Chapter 41
JOY
The goat was possessed by the devil himself. I was absolutely convinced of it. Who the hell thought a goat was a good substitute for a cow? Or a sheep. They were not the same.
Not that I knew a lot of cows or sheep, but I was certain they could not be like goats. This goat in particular was an asshole. Were they all like that?
“Come on, Gertrude,” I pleaded, pulling on the stubborn animal’s lead rope while she planted all four hooves and stared at me with those unsettling rectangular pupils. “It’s just a nice little pen with hay and a manger. Very cozy. Perfect for goats.”
Gertrude remained unmoved by my sales pitch. I needed a goat whisperer. Or an exorcist.
The Christmas market had been open for two hours, and most things were running smoothly.
Families wandered between the vendor booths, children clutched cups of hot chocolate, and the choir’s voices drifted across the square in perfect harmony.
It should have been magical. It would have been magical, if not for the live nativity scene that was rapidly devolving into complete chaos.
Who thought a live nativity was a good idea? Oh right. I did. But in my defense, the goat had not been my idea, and she was the problem.
“Joy, I think this beard is giving me a rash,” Joseph complained.
He wasn’t actually Joseph because I was pretty sure the real Joseph wasn’t a lecher.
This guy was. He had been hitting on me relentlessly since putting on his costume.
“Maybe you could help me adjust it? Or we could grab dinner after this winds down? I know a great place in—”
“The beard stays on, Brad,” I interrupted, giving Gertrude’s rope another futile tug. “And I’m busy.”
“Okay, we’ll skip dinner and get right to the good stuff.”
I sighed and looked at him. “The good stuff?”
He waggled his eyebrows. “You know, the good stuff. I think me and you could have a good time. We’re compatible.”
“What in the hell makes you think we’re compatible?”
And yes I just cursed at Joseph. Jesus’s daddy. I was probably going to hell but that wasn’t going to be the first or last thing to send me there.
That was when Gertrude decided my coat sleeve was dinner.
“Gertrude, no,” I groaned.
The donkey—whose name was apparently Chester, according to his owner—chose that moment to lumber over and nudge my hip with his enormous head, nearly knocking me off balance.
He seemed to think this was great fun and immediately did it again, harder this time.
I could have sworn the jackass was smiling at me.
“Chester, no,” I said firmly, trying to maintain my grip on Gertrude’s rope while fending off the overly affectionate donkey. “Go back to your spot.”
Chester responded by trying to nibble on my jacket as well. It was red. I thought red was a bull thing. I really needed to brush up on my farm animal information.
I looked at Brad. He didn’t offer to help.
Asshole.
Meanwhile, the baby playing Jesus—a six-month-old named Tyler whose parents had volunteered him for the role—had been crying steadily for the past twenty minutes.
His wails cut through the peaceful Christmas music like a fire alarm.
I could see parents in the crowd starting to give our nativity scene concerned looks.
“Maybe we should take a break?” Mary suggested. The woman, a third-grade teacher, looked like she was regretting volunteering for this particular duty.
“No, we can’t take a break,” I said, desperation creeping into my voice. “People are expecting the live nativity. It’s supposed to be the highlight of the evening.”
I yanked on Gertrude’s rope with renewed determination, putting my full body weight behind it. The goat finally took a step forward, directly as I pulled backward with maximum force. I stumbled, my foot sliding in something soft and decidedly unpleasant.
Donkey poop.
Of course.
I stood there with manure squishing under my boot, holding the lead rope of a demonic goat while a baby screamed and a grown man in a fake beard continued to leer at me. I felt my carefully maintained composure finally crack.
My first instinct was to find Cooper.
The thought hit me with startling clarity.
When things went wrong, I wanted him. When the festival planning got overwhelming or when problems arose that I couldn’t solve on my own, my automatic response had become seeking out Cooper.
He would wrap his strong arms around me and tell me everything was going to be okay.
Somehow that would make it true. Just him standing nearby settled me.
But I hesitated, and I hated that I hesitated.
Three days ago, I wouldn’t have thought twice about finding Cooper and letting him help me handle whatever crisis had emerged. A week ago, everything between us had felt solid and sure and like something I could depend on.
Now everything felt up in the air. Now I didn’t know if seeking comfort from him was fair to either of us, given all the uncertainty and unresolved questions hanging between us.
“I need a minute,” I announced to no one in particular, handing Gertrude’s lead rope to a surprised volunteer and stepping carefully around the donkey poop with my one clean boot.
I made a beeline for the storage tent I’d been using as a base of operations, desperate for a moment of privacy before I completely fell apart in front of half the town.
The tent was tucked behind the main market area, far enough from the crowds that I might actually be able to have a quiet breakdown without becoming part of the evening’s entertainment.
I ducked inside and immediately sank onto one of the folding chairs. The tears came without warning, hot, frustrated tears that had been building up for days and finally found their release.
I was exhausted. Emotionally and physically drained from weeks of festival planning, from Lynn’s psychological warfare, and from trying to navigate my feelings for Cooper while maintaining professional boundaries.
