Page 32 of Evan

I’m smiling at their interaction as happiness permeates all around me. It's moments like these—simple, joyful, full of wonder - that have become increasingly precious to me over the past few weeks.

As we make our way further into the hall, I'm struck by the sheer artistry on display. The gingerbread structures before us are true masterpieces, ranging from intricate castles dusted with powdered sugar snow to elaborate recreations of famous landmarks. The air is filled with the excited chatter of families and friends admiring the edible works of art, punctuated by the soft strains of Christmas carols playing in the background.

"I can't believe how detailed some of these are," Molly murmurs, leaning in close to examine a miniature version of the Eiffel Tower. Her shoulder brushes against mine, and I feel a jolt of electricity at the contact. "Look at the tiny elevator inside. You can almost see it moving!"

I nod, equally impressed. "The level of skill here is incredible. It's hard to believe these are edible."

Chad, who has been darting from display to display, suddenly calls out, "Evan! Come look at this one! It looks just like your farm!"

Curious, Molly and I follow Chad to a gingerbread creation near the back of the hall. As we approach, I feel my breath catch in my throat. There, rendered in painstaking detail, is a perfect miniature of Lawson Christmas Tree Farm.

The gingerbread barn is an exact replica of the one my great-grandfather built, right down to the weathervane on top. Rows of tiny sugar cone trees stretch out from the barn, their green frosting needles dusted with a light coating of coconut "snow". There's even a tiny gingerbread figure in a red flannel shirt standing among the trees, a minuscule axe in hand.

"Is that... supposed to be me?" I ask, leaning in for a closer look.

Molly giggles, a sound that never fails to make my heart skip a beat. "I think it is! Look, they even got your perpetual five o'clock shadow."

I run a hand over my stubbled jaw, feeling a mix of embarrassment and pride. "I didn't realize I was such a recognizable figure in town."

"Are you kidding?" a familiar voice chimes in from behind us. We turn to see Betty approaching, a steaming cup of hot cocoa in her hands. "Evan, dear, you're practically a Benton Falls institution. The farm has