Chapter 6
The next afternoon, Amayah brought Luke across town to an older neighborhood near Linden Park. Here, the houses were worn in the way old sweaters were—comfortable, familiar—and Christmas felt more like tradition than display.
Every year, the community closed their streets to vehicular traffic and set up a Christmas bazaar featuring local vendors selling hot chocolate, kettle corn, and handmade gifts. Christmas carolers dressed in Victorian garb wandered the streets, the sweet sounds of Christmas songs filling the air.
Amayah had been asked to judge the neighborhood’s annual Christmas Door Showcase, a community tradition that gave residents an excuse to turn their front porches into miniature celebrations.
She’d almost declined. There was a lot of publicity around the event, and she wasn’t much for being in the spotlight. It was one thing to be in front of her camera, and it was another thing to have an audience watching her live in real life.
But Miranda had practically insisted. It’s perfect for your platform.
Amayah had met Miranda at just the right moment. Miranda happened to see one of her videos—not because she was scouting, but because a friend sent it to her saying, “This woman is the real deal.”
Miranda reached out first not as an agent, but as someone who was moved by the message. They’d had coffee. Miranda gave advice. One conversation became three.
When Amayah’s videos began to blow up and opportunities started pouring in, Miranda stepped in to help her navigate contracts and protect her from predatory offers.
Eventually, becoming her agent was the most natural next step.
Now Amayah considered her one of her closest friends.
So here Amayah was—walking beside Luke, cocoa steaming between her palms and a paper bag of fresh kettle corn gripped in his hand—while a small camera crew trailed a respectful distance behind them, recording everything for the town’s website.
Miranda was here and, in true Miranda fashion, she seemed to have taken charge.
Luke had met Amayah at her place and driven them here, since parking was nearly impossible on the narrow historic street. Normally, she didn’t ride with people she didn’t know well. But Luke didn’t feel like a stranger. Not today.
She hoped she didn’t regret that decision.
The first thing he’d asked her was about her broken window and having the door locks replaced. She’d assured him that she’d called about both.
It was kind of sweet that he’d expressed his concern.
Miranda strode up beside her and introduced herself to Luke before turning back to Amayah, her eyes dancing. “I got a phone call today that you’re going to want to hear about.”
“Oh, yeah?” Amayah kept walking as Miranda fell into step beside her. “What was it about?”
“Rumor has it that The Home Show station is eyeing you for a new show they’d like to launch about Curb Appeal.” Miranda squealed. “Except it will be called Door Appeal, of course, to fit your brand. Wouldn’t that be fantastic?”
Amayah swallowed hard. “A show? That’s a big leap from the videos I make of myself to a TV show.”
“It would be such a great opportunity.”
She slowed her steps, uncomfortable with the idea. “I don’t know.”
“You’d be great.” Miranda turned to Luke. “Don’t you think?”
“It would be an amazing opportunity,” he said. “If that’s what she wants to do.”
“She’d be a fool to turn it down! Okay, Amayah, remember—natural light is your friend,” Miranda called from behind one of the cameras, snapping her fingers twice as she positioned a videographer.
“We’ll keep wide shots while you’re judging, then I’ll cue the close-ups.
Mayor Grayson is waiting at the end of the block. ”
The mayor—an older man in a plaid scarf—stood by the lamppost with a thermos in hand, waving cheerfully as they approached. Beside him, the head of the community association, Trina Sutter, reviewed her own clipboard and mouthed something about battery-powered lights versus extension cords.
Amayah lifted her own clipboard higher against her coat as she walked. Luke drifted beside her, hands tucked into his pockets.
“You good?” he asked quietly.
She nodded. “Just feeling a little overwhelmed.”
“You don’t have to take every opportunity that comes your way—and you’re not a fool if you turn things down.”
Gratitude filled her. “Thank you. I needed that reminder.”
“Of course.”
Amayah watched as Luke tilted his head thoughtfully while studying a porch wrapped in fresh garlands.
“Did you notice the recurring theme?” he asked.
Amayah took a closer look. “Hmm . . . farmhouse charm? Or the fact that three different houses used plastic reindeer?”
He smirked. “I was thinking natural greenery. Actual pine, not the pre-scented stuff from a craft store.”
She clicked her pen dramatically. “A man who appreciates authenticity. I’m impressed.”
Something that almost looked like guilt flittered through his gaze before disappearing so quickly that she figured she’d imagined it.
They turned and continued walking together.
Ahead, a few families lingered along the sidewalk, bundled in thick scarves and holiday sweaters. One little girl whispered loudly to her mother, “It’s the door lady!” A dachshund waddled past in a tiny red sweater, tail sweeping the snow as he strained toward the camera crew for attention.
Snow crunched underfoot as they continued down the street.
Small cottages lined both sides, their roofs powdered in white, chimneys puffing lazy curls of smoke into the pale afternoon sky.
Evergreen garlands framed doorways; twinkling lights shimmered against frosted railings; and more than one homeowner had leaned fully into holiday cheer—candy cane borders, oversized velvet bows, JOY signs hand-painted on reclaimed wood.
It felt like walking through a living postcard.
Amayah paused at the first house on her list. The camera crew instinctively fanned out. Miranda lifted a hand—silent cue—then mouthed, “Two minutes. Just observe.”
Amayah leaned forward, studying the details: pinecones carefully woven into a wreath, brass jingle bells tied with burgundy velvet, snowflakes etched onto the glass window.
Luke bent slightly beside her. “They tucked cedar branches into the banister garland. That’s commitment.”
She smiled. “I love it when people care this much.”
Amayah continued to the next house—clipboard in hand, snow catching in her hair—as the whole frozen street seemed to hold its breath, watching her bring a little Christmas wonder to every doorway she touched.
Luke walked beside her, his presence steady and quietly warm, his steps matching her pace without rushing. Every so often she glanced his way and caught the smallest hint of a smile—restrained, thoughtful—as if even he couldn’t entirely resist the charm of the street.
Doors dressed in celebration.
Thresholds transformed into declarations of hope.
A soft hush settled over the block. The earlier bustle had thinned as most families had hurried inside to escape the cold. Snowflakes drifted lazily in the air, catching on the twinkling lights, and somewhere a set of wind chimes rang a delicate tune from a back porch.
For a moment, everything felt beautifully still.
But then—something subtle shifted.
Maybe it was the sudden quiet behind them when the crew paused to change the camera’s batteries. Maybe it was the faint scrape of a boot on pavement. Or maybe it was nothing more than instinct, sharp and uncanny, tightening her chest.
Amayah slowed, the hairs at the back of her neck prickling.
She scanned the street.
A man stood across from them near a maple tree half-strung with lights, his posture too frozen to be casual. He wore a dark coat and lingered in the shadow between two porch lamps. His face was partially hidden, but his gaze wasn’t.
It was fixed on her.
Watching.
Her breath snagged.
No. No, it wasn’t—
Was it?
The man who’d been following her.
He was here now.
Fear seized her lungs at the realization.