Everything I’d been holding together was coming apart at once, and I didn’t know how to put it back together.
“Joy?” Aunt Victoria’s voice came from the tent entrance, gentle and concerned. “Honey, are you in here?”
I wiped my face hastily, trying to compose myself. “Yes.”
“Is everything okay?”
“I’m fine. Just taking a quick break.”
My aunt pushed through the tent flap and immediately saw through my attempted cover-up. Her expression softened with understanding.
“Oh, sweetheart,” she said, moving to sit in the chair beside mine. “It’s okay to take a moment. It’s okay to not be okay right now.”
The kindness in her voice undid what little composure I’d managed to rebuild. The tears started again, and this time I didn’t try to stop them.
“I don’t know if I belong here,” I admitted between sobs.
“In Calton Hill, with Cooper, any of it. I thought I was figuring things out, but now I’m more confused than ever.
I don’t know if I can do this job. It’s not really something I have any experience with.
I think I bit off more than I can chew.”
She reached over and rubbed my back in the same soothing circles she’d used when I was younger and dealing with grief or high school drama. “What’s got you so turned around?” she asked gently. “The festival is a huge success.”
“Lynn came to see me yesterday. She told me I was just a rebound, that Cooper would always love her more than he could love me. And maybe she’s right. Maybe I’m just a convenient distraction while he gets over the woman he really wanted to marry.”
“Lynn’s opinion is as useful as a fart in a windstorm. What did Cooper say about all this?”
“We haven’t talked about it yet.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Joy. Why not?”
“Because I’m just trying to survive the night market right now. We’re supposed to talk tonight, but I’m terrified of what he might say. What if he realizes he’s not ready for anything serious yet? What if he needs more time to heal from what she did to him?”
My aunt was quiet for a moment. “If the man needs time, give him time. Real love doesn’t need to rush.”
“I’m terrified of breaking his heart again,” I continued, the words pouring out like water through a broken dam. “I did it once before, in high school, when I left without looking back. I can’t do that to him again. But I also don’t know if I’m back in town for good.”
“Oh, kiddo,” she said softly. “It sounds like you’re not sure what you want either.”
“I don’t know what to do,” I whispered. “I don’t want to hurt him. He’s been through enough.”
“Don’t let fear keep you from happiness,” she said finally.
“Either choose him fully—with all the risks and uncertainty that comes with loving someone—or let him go so you can both move forward. But don’t hide in this middle ground where neither of you knows where you stand. That’s not fair to either of you.”
Her words were exactly what I needed to hear.
“You’re right,” I said, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand. “I’ve been hiding. From the conversation we need to have, from the decisions I need to make, from everything that feels too scary to face head on.”
“It’s understandable,” she said gently. “Love is terrifying, especially when you’ve been hurt before or when you’re afraid of hurting someone you care about. But hiding doesn’t make those fears go away. It just makes them grow bigger.”
I took a shaky breath, feeling some of the tension in my chest start to ease. Everything had been building up for days, and it needed to come out. The crying had helped, and Aunt Victoria’s honest advice had given me a sense of direction I’d been lacking.
“Thank you,” I said, squeezing her hand. “For finding me, for listening and telling me what I needed to hear instead of what I wanted to hear.”
“That’s what aunts are for,” she replied with a smile. “Now, are you ready to go back out there and show that goat who’s boss?”
I laughed despite myself, remembering the chaos I’d fled from. “I suppose someone needs to deal with Gertrude. And the crying baby. And Brad’s pushy advances.”
“Let’s go handle some livestock and inappropriate volunteers,” she said with a laugh. She stood and offered me her arm. “And tonight, after all this festival business is sorted out, you’re going to have that conversation with Cooper. No more hiding.”
“No more hiding,” I agreed.
We walked back toward the nativity scene together.
I could see that my absence had not improved the situation.
Gertrude was now standing in the middle of the pen, but she was eating Joseph’s costume.
Chester the donkey had somehow gotten loose and was wandering among the vendor booths, perusing their wares. And baby Jesus was still crying.
I had work to do, problems to solve, and a festival to run. These were concrete challenges with practical solutions. That was my thing. I was good at finding practical solutions.
“Okay, everyone,” I called as we approached the disaster zone. “Let’s get this nativity scene back on track.”
It took another thirty minutes, but we finally got Gertrude properly positioned, Chester back in his designated spot, and baby Jesus calmed down enough to look appropriately peaceful.
Brad got a firm talking-to about keeping his thoughts to himself, and the whole scene began to resemble the peaceful biblical tableau it was supposed to be.
The festival would be a success. The vendors were happy. The visitors were enjoying themselves, and the Christmas market was everything I had envisioned when I first started planning it.
Tonight, after everything wound down, I would have that conversation with Cooper. I would stop hiding from the difficult questions and the scary possibilities.
Gertrude bleated contentedly from her pen. I smiled and shook my head. “You’re not the only stubborn goat in here.”