Page 11 of A Spell for Midwinter’s Heart
Gavin and Rowan shuffled forward with the crowd to drop some money into the black velvet top hat of the Wassailers’ lead singer, a man Rowan didn’t recognize.
Last time she’d seen them, they’d been led by Mr. Arnolds, the high school choir teacher, a pink-cheeked man for whom the word jolly didn’t cut it.
“What happened to Arnolds?” Rowan wondered aloud once they had wandered far enough away that his replacement wouldn’t overhear.
“Cancer,” said Gavin, voice heavy.
“Oh.” They shuffled in silence for a few seconds. “Fuck cancer,” she added.
Gavin only nodded. They continued to wander through the market in silence, neither making a move to break off, until they all but simultaneously blurted, “I’m sorry.” At least, that was what she’d said. He’d said, in his much more formal way, “I apologize.”
Rowan slid in a “Jinx,” and they both laughed. After a moment’s pause, she said, “I owe the bigger apology. I overreacted… twice. I was stressed about other things, and it was a lot easier to be angry than deal.”
He shook his head. “You were protecting your family, and you were right to call me out. I didn’t want to upset you, but you deserved the truth.”
The apology was sincere. That he’d been trying to protect her was, she had to admit, charming, if frustrating.
She stopped and stuck her hand in his direction, catching him off guard.
“Fresh start?” she said.
He knit his brows and looked down at her hand. For a second, she thought he might not take it, and her stomach wavered.
But then a smile chased away his stress, and he said, “Deal.”
He enveloped her hand with his much larger one. His grip was every bit as firm but gentle as his steering had suggested, and every hair on her arm prickled to attention.
Hands meant for holding.
She cleared her throat, hoping he didn’t notice the way her cheeks flushed as her brain threatened to catalog other places that were good for hands to hold.
“Well, now that you’ve heard me sing,” she said, “what do you think, should I try out for the Wassailers? You think I’ve got a shot?” She nudged him with her elbow.
Gavin’s face froze as he chose his words carefully. “Well…you’re…”
Rowan nodded. “Terrible. An affront to the powers who gifted us music, if we’re being totally honest.”
He laughed. “I’ve heard worse.”
“Mmm.” She shoved her hands in her pockets. “It’s a wonder the Ghost of Christmas Present didn’t show up to say I was driving his miser back toward crippling self-interest.”
“At least you’re enthusiastic?”
“Ah, enthusiastic: both bad and loud.”
He rolled his eyes with a smile. “I’m trying to say your lack of self-consciousness is refreshing.”
She shrugged, but smiled at the compliment. “I think singing’s one of those things, like dancing, that we’re meant to do—whether or not we’re any ‘good’ at it. Anyone who says otherwise probably has something invested in keeping us miserable.”
He studied her with a tilted smile. “That makes a lot of sense.”
They reached Merchant Alley and lingered, realizing it was well past time to part ways.
“Well, I need to browse for a few last-minute gifts for my cousins,” said Gavin with a clear of the throat. “How about you?”
Rowan shrugged. “Killing time until the parade…Probably also by browsing.”
He lowered his face briefly to the ground before looking up again. “Would you like to browse together, then? I still need to shop for my cousins, and your advice might help me avoid committing a major Christmas faux pas.”
“Oh, sure.” She couldn’t disguise her surprise at the suggestion.
“Always better to have company than to, uh, not…And it avoids that awkward moment where we say good-bye but walk to the same places and have to pretend we don’t see each other.
” Her words came out in a nervous rush full of random gestures, but if he noticed, he said nothing, only nodded as they pressed on.
They passed a booth selling roasted nuts in cone-shaped paper cups. The scent of honey and nutty flesh frying sent Rowan’s mouth watering, and her stomach let out an unsubtle growl.
“Are you going to get some?” asked Gavin. Apparently, her longing had been that obvious.
She shook her head and bit her lip. “There’s so much food back at the house.”
