Chapter 10
Mark Clemons had several perfectly reasonable excuses for walking toward Winter Wishes the very next day.
He had already helped haul two folding tables from the church basement to the square.
Rebecca had asked him to make sure Natalie had all of her misplaced extension cords.
The Christmas market had officially opened that morning, and half the town had squeezed into the same three blocks of downtown, which meant any man trying to get from the gazebo to Honey Creek Bakery had to pass Natalie’s shop eventually.
All practical reasons, yes, but none of them explained why he had taken the long way around the square to pass her front window.
Winter Wishes looked busy, which should have sent him in the opposite direction.
People moved in and out, their arms full of shopping bags, children tugging parents toward the display in the window, and a line had formed near the small outdoor booth Natalie had set up beside the front door.
The booth was covered with red cloth, greenery, and enough ribbon to make Mark distrust its structural integrity on principle.
Natalie stood behind it wearing a red coat, dark jeans, boots, and a cream knit hat with a pom-pom that had no practical purpose whatsoever. She was wrapping something in tissue paper for an elderly woman while answering a question from a little girl holding two ornaments.
She looked completely in her element.
Mark stopped walking. He told himself it wasn’t because she looked pretty, although she did. It wasn’t because seeing her smile at a child made something shift in his chest that he had no intention of examining. He was simply assessing the booth. The left corner sagged.
Natalie glanced up, spotted him, and smiled as if she had been expecting him all along. “There you are.”
Mark stepped closer and eyed the booth. “Should I be worried that you said that like I’m late?”
“You’re not late. You’re useful.”
“That’s worse.”
“Not for me.” Natalie finished wrapping the customer’s purchase, tucked it into a paper bag, and handed it over with both hands. “Merry Christmas, Mrs. Ellis.”
“Merry Christmas, dear.” Mrs. Ellis accepted the bag and looked between Natalie and Mark with a pleased expression. “You two enjoy the market now.”
Natalie’s smile held until Mrs. Ellis moved away, but a faint pink touched her cheeks. “See? That’s been happening all morning.”
“Mrs. Ellis is harmless.”
“Mrs. Ellis told three people yesterday that you fixed my display with ‘the devotion of a man with intentions.’”
Mark coughed once and glanced toward the booth leg to give himself something else to look at. “That’s oddly specific.”
“She’s a specific woman.”
He crouched and tested the corner support with one hand. “This needs another brace.”
“I knew you were going to say that.”
“You set this up anyway?”
“I set it up before the wind shifted.” Natalie leaned over the table and lowered her voice. “Also, I may have hoped you’d walk by.”
Mark looked up at her.
She busied herself straightening a stack of boxed ornaments, but he saw her tiny smile.
“You need structural integrity,” he said.
“Among other things.”
He stood, brushing his hands on his jeans. “What other things?”
Natalie picked up two cups of hot chocolate from beneath the booth and held one out to him. “Visibility.”
He stared at the cup before taking it. “You brought me here to be seen?”
“You brought yourself here.” Her eyes sparkled over the rim of her own cup. “I’m simply taking advantage of your timing.”
Given how warm the hot chocolate remained, he doubted that entirely.
“I was going to ask you about your extension cords.”
“Excellent. Consider me asked, and my answer is yes.”
“I haven’t said anything about them yet.”
“Don’t you worry. I have them all now.” She waved her hand. “You look like a man on an errand.”
“That’s how I usually look.”
She stepped from behind the booth and reached for a small sign that read BACK IN TEN MINUTES. “Come on.”
Mark watched her set the sign near the register box. “Where?”
“The market.”
“I can see the market from here.”
“The whole point isn’t to see the market. It’s to experience it.”
He made a face. “I’m not sure I agreed to experience anything.”
Natalie slipped her gloves on then took her hot chocolate back from the table. “Temporary partners, remember? We should probably look as if we can tolerate spending time together.”
“We tolerate each other fine from here,” he protested.
“Mark.”
He didn’t know how she managed to make his name sound like both an accusation and an invitation, but she did. “Fine. Ten minutes.”
