He nodded politely at Mrs. Polk, then turned to his dad. “Remind me why you made me come to this, again?”
His dad snickered. “I’m not the one who made you guest of honor. You came out of your own sense of duty. Can’t help it if I raised you right.”
Mark grimaced, and the song ended to light applause. “Jingle Bell Rock” followed, and the floor stayed full. The community spirit at these things was always high.
One night a year, Miracle Creek Vineyards donated their small events lodge to the Annual Firemen’s Holiday Ball. The dance gave the fourteen-years-and-older people of Miracle Creek a reason to get dressed up and celebrate for a good cause. On top of that, word of Mark’s application to the volunteer fire department had surfaced, and he was getting a lot of premature congratulations tonight. At least nobody dared ask where the art teacher was, though sometimes he sensed it right on the tips of their tongues.
Mark wanted to go home and crawl into bed.
He was about to say so when the music changed again, and his dad promptly set down his and Yvette’s drinks and led her out to the dance floor.
“Hey. Don’t leave me,” Mark whisper-shouted in their direction, flickering a glance toward the widows’ corner.
His dad only arched his brow in return, and he and Yvette faded into the crowd on the dance floor.
Traitors.
Steph and Brian danced by, and she waved. He lifted his pie plate in response. But she waved again, this time nodding her head toward the heavy double doors at the entrance. He frowned and looked in that direction, then promptly forgot all about his pie.
Just entering from the cloakroom, Riley stood in a dress he could only describe as miraculous with her dark hair piled in big curls on her head, looking hesitantly around the room, gathering turned heads of her own. When her eyes found Mark’s, she stopped.
She wasn’t going to come to the dance. Yvette had said she wasn’t coming. But here she was. Walking toward him.
Friends. Just friends. That’s all they could be.
I’m in trouble, he thought, reminding himself to breathe.
Riley walked across the room toward Mark at a pace she hoped appeared relaxed because her heart was hammering and her legs shook. He wore a well-cut suit and a burgundy tie, holding a plate of pie and a fork, staring right back at her. He wasn’t the only one. She could feel the eyes of everyone on her, watching to see what the art teacher would do or say to the fireman.
She swallowed and kept walking in her three-inch strappy heels and a dress she’d worn for one of her dad’s premieres—a deep teal taffeta with a plunging sweetheart neckline, fitted waist, and a full pleated skirt falling to her knees. The dress made her feel beautiful and strong, and that’s how she needed to feel right now.
He turned away abruptly, and she faltered. But then she saw he was just setting down his pie on the nearest table. He pivoted back to her so quickly she heard a few chuckles from nearby observers.
Gathering her nerve, she took the final few steps to him. “Hi.”
“Hey.” He shook his head, his gaze never leaving hers. “You look incredible.”
She flushed. “Thanks. You make the suit look good.”
“This old thing?” he asked, still not breaking eye contact.
She smiled, and he returned it.
Good. This was good.
“I brought you something,” she said. She held out a gift bag from behind her back.
He took it and peered inside. “Mini candy canes?”
“They’re to throw at people. To hit them in the—”
“—Christmas spirit,” he finished with her. He studied her, clearly mystified.
The music changed, slowing down.
“Want to dance?” she asked before her courage fled.
His gaze flickered to the dance floor. He nodded once, and set the bag down next to his dessert, grabbing a handful of candy canes and shoving them in his pocket. The simple act gave her courage, and her legs didn’t shake so much when he took her hand and led her to the dance floor.
He chose a spot and pulled her into a standard dance position. His hand at her waist kept her at a safe distance. Although “safe” was a fluid term at the moment. Her heart rioted.
“I didn’t think you were coming,” he said as he swayed them slowly side to side. “Or that you’d even want to come.”
“Because it would be awkward?”
“Because it would be Christmassy.” He nodded to the lights and tree in the corner. The main portion of the room was backed by a bank of tall windows overlooking the river valley. “But awkward works.”
“I expected it,” she said. “The Christmassy, I mean. It’s okay.”
“Are you sure? I know you have rules and stuff. Santa’s going to visit—”
“I’ll be fine.”
“You will?”
“I kinda made friends with Christmas.”
He stopped dancing. “How?”
She made a little shrug like it was no big deal, her eyes lowering. “I did something for someone else.”
He drew her closer. “Who was that?”
She looked up, meeting his intense gaze. Then she lifted her hand from his shoulder, pointed at both her eyes, then pointed at him.
She’d expected him to nod. Or smile. Maybe even laugh.
Instead he took her hand and led her off the dance floor mid-song, pulling the gazes of a dozen or more people with them. She followed as best as she could in her heels out through a door and onto a dark deck overlooking a vineyard hillside. The shock of cold enveloped her as Mark let go of her hand and began to pace, running a hand