“Sounds like a good excuse to share.” He stepped up and bought a bag of honey chestnuts, holding the bag her way.
She palmed a handful, appreciating how they popped between her teeth in a rush of crunchy sugar and creamy fat. Letting out an indelicate moan, she clamped a hand over her mouth and laughed.
“That good?” asked Gavin with a twitch of the lips.
“Mmm-hmm. You should try one,” she said as they neared the public house, an open-air tavern where people could grab an adult beverage to enjoy over one of the many glowing firepits inside its walls.
But as Gavin’s hand stretched out, there was an audible gasp from a nearby crowd. One of the public house’s wooden name plates swung through the air in a wide arc, scattering revelers who’d lined up to get their IDs checked.
A familiar face worked to calm down the crowd—Calvin “Cal” Arthur, a longtime festival employee.
“Cal,” said Rowan, jogging over.
“Rowan!” he said, sparing her a pleased glance. “Good to see ya, kid. And is that Gavin?”
“Cal,” said Gavin with a warm nod.
“This thing still giving you trouble?” asked Rowan.
“Oh, y’know it,” said Cal, and then he went back to apologizing to a woman who had nearly been beaned in the head.
Rowan inspected the back of the sign. Nothing had broken, but the fasteners were weak, and it had a way of slipping out of place.
She pushed it up, trying to get the eyes back onto the hooks that should have held it aloft, but they were well out of her reach.
When it became clear that wasn’t working, she scanned the area for some kind of pole to push it up with.
“Can I help?” Gavin was suddenly there, standing close.
Right—he was probably tall enough to reach. She’d gone into problem-solving mode, forgetting other people existed and were sometimes useful.
“You need to snag the catches on those metal hooks,” she explained. “Which you won’t be able to see, so I’ll do my best to navigate.”
He hoisted it upward, and she tracked his progress, ready to provide corrections. As he lifted, his sweater drifted upward with his arms, exposing a strip of smooth, muscled abdomen.
“Rowan? Is it where it needs to be?”
His voice startled her, and she realized she’d been staring. She adjusted her glasses and cleared her throat.
“I, um, yes, almost. A little closer to me.”
He took half a step toward her, his hips landing flush with hers.
“Sorry,” he gasped, trying to back up and nearly slamming the sign into his own face in the process.
“No, stay there,” Rowan breathed, willing her voice to be casual and controlled. She rose to her tiptoes and positioned the final hook.
He inhaled sharply, and the sign slid back into place with a satisfying click. He took a few hasty steps back before nodding stiffly. “Thanks for the assist.”
“No problem,” said Rowan, willing the fire in her cheeks to die back down.
Cal Arthur was staring at them with a wide smile on his face. “Ain’t seen the two of you runnin’ around this place together since you were little.”
She stole a glance Gavin’s way, flooded with memories of playing together on the festival grounds while their moms were working: playing hide-and-seek among the booths, begging treats from vendors, feeding the sleigh horses forbidden fruit. Where had those memories gone?
More moments unmoored by time, she supposed.
The rest of their evening was much less eventful. They were catching up with one of their high school English teachers, Ms. Dorothy, who sold fiber arts at the market under the name the Knotty Lady, when cheering erupted in the direction of the street.
“Is the Solstice parade starting already?” asked Rowan.
They had completely lost track of time. Rowan pulled out her phone to half a dozen missed messages from her family, giving her updates on their progress and location.
“You two better run,” said Ms. Dorothy. “But not before you pay for those.” She nodded to the felted gloves Gavin had settled on for his cousins.
He chuckled as he opened his wallet. “Still a taskmaster, I see.”
“Can’t let business slip away from me,” she said, and though the old woman’s eyes tried to stay smiling, they had the same telltale stress lines Rowan had noticed in the faces of all her old friends since she’d arrived.
Anxiety flared in her chest as she remembered the decision looming overhead.