Chapter Fifteen Cookies and Conversations
Kitty
Caleb walked beside me, hands in his pockets, shoulders loose. He looked at windows instead of crowds. It was the most at ease I had seen him since skating at the rink together.
We stopped at the first cocoa station, accepted small samples, and moved on without lingering.
The crawl ran by itself with no help from me now that people had their cards.
The crowd was drifting in all sorts of directions, looking for businesses who were participating.
Others were laughing as they changed cards and cookie boxes.
I played my first card almost immediately and lost my box of Jane’s baked gingerbread cookies to a woman who looked far too pleased with herself when she gave me plain shortbread biscuits in return.
“You are telling me that this is considered acceptable behavior?” I laughed as I questioned
“It is festive and a tradition with the town. Hopefully you end up with a good batch of assorted cookies by the end,” Caleb commented.
“It seems a little questionable. How do you know that someone won’t get food poisoning, or stale biscuits?” I wondered.
“So far, no one has complained,” he replied with a shrug. “I think the town has been doing the event for almost a hundred years now.”
We chatted about the town, our families and nothing much as we walked.
The hardware store had vanilla hot chocolate.
The pharmacy made hot chocolate bombs that we had to stir.
The local restaurant made peppermint hot chocolate with raspberries and marshmallows.
Each sample was interesting and none were duplicated.
A few blocks in, Caleb slowed down a little.
“Can I explain something?” he asked, eyes forward, not reaching mine.
“If you want to.” I tilted my head to look up at him, wondering why he had suddenly turned so serious.
He smiled faintly but there wasn’t any humor in it. “I just want you to understand what’s going on.”
We passed Lattes and Laughter, lights warm behind the windows, and turned down a quieter stretch of street.
“The music shop was my dad’s. I learned to love music from an early age. I liked being in the shop with him, learning the business and spending time with him and the customers.”
I glanced at him, surprised by the softness in his tone.
“He loved that shop,” Caleb continued. “He believed music was something you shared because it made the soul feel better. It wasn’t big business, but he always managed to keep our family doing okay with it.”
“That sounds like my parents. They struggled but we never really lacked for anything we needed,” I mentioned, realizing it was true and how difficult it probably had been for Mom and Dad raising five girls.
We stopped briefly at another cocoa table, accepted two small cups, and moved on again.
“I liked writing songs,” he said. “I liked singing them. When I got offered a recording deal, I thought it meant freedom from a small town. I wanted to see the world at that time to figure out exactly who I was. I thought it meant I could do what I loved and keep the parts that mattered.”
“And you couldn’t,” I said quietly.
“No. I signed a contract that took more than it gave. The touring never stopped. Towns blurred together and honestly, I really didn’t see much of anything.
I stopped knowing where I was unless someone told me.
I got homesick,” Caleb revealed with a sigh.
“The worst part is that it never really stops. People wanted things from me all the time and it felt like there was always an ulterior motive. I got burned a few times. Girls that liked Caleb Green the up and coming country star, not the person I really was. Then my agent would add to our schedule, or the record company wanted me to change how I did things, or act a certain way. I never knew how to give them what they wanted without losing myself.”
We crossed the street with a group, boots crunching over packed snow. A child darted past holding a tin nearly as big as his head. The normalcy of the moment made Caleb’s words feel sharper.
“That must have been hard,” I murmured. I thought of all the times I had envied Lydia, her social media following, how people just seemed to know her and how she thrived on the attention. Suddenly, I didn’t feel as jealous.
“It was exhausting and lonely. I kept telling myself it would get better once I got used to it.” Caleb shook his head.
“And you didn’t,” I prompted, wondering where the story, Caleb’s story, was going.
He shook his head. “No. And then everything else happened.”
I waited, watching him struggle to put his thoughts into words.
“Eva’s husband died,” he said. “And my dad got sick not long after. I was still touring. I was missing everything. Phone calls instead of dinners. Video calls instead of being there. I realized I was living the life I thought I wanted and missing the one that actually mattered. I was missing all the important moments with my family that I could never get back.”
The street narrowed ahead, lights dipping lower. I could hear the strain in his voice now, controlled but present.