“Wonderful.”
“Only ten minutes.”
“Of course.”
She smiled so sweetly that he knew he had made a mistake.
The Christmas market stretched across the square in rows of booths and small tents.
Vendors sold handmade ornaments, quilts, candles, jams, wreaths, leather goods, soaps, and enough baked goods to keep the whole town sugared until New Year’s.
Children lined up near the ranch booth for short pony rides, and a group of carolers stood near the gazebo singing while Caleb Pierce, Violet Hoffman’s boyfriend, adjusted a microphone stand for them.
Across the way, Jacob Whitley wore the Santa suit again, beard included, while Rachel Morgan stood nearby taking pictures and trying not to laugh at him.
Natalie noticed Mark looking. “He looks less miserable in the suit this year.”
“That’s because Rachel’s watching.”
“She does have a softening effect.”
“Or threatening.”
Natalie laughed. “Rachel? Threatening?”
“Well, not loudly.”
“Those are the dangerous ones.”
He looked down at her. “Should I be worried about you?”
“Constantly.” Natalie smiled at him, completely unashamed.
Sadie, Rachel’s daughter, rushed over to Jacob. Her mom and Jacob were soon laughing at whatever she told them.
“Aren’t they all so cute together?” Natalie sighed. “I’m so glad they’re together.”
“They do seem happy,” Mark admitted.
They stopped at the first booth because Natalie insisted she needed to check on the vendor layout. Mark suspected she mostly wanted free samples of jam, and he was proven right when the woman behind the table handed her a tiny cracker topped with peach preserves.
Natalie took a bite and closed her eyes for half a second. “Oh, that’s wonderful.”
The vendor smiled. “Made from Fredericksburg peaches.”
Mark tried the next sample because refusing felt rude. It was good, brighter than he expected, with a little cinnamon in it.
Natalie pointed her cracker toward him. “You liked that.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t have to.”
He eyed her, the corner of his lips twitching. “I’m allowed to eat jam without commentary.”
“Not with that face.”
“What face?”
“The face of a man who discovered joy and resents the witness.” She winked at him.
The vendor laughed outright.
Mark pulled out his wallet before Natalie could reach for hers. “Two jars of the peach.”
Natalie turned on him. “Two?”
“Well, yes. One for you. One for me.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “That sounds dangerously close to a romantic gift.”
“It’s preserves.”
She stepped closer and whispered, “Rules matter.”
“I’m buying jam from a church lady in the middle of a public square,” he whispered back. “I think we’re safe.”
The vendor tied red twine around the lids and handed him the bag with a knowing smile. “You two remind me of my husband and me when we were young.”
Natalie took the bag before Mark could respond. “Thank you, Mrs. Lawson. The preserves are perfect.”
They moved away from the booth.
Natalie held the bag between them like evidence. “You realize she thinks we’re adorable.”
“She sells jam. She probably says that to everyone.”
“I don’t think so.”
“She’s just trying to increase sales.”
Natalie looked into the bag and smiled down at the jars. “You did buy two.”
“Effective strategy.” He grinned.
Natalie turned one of the jars so she could read the handwritten label before glancing back up at him. “That’s your point?”
“Exactly.”
She hummed quietly, more to herself than to him.
Mark narrowed his eyes. “What?”
“Nothing.” She tucked the bag against her side and started walking again.
He easily matched her stride. “That wasn’t nothing.”
“It was a thoughtful hmm.”
“I distrust thoughtful hmms.”
“You should.” She looked up at him with unmistakable mischief in her eyes. “They usually mean I’ve noticed something.”
“And are you planning to tell me what you noticed?”
“Oh, eventually.”
“I don’t like eventually.”
“I know.” She handed him one jar and kept the other. “Thank you.”
Mark accepted the jar. “You’re welcome.”
They started down the next row of booths. Natalie slowed automatically whenever someone called her name, stopping to answer questions, introduce vendors, or point visitors toward the church bake sale. Mark found himself matching her pace without thinking about it.
