a laugh. “I’m being too good a boyfriend?”
I glance at him. “I think you’re just being you, and that’s what makes you special.”
“Stop it.” He playfully nudges me. “It’s not hard to be nice to your family. They’re great people.”
“I can tell how much they enjoy having you here. Thanks for ruining all future boyfriends for me,” I tease.
“Ditto. I mean, where can I get another boyfriend with a hometown straight out of a Hallmark movie? Nothing else will compare.”
I inhale a sharp breath, my skin tingling, even knowing this is simply banter.
“Too much?” he says. “Laying it on too thick?”
God, he always knows what to say. “You’re just trying to get an early invite for next year.”
We laugh as we pull up to the pizza parlor. I hop out to retrieve our order, and then we’re heading home, trading yawns the whole way there.
After dinner, we share a bottle of wine while seated around the fireplace. Dad has shadows under his eyes, and I wonder if he’s getting too old for all this. Guilt prickles in my stomach. “We drove through the apple grove the other day. Are they bearing any fruit?”
“They didn’t this year. Maybe next fall.”
“Certainly hope so,” Mom says. “It’ll be nice to add some bushels to the harvest.”
“You sure you’re not doing too much? You already have a lot on your plate.”
Dad’s gaze swings to me, his forehead wrinkling. “You know how it gets around the holiday. Soon enough it’ll be three months of frozen ground, and business will come to a screeching halt. There’ll be time for rest then.”
“You’re right, of course. I just worry that—”
Mom taps my hand and meets my eye. “We’ve got plenty of years left in us.”
Dawson remains silent, which I appreciate, and he doesn’t look uncomfortable to be privy to the conversation. Just invested and sympathetic.
Once we’re showered and in bed with the lights out, we lie on our backs, staring at the ceiling.
“It’s obvious how much your parents love their business.
It’s a lifeline for them, and that’s something I can relate to.
But your concern for their well-being makes sense, especially as they grow older. ”
“Thanks.” I blow out a breath, glad he gets it. “Soon enough plans will need to be made, but that’s a discussion for another day.”
“Oh, at least another few years.”
“I sure hope so.”
He grows quiet, his breaths evening out, but I can’t seem to stop the thoughts swirling in my head. The clouds moving across the third quarter of the moon create shadows on the walls as I whisper, “Dawson?”
“Hmm?” he replies in a sleepy voice.
I turn toward him with my hands beneath my head on the pillow. “What you said in the diner…about noticing me…”
“All true.” He adjusts his body to mirror mine, and we’re so close, I can feel his rapid breaths on my cheek. “I was drawn to your energy. I knew you were a good person, and seeing you always brightened my day.”
My heart thumps harder. “I was drawn to you too,” I confess. “I made a point of stopping in for an afternoon boost just so I could talk to you. You make it ridiculously easy, and I’ve enjoyed getting to know you.”
His lips are centimeters away, and it would be so easy to close the distance between us. But I have no idea if that would ruin this—us. Our budding friendship.
“When you started seeing my brother, I knew he wasn’t right for you.
I hate saying that about my twin. He’s welcome to live his life however he sees fit, but I just…
hated seeing him with you.” He shakes his head.
“But who was I to meddle in your dating life? Maybe I was just projecting because…” He stops, then says, “Never mind. I just knew there was a chance I could be wrong.”
Obviously not. Though the idea of Nathan being here with me now no longer sits right in my gut. It’s like it needed to be Dawson all along.
“You helped me see things differently,” I murmur. “Figure out what I really want.”
I tremble when his fingers reach out and skim across my jaw. “And what’s that?”
“Someone like you,” I admit, nerves creating tension in my belly. “I…well…I don’t actually mean you.” Damn, that came out all wrong.
“Gee, thanks.” His laugh is hollow as his hand skirts away.
“I didn’t mean… I don’t want you to think I’m exchanging one twin for another,” I rush out, trying to explain myself. “It’s just, you’re such a good person, and you deserve—”
“Shhh…” He places a finger against my lips. “I understand what you’re trying to say.”
We stare at each other as the room grows quiet except for our quickening breaths. He glances from my eyes to my lips as my chest aches something fierce.
And just when I think he might possibly kiss me, he turns away. “Night, Briar.”