“I managed to get out of my contract early, but I had to pay a penalty that put me right back where I started, which was broke with a bus ticket. So I came home. When my dad passed, keeping the shop open felt like the only thing that made sense. Teaching feels right. I’m sharing music instead of being consumed by it. ”
We walked a few steps in silence, the weight of it settling without discomfort.
“I like my life now,” he said. “I just don’t want to lose it again.”
“Why would you lose it?” I questioned with concern . For a moment, I wondered if I had asked too much as Caleb took his time before answering.
“The shop isn’t doing well financially. That’s why I’ve been teaching snowboarding at the ski hill. I keep getting calls from my old agent. He wants to try to sign me again,” Caleb confessed.
“You’re tempted,” I softly surmised.
“It would solve a lot of problems,” Caleb remarked.
“It would create more if you’re unhappy,” I told him.
He nodded, and for a few minutes we did nothing more than wander. We paused at a handmade ornament display. He picked one up, turned it over thoughtfully, then put it back like he was afraid of committing to anything unnecessary.
“There is one more thing,” he said, pulling out his phone and glancing at the screen before holding it out toward me. “I want to show you something and also apologize.”
I took the phone, confused, then frowned as the images loaded.
It was us.
The two of us at the skating rink. Caleb holding Abby’s hands as she leaned back into a glide. Me skating beside them, laughing at something Abby had said. Another angle from farther back, holding hands as we circled the rink.
Below the photos were captions and speculations with far too many emojis.
“Someone posted these,” Caleb said. “They picked up traction faster than I expected.”
I scrolled, heart doing a strange little stutter. “They are asking if I am your girlfriend.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize that anyone would do this or about how that would affect you.”
I handed the phone back, forcing myself not to overthink.
“It is strange,” I admitted. “But I don’t feel… upset. Just surprised.”
“That is a relief,” he said. “I hate the idea of dragging you into something you didn’t ask for.”
I looked at him. “People talk and there isn’t anything you can do about it.”
He studied my face carefully. Before either of us could say more, someone called his name.
“Caleb Green!”
A woman stepped toward us, phone already raised, eyes bright with excitement. She stood too close, getting into our personal space.
“Oh my gosh,” she said. “I knew it was you! I love your music.”
Caleb froze. I felt the sudden tension in his posture.
“Can I get a picture,” she asked, already angling the camera. “Are you still single? Are you going back on tour? I’ve always wanted to date a country star.”
She glanced at me then, curious rather than rude, but still too much.
Before I could think about it, I stepped closer to Caleb and slipped my arm through his.
“I’m his girlfriend,” I said calmly. “And he would really appreciate a little space.”
The woman blinked. “Oh. I am so sorry. I didn’t mean -”
“It’s okay,” I said kindly. “Thank you for understanding.”
She apologized again, stepped back, snapped a quick photo from a safer distance, and hurried off, already typing furiously.
Caleb stared at me like he had forgotten how words worked.
“I - ” he started, then stopped. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I know,” I said. “But it felt like the simplest solution.”
He let out a laugh, breathless and genuine. “It will be all over the internet within ten minutes.”
“I suppose so,” I agreed, still holding onto his arm and trying hard not to think that my motives might not be entirely altruistic. “Would your fans be more respectful of your space if they thought you did have a girlfriend?”
“Some of them. Some are still aggressive,” Caleb mentioned.
“Maybe if you fake date me, at least a few of them won’t be quite so bold,” I suggested.
“Fake date?” Caleb asked, looking at me in surprise.
“Purely strategic for your safety,” I replied, still holding onto his arm as we started walking again. “I can be very convincing.”
“Terrifyingly so,” he said, smiling now.
It was a real smile, and I felt happy to have taken him out of his unhappy self-reflection. “So I guess I’m now your fake girlfriend.”
“If we are fake dating,” he said lightly, “do I get cookies next time?”
“Absolutely not,” I firmly told him. “You failed to prepare.”
He laughed again, louder this time. Caleb pulled his arm from mine but wrapped it around me, pulling me close to his side which made me happier than it ought to.
The crowd thinned as the evening edged toward its later hours. The lights felt warmer. We walked without urgency, sharing the last of the cocoa, talking, and generally not wanting the evening to end.
.