Halfway down the row, he noticed a small booth tucked between the leatherworker and a quilt display. Delicate wooden ornaments hung from a narrow cedar rack, each one hand carved into little Texas scenes, nativity silhouettes, crosses, and tiny cowboy boots.
Natalie walked right past it.
“Hey.”
She looked up. “What?”
“You missed one.”
“I did?”
He nodded toward the booth. “Seems like something you’d like.”
She followed his gaze then stopped short. “Oh.” Her face lit with genuine delight. “Oh, those are beautiful.” She crossed toward the display, running her fingertips just above the ornaments without touching them. “These are hand carved.”
The older gentleman behind the table smiled. “Every one of them.”
Natalie picked up a tiny nativity ornament no bigger than the palm of her hand. “Look at the detail.”
Mark stepped beside her. “That is nice.”
“To think I almost missed this… I was looking for Mrs. Lawson.” She laughed softly. “Thank you for noticing.”
He shrugged as though it hadn’t required any effort. “Figured you’d appreciate it.”
She looked at him for just a second longer than necessary before turning back to the display. “You’re getting better at this.”
“At what?”
“Helping me find joy.”
Mark wasn’t entirely sure how to answer that, so he reached for one of the carved cowboy boot ornaments instead. “This one’s not too bad.”
The craftsman laughed.
Natalie shook her head, smiling, and gently nudged Mark’s shoulder with hers.
They wandered deeper into the market, though wandering with Natalie did not resemble ordinary walking.
She noticed everything—a candle display that needed to be shifted out of direct sun.
A child who had lost one mitten. A volunteer struggling to restock paper cups near the hot chocolate table.
She paused, helped, greeted, checked in, and somehow made each person feel as though she had come to the market specifically to see them.
Mark had spent most of his life around people who worked hard. Ranch people did not know another way. But Natalie’s work was different. She carried details the way other people carried tools, and she made it look lighter than it was.
At the cookie-decorating table, Violet was helping a group of children choose icing colors while Caleb stood beside her with a tray of undecorated cookies, looking perfectly content to be bossed around.
One little girl spotted Mark and Natalie and waved them over with a frosting-covered hand. “Miss Natalie! Is he your boyfriend?”
Violet’s eyes widened.
Caleb turned away, his shoulders shaking.
Natalie bent to the little girl’s level with impressive composure. “He is my temporary market assistant.”
The girl frowned. “That’s not a boyfriend.”
“No, it is not.”
Mark stepped beside Natalie and picked up a napkin before pink frosting could slide off the child’s cookie and onto her sleeve. “It’s an important position.”
The little girl considered him seriously. “Can you help with sprinkles?”
“I can try.”
Natalie looked up at him, startled and amused. “Can you?”
“I’ve repaired fences. I can manage sprinkles.”
“That confidence may be your downfall.”
He sat on the end of the bench, took the small jar of red sprinkles, and immediately discovered that sprinkles were less manageable than fencing wire. Half of them landed on the paper plate instead of the cookie.
The little girl sighed. “You’re not very good.”
Mark shrugged. “I did tell you I could try. I never said I would be any good.”
Natalie laughed so hard she had to press a hand against the table. “Would you like training, Mr. Clemons?”
“No.”
The little girl pushed another cookie toward him. “You need it.”
Violet smiled at Natalie while Caleb handed Mark a second napkin. “She’s not wrong.”
Mark looked at Caleb. “You too?”
Caleb shrugged. “I know better than to argue with a child holding frosting.”
Natalie sat beside the little girl and demonstrated a careful shake of the sprinkle jar. “See? Lightly, like this.”
Mark copied the motion on the next cookie. Most of the sprinkles landed where they belonged.
The little girl inspected his work and nodded. “Better.”
“High praise,” Natalie said.
“I’ll take it,” Mark replied.
When he looked at her, she was smiling at him with such open delight that for a moment the market noise faded to something softer.
He liked making her laugh. That was becoming a problem. Temporary arrangements weren’t supposed to make a man look forward to hearing the same laugh twice in one morning.