Chapter 23
By Christmas Eve, Natalie had wrapped enough gifts, tied enough bows, and smiled at enough customers to convince most of Shooting Star Canyon that she was perfectly fine.
But she was not perfectly fine. She wasn’t even seasonally fine, which felt like a personal failing for a woman who owned a shop called Winter Wishes and had once color-coded an entire window display by emotional warmth.
The truth about her and Mark had spread more quietly than she feared, but quiet did not mean painless.
Mrs. Barlow had hugged her in the bakery and whispered that everyone made mistakes.
Betty Parker had refused to let Natalie pay for coffee that morning.
Aunt Eleanor had not scolded her once, which somehow made Natalie feel worse every time her aunt looked at her with tender concern instead of disappointment.
Mark had texted once. I’m sorry for how it happened. I’m here when you’re ready.
Natalie had read it six times, typed three different replies, and sent none of them.
Now she stood in the fellowship hall at Grace Community Church, helping arrange candles for the Christmas Eve service.
Even now, she believed useful hands were easier to manage than a bruised heart.
The sanctuary already glowed beyond the open double doors, with garland draped along the windows, poinsettias near the altar, and the tall white Christ candle waiting at the center of the Advent wreath.
In the fellowship hall, tables held baskets of small battery candles for the children, paper programs, extra hymnals, and the last few donation bags for families who would receive Christmas help before the night was over.
Bethany sat at one table, checking batteries in the children’s candles with the seriousness of a woman testing stage lights before a school concert. Her black curls were pinned back with a gold clip, and her cat-eye glasses had slipped halfway down her nose.
She held up one of the candles. “This one blinks like it’s sending a distress signal.”
Natalie took it from her and placed it in the reject pile. “Maybe it is.”
“Maybe we all are.”
“That was subtle.”
“I wasn’t trying to be subtle.” Bethany picked up another candle and switched it on. “You’re hiding in church supplies.”
“I’m serving.”
“Same difference.”
Before Natalie could answer, Anna Sanford came through the side door carrying a box of programs against one hip and a clipboard tucked beneath her arm.
Her cheeks were pink from the cold, and loose strands of brown hair had escaped the low twist at the nape of her neck.
She looked polished from a distance, as she always did, but up close, Natalie noticed the tiredness beneath her eyes.
“I found the extra programs in the storage closet behind three shepherd costumes and what I sincerely hope was not last year’s Easter grass,” Anna said as she set the box on the table.
“Please tell me someone here knows whether Pastor Abernathy wanted these by the sanctuary doors or near the candle baskets.”
“Sanctuary doors,” Bethany said. “He told Grant Holloway, who told me, who told no one because I forgot to.”
Anna pointed at her with the clipboard. “Well, you told me now, and I’m the one who needs to know, so good job.”
Natalie managed a smile and took half the programs from the box. “You’ve been running all day, haven’t you?”
“It’s Christmas Eve.” Anna shrugged, but the movement was too practiced. “Running is practically tradition.”
Bethany leaned back in her chair. “You say that like you don’t run every other day too.”
Anna opened her mouth, closed it, and then laughed softly. “That was inconveniently accurate. “I’m surprised you escaped the shop already, Natalie.”
“I always close early enough for Christmas Eve service. Trust me, the shop was just as hectic and overwhelming as you would expect today.”
Natalie carried the programs to the sanctuary entrance, and Anna followed with the rest.
For a few minutes, the three of them worked in companionable quiet, stacking programs, checking candles, and making sure the children’s baskets were far enough from the coffee table that no one would mistake wax-shaped plastic for snacks.
From the sanctuary, the pianist began to play through “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel.” The notes drifted into the fellowship hall, low and aching.
Anna paused with a stack of programs in her hands. “That song always gets me.”
Bethany glanced up. “Because it’s beautiful?”
“More so because it’s waiting.” Anna set the programs down carefully. “Longing, hoping, believing God is coming even when the night still feels dark. That kind of waiting is beautiful when it’s in a hymn. It’s harder when it’s your actual life.”
Natalie looked at her.
Anna smoothed the top program with her palm. “Sorry. That came out a little heavier than intended.”
“No,” Natalie said softly. “It didn’t.”
Bethany watched them both, her sharp teasing put aside for once.
Anna drew in a breath and leaned one hip against the table.
“I love what I do. I really do. The ranch events, the charity drives, the weddings, the tours, all of it. I like helping people make moments happen, but sometimes I wonder if I keep filling every empty space in my calendar because I can’t stand the thought of empty spaces. ”
Natalie’s throat tightened. “Why not?”
Anna’s smile was small and honest. “Because then I start to think and question things. Why I’m still waiting. Why everyone else seems to find their next step, their person, their family, their place, while I’m making sure the tablecloths are straight and the donation signs are spelled correctly.”
Bethany reached over and touched Anna’s hand. “Anna.”
“I’m not unhappy.” Anna squeezed Bethany’s fingers once before letting go.
“That’s the strange part. I’m blessed. I know I am.
But waiting on God can be hard, even when you trust Him.
Maybe especially then, because trust doesn’t always make the ache disappear.
Sometimes, it just gives you somewhere safe to put it. ”
Natalie gripped the edge of the table. Waiting.
The word pressed against every tender place she had been trying to cover.
She had not waited well. She had let the rumor with Mark become a shelter because she had been tired of questions, tired of being introduced to men who saw only the cheerful shop owner, tired of wondering when it would be her turn.
She had dressed longing up as convenience and called pretending harmless.
But pretending hadn’t lasted very long before it had turned into love, and the truth had exposed all of it before she was brave enough to speak from the heart.
Bethany’s voice was gentle. “Nat, you’re doing that thing where you look like you’re about to organize a shelf instead of cry.”
Natalie let out a shaky laugh. “I don’t know what to do with…”
“With Mark?” Anna prompted gently.
“With any of it.” Natalie looked toward the sanctuary, where candles waited to be lit and people would soon gather to sing about hope arriving in the middle of darkness.
“I wanted something real so badly that I settled for something fake because it hurt less than waiting, and now I don’t know if I ruined things before it had a chance to grow into something real. ”
Anna’s expression softened. “Maybe waiting doesn’t mean doing nothing. Maybe it means refusing to grab the counterfeit just because the real thing is taking longer than we hoped.”
Bethany nodded slowly. “And maybe it means telling the truth before you decide the ending for both of you.”
Natalie looked down at the program in front of her. On the cover, a simple manger scene sat beneath the words Unto us a Child is born.
God had answered the world’s longing in His own time, not because waiting was painless, but because love had been coming for them all along.
Natalie pressed her fingers to the edge of the paper. “I owe Aunt Eleanor the truth.”
“Yes,” Bethany said.
“And Mark.”
Anna’s smile warmed. “Probably him too.”
Natalie exhaled, and some of the tension in her chest eased slightly.
Pastor Abernathy appeared in the doorway, his expression brightening when he saw them. “Ladies, I hate to interrupt, but we’re nearly ready.”
“Everything is set,” Anna said, straightening at once, but her voice sounded steadier now, as if admitting her worries had not weakened her.
Natalie picked up one of the small candles and turned it on. The tiny flame flickered to life, warm and golden in her palm.
She had spent so much of December making light for everyone else. Tonight, standing between Bethany and Anna with music drifting from the sanctuary, Natalie whispered a prayer for her own. Lord, teach me how to wait without pretending I don’t want.
Then she carried the candle toward the sanctuary, a little scared but ready to stop hiding in the dark.