Page 19 of Daddy's Little Christmas

I spotted faces I recognized now—Rosa laughing with a man in a thick scarf, Mae bundled up and chatting with a woman who kept touching her elbow when she laughed. The gentleman who managed the museum waved at me from across the square. I lifted my cup in an awkward little salute.

Belonging, I thought distantly.

This must be what it looks like.

The mayor climbed onto the small platform near the tree, tapping the microphone. A soft cheer rippled through the crowd. People shifted closer, tightening the loose circle around the square.

I adjusted my stance as the space around me narrowed.

Still okay, I told myself.

The microphone squealed briefly—sharp, sudden—and my shoulders jumped before I could stop them. The sound echoed off the storefronts, overlapping with laughter and chatter and the shuffle of boots on snow.

I took another sip of cider.

People pressed in closer now, not aggressively, just naturally—bodies seeking warmth, sightlines, proximity. Someone brushed past my arm. Another person stepped back without looking, their elbow bumping my ribs.

The edges of things started to blur.

I shifted my weight. Then again.

It wasn’t panic yet. Just… noise stacking on noise. Too many conversations happening at once. Too many directions my attention could be pulled.

I focused on the tree. On the dark bulbs waiting to be lit.

Count it down. Just get through the countdown.

“Ten!”

The crowd shouted it together.

“Nine!”

My grip tightened on the cup.

“Eight!”

A child shrieked somewhere behind me, high and sharp with excitement.

“Seven!”

Someone laughed too loudly, right at my shoulder.

“Six!”

My chest felt tight. Not painful. Just compressed.

“Five!”

I tugged the sleeves of my sweater down over my hands, fingers twisting the fabric without me telling them to.

“Four!”

The smell of cider, pine, wool, perfume—all layered, all too close.

“Three!”

My breath started coming faster.