She let go of Dalton’s hand and took a step back. He must have taken it as a cue to applaud the music, too. As he clapped, she stepped back again. When he realized she’d vacated the space, he simply steered her through the crowd, away from the gazebo and onto the sidewalk again.
“Not ready for Christmas music yet?” he asked.
No, she wasn’t. Not ever. “I just like to take my holidays in order—have a little Thanksgiving after Halloween.” She managed to smile up at him. “What’s next?”
He gestured to the shops. “We stroll. Make our way to the restaurant.”
Dalton led her across the street, pointing out the highlights of each shop as they meandered through the crowds.
The shops glowed from the inside, cheerful and—she had to admit—not overly filled with holiday glitz. The toy store displayed nothing but colorful block sets, puppets, puzzles, and trains, and the kids still pulled their parents inside the doors.
She found herself being steered into a bakery.
“Pick something out. Anything. We’ll save it for later. They have the best bollen.”
She looked up at Dalton at the familiar name. “Better than Lette Mae’s?”
His head bobbed with indifference.
She perused the glass cases and found them: a tray of beautiful round chocolate-topped pastries split in half and filled with Bavarian cream.
“I’ll have a napoleon,” she heard herself say to the girl behind the counter.
“You would choose that one,” Dalton said, chuckling.
“Why is that?” she asked.
“Nothing. It’s nothing.”
“That wouldn’t be a short joke, would it?”
“I wouldn’t dare,” he said, looking very much like he would dare.
“Of course not,” she said. “I’m sure you could come up with far more clever ways to comment on your date’s physical attributes.” As he opened his mouth to speak, she cut him off. “That wasn’t a challenge, just an observation.”
Again, he chuckled.
The girl behind the counter, who was carefully placing Riley’s napoleon in a paper sack, smiled shyly.
Dalton winked at the girl. “I’ll have a bollen and an apple strudel.”
She couldn’t help wondering if he had any idea how predictable he was, and what his reaction would be if he ever found out that she’d noticed.
He paid for the desserts and turned to Riley as if he’d just conquered Denmark. “Shall we go?” He offered her his elbow.
She nodded. This was easier. Easier than depth and searching and oversharing.
Except Dalton insisted on going into Kris Kringl, one of the favorite stops in Leavenworth. The sign on the towering storefront boasted “Where it’s Christmas all year long!”
“We’ll explore the whole store,” he said. “The trains, the villages, downstairs and up. It’s a requirement. You need to see everything.”
“Oh, I really don’t,” she muttered.
“C’mon. It’s like being a kid again.”
As much as this playful side of Dalton Gainer was refreshing, she hung back as he pulled her along while instrumental Christmas carols played loudly through the store. She focused on the people and the floor as he steered her past displays of Santas and ornaments and mountains of miniature Christmas villages until they were climbing a staircase to the second floor, where the crowd thinned out.
Up here, themed Christmas trees took up one side, but the other half featured . . .
Nativities.
All shapes, sizes, origins, and materials—carved wood, fabric, clay, polymers, and porcelain.
She couldn’t look away. Her heart pounding, she stepped toward a small porcelain set, all white, no color, just a matte glaze. Very much like the one her dad had brought home all those years ago. Carefully, she picked up the figure of baby Jesus.
“Do you like it?” she heard Dalton ask.
She set the figure back down, unable to answer.
“It’s simple compared to the rest, isn’t it?” he said. “I bought one of these giant sets for my mom a few years ago. She loved the ghastly thing.”
Riley shook her head.
“Can I buy this one for you? Early Christmas gift.”
“No.” The word was rough in her throat. “I mean, no, thank you. The last thing I need is another nativity.” She tried to laugh.
He joined her. “Yes, I guess it’s a little trite, isn’t it? As if anyone remembers this part of it anymore. You should have seen the one old Rivers used to put up off the highway, all lit up every year, cramming that down our throats. I suppose it’s sentimental, though, right?”
She nodded, unable to choke down the lump in her throat or suppress the burn rising in her cheeks. “Yes,” she managed to say without sounding too forced. “Sentimental. His wife painted those, did you know?”
“No, I didn’t.” His gaze wandered over the nativities. “Poor guy. Never remarried. You know he dated Yvette for a while.”
Her chin shot up. “Yvette Newsome?”
He shrugged. “Didn’t stick, I guess. Ended after Mark got himself burned up. Oh well. If it’s meant to last, it’s meant to last, right?”
She stared, then took a deep breath through her nose, running a hand over her hair. “You know what?” she said, eyes wide. “I’m so hungry. If we don’t get to that restaurant, I’m going to eat dessert first.” She lifted her white bakery bag.
He didn’t hesitate taking her hand and leading her back downstairs and outside. Even with the fresh mountain air and the drift of tiny snowflakes making the moment picturesque, she wanted to run. She wanted to yank her hand out of his and tell him where he could go.
But she knew his type. He’d blink at her. Laugh it off. Coddle her back to his side, telling her he was sorry and to at least finish dinner.
It wasn’t worth the fight. It wasn’t worth the possibility of tears or the attempt to reveal a deeper truth than he could grasp. Because Dalton Gainer was a shallow, selfish player.
Like so many men she’d dated.
Her pace slowed at the revelation. Dalton’s hand left hers as the sounds of the world faded. He turned, concern etched in his expression. She returned the look.
“Riley, are you all right?”
The merry noises of the street filled
