12. Claire
Claire
" Y ou sure you're up for this?" I asked my grandmother as she moved around the kitchen.
She paused, the slight tremble in her hands almost imperceptible. "Of course," she said, her voice steady. "We do this every year, Claire-Bear. I'm okay."
I bit my lip, remembering last night. But we had an unspoken rule not to dwell on these moments.
"Okay," I replied, forcing a smile. "I invited Christian to go with us. I think he'd enjoy getting out."
"Maybe you should invite him to do things that involve staying in," she replied with a mischievous glint in her eye.
"Grandma!" I exclaimed, blushing.
She laughed softly, the sound like a gentle breeze through the trees. We exited the kitchen together, our arms laden with baskets of cookies.
As we approached Christian's table, my heart raced.
He was seated with his back straight, his chiseled features reminiscent of an actor — strong jawline, piercing blue eyes that seemed to hold secrets of their own, and a hint of stubble that only added to his rugged charm.
His eyes met mine and softened slightly as he saw us approaching.
"Ready?" I asked him.
"Oh dear," my grandmother said suddenly. "I think I forgot my glasses."
“Grandma, they're hanging from your neck,” I pointed out, noticing the thin chain glinting in the light.
She sighed, reaching up to touch them. “I’m tired, dear,” she said softly. “Go on without me, would you?”
I frowned, confusion knitting my brows. We always sold her cookies at the Christmas market. “But Grandma?—”
“I’ll be fine,” she insisted, waving off my concern. “I just need some rest.”
I wanted to argue but held back, aware of Christian's presence and not wanting to cause a scene. “I’ll walk you to your room then,” I offered.
“Oh, I’ll be fine,” she said more firmly this time. “You treat me like a child, Claire! Now, go! Before we lose out on potential customers.”
Her sudden insistence puzzled me. I hesitated, not wanting to leave her alone but knowing she was safe at the inn with Harlow at the front desk.
“Okay,” I finally said, albeit reluctantly.
“Good,” she replied with a satisfied nod. “Skedaddle.” She turned her attention to Christian, who stood nearby looking uncertain. “Are you going to let her carry those cookies by herself, young man? Where is the chivalry nowadays?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Christian responded quickly, stepping forward to take the bags from my hands.
“Thanks,” I murmured.
“What are you still doing here?” Grandma asked sharply. “Go!”
With a last glance at her, I nodded and led Christian out of the inn. The brisk winter air hit us as we stepped outside, and I took a deep breath to clear my mind.
Christian walked beside me in silence for a moment before speaking up. “Is she going to be all right?”
I glanced at him and managed a small smile. “Yeah, she’s just stubborn. Always has been.”
He chuckled softly. “Sounds familiar.”
Christian and I walked side by side, the snow crunching beneath our boots. The air was crisp, and our breath made small clouds in the frigid evening. Christmas lights twinkled in every window, casting a warm glow on the cobblestone streets.
“Welcome to Holly Ridge,” I said, gesturing to the quaint buildings that lined the main street. “It’s not much, but it’s home.”
Christian glanced around, his eyes taking in the festive decorations and bustling shops. “It’s charming,” he said, sounding almost surprised.
I smiled, pleased by his reaction. “That’s the general store,” I pointed out as we passed a small shop with a wooden sign swinging gently in the breeze. “Mrs. Potter runs it. She makes the best fudge you’ll ever taste.”
“Noted,” he replied with a hint of a smile.
We continued walking, and I pointed to a small building with colorful lights strung around the roof.
“That’s The Cozy Corner Café. If you’re ever in need of a good cup of coffee or some company, that’s the place to go.
But for pastries, you need to go to the Sugar I feel like there's something special about a town coming together, you know?”
We walked past more shops and houses, each one decked out in holiday cheer. I pointed out my favorite spots: the diner with its mouthwatering aroma wafting through the air, the bookstore with its cozy reading nook by the window, and the little park where children played in the snow.
“It’s like something out of a storybook,” Christian said after a while.
I glanced at him and saw a flicker of something in his eyes—maybe longing or nostalgia. It was hard to tell with him sometimes.
“It is,” I agreed softly. “That’s what makes it special.”
We continued walking in comfortable silence for a while longer until we reached our destination: the Christmas market set up in the town square. Stalls filled with handmade crafts, delicious treats, and holiday decorations lined the area.
“Well, here we are,” I said, turning to face Christian.
He looked around, taking it all in. “Thanks for showing me around.”
“No problem,” I replied with a smile.
The Christmas market bustled with energy, the scent of roasted chestnuts and mulled cider mingling in the crisp air.
Strings of twinkling lights crisscrossed overhead, casting a warm glow over the rows of wooden booths adorned with garlands and wreaths.
The cheerful sounds of carolers filled the square, adding to the festive atmosphere.
As we approached our booth, I noticed Emma already set up with her array of pastries. The colorful display of peppermint bark brownies, cranberry bliss muffins, gingerbread cupcakes, and holiday cinnamon rolls looked absolutely irresistible.
"Hi, Emma," I called out as we got closer.
She looked up from arranging a tray of cookies and smiled warmly. "Oh, hi, Claire! And you," she said, her eyes landing on Christian. "I remember you. Scottish guy, right?"
Christian's expression remained stoic. "English, actually."
Emma chuckled softly. "Close enough." She turned to me. "How's your grandmother doing?"
"She's fine," I replied quickly, trying to mask my earlier worry. "Just needed some rest."
"Glad to hear it," Emma said with a nod before turning back to her pastries.
Christian and I began setting up our booth next to Emma's. He moved with a quiet efficiency that I appreciated, his hands steady as he helped arrange baskets of cookies and jars of homemade preserves.
"How do you like Holly Ridge so far?" I asked him as we worked.
He glanced at me briefly before returning to his task. "It's... different."
I couldn't help but smile at his guarded response. "Different good or different bad?"
He shrugged slightly. "Different good."
"Good to hear," I replied, feeling a small sense of accomplishment.
As we finished setting up our booth, I stepped back to admire our handiwork. The baskets of cookies looked inviting, and the jars of preserves gleamed in the soft light. It was a simple setup, but it had its own charm.
"Looks great," I said, turning to Christian.
He nodded in agreement. "Yeah, it does."
Emma glanced over at us and grinned. "You two make a good team."
I felt my cheeks flush slightly at her comment but chose not to respond directly. Instead, I focused on arranging the last few items on the table.
"Thanks for your help," I said to Christian once we were done.
He gave a small nod. "No problem."
The market continued to buzz with activity around us as we settled into our booth, ready for an evening of festive cheer and community spirit.
I looked at Christian, who stood next to me, scanning the market with a hint of curiosity. "You can go explore if you want," I offered.
He shrugged. "I'm okay here."
His presence was unexpectedly comforting, and I found myself grateful for his company. As the morning progressed, customers began to trickle into our booth, their faces lighting up at the sight of our homemade goodies.
"How's your grandmother doing?" one woman asked as she picked up a jar of strawberry preserves.
"She's fine," I assured her with a smile. "Just needed some rest." It was a phrase I'd be repeating today, I already knew.
"Give her my best," the woman replied, dropping some bills into the cash box before moving on.
The next customer, a man in his forties with graying hair and a kind smile, bought a basket of cookies. "Your grandmother's cookies are the best in town," he said. "Hope she's back on her feet soon."
"Thank you," I replied warmly. "She'll be glad to hear that."
As we continued serving customers, I noticed how everyone seemed genuinely concerned about my grandmother. It warmed my heart to see how much she meant to the community.
An older woman approached our booth, her eyes soft with nostalgia. She selected a jar of preserves and handed me the money. "I miss your mother," she said quietly. "She would have been so proud of you."
I swallowed hard, fighting back the sudden lump in my throat. "Thank you," I managed to say, my voice wavering slightly.
She patted my hand gently before walking away, leaving me with a rush of emotions that threatened to spill over.
Finally, there was a break in the stream of customers, giving me a moment to catch my breath. I glanced at Christian, who had been quietly observing everything.
"You doing okay?" he asked, his voice low and steady.
I nodded, forcing a smile. "Yeah, just... memories."
He didn't press further but gave me a small nod of understanding that spoke volumes.
We stood together in companionable silence for a moment, taking in the festive atmosphere around us.
The carolers' voices mingled with the laughter of children and the hum of conversation from the other booths.
It was a beautiful reminder of what made Holly Ridge so special—a tight-knit community bound by shared history and love.
As we waited for the next wave of customers, I felt a renewed sense of gratitude for both this town and for Christian’s unexpected presence by my side.
“Hey Claire,” Emma called out, her voice cutting through the cheerful din of the market. “If you want to grab some hot chocolate, you can. I'll watch your booth.”
I looked over at her, momentarily taken aback. “Are you sure?”
“Absolutely,” she replied with a reassuring nod. “I know how much you love Lucy's hot chocolate.”
My gaze shifted to Christian, who was still standing by my side, a silent sentinel in the midst of the bustling market. “Want to try some?”
“Sure,” he replied dryly, his expression as unreadable as ever.
I smirked, a playful glint in my eye. “Come on then,” I said, motioning for him to follow.
We weaved through the crowd together, the festive sounds and scents enveloping us like a warm blanket. The market was alive with chatter and laughter, children darting between booths with candy canes clutched in their small hands.
Lucy's booth was easy to spot; a line of eager customers stretched out from it, drawn by the promise of her legendary hot chocolate. The aroma of rich cocoa and spices wafted toward us as we approached, making my mouth water in anticipation.
Lucy herself stood behind the counter, her rosy cheeks and bright smile a testament to her boundless energy. She spotted me and waved enthusiastically.
“Claire! It’s been too long!” she exclaimed as we reached the front of the line.
“I know,” I replied with a grin. “I’ve been busy with the inn.”
“Well, I’m glad you made it over,” she said warmly before turning her attention to Christian. “And who’s this?”
“This is Christian,” I introduced him. “He’s new in town.”
“Welcome to Holly Ridge, Christian,” Lucy greeted him with a smile. “You’re just in time for our best hot chocolate.”
Christian nodded politely.
Lucy set about preparing our drinks with practiced ease, her hands moving deftly as she mixed melted chocolate, steamed milk, and a secret blend of spices into steaming mugs. She topped each one with a generous dollop of whipped cream and a sprinkle of cinnamon before handing them over.
“There you go,” she said with satisfaction. “Two hot chocolates."
“Thanks,” I said sincerely as I accepted my mug before paying for our hot chocolate as Christian reached for his wallet. The warmth seeped into my fingers, chasing away the winter chill.
Christian took his mug with a nod of thanks, and we moved aside to let the next customer order.
"You know, I would have paid?—"
"It's okay," I replied.
"I don't need your grandmother lecturing me about not being chivalrous."
I laughed. I couldn't help it. "It'll be our secret, okay?"
He looked at me, and my heart skipped a beat. "You do that a lot, don't you?" he asked.
"What?"
"Take care of everyone else."
I sucked in a breath and took a sip of my hot chocolate. It was like he could see through me, and I wasn't sure how I felt about that. Instead, I focused on my drink. It was just as rich and decadent as I remembered, each sip like a warm hug from the inside out.
“Good?” I asked Christian, curious about his reaction.
He took a cautious sip and nodded slightly. “Not bad.”
I laughed softly at his understated approval. “High praise from you.”
At that moment, a snowball hit Christian right in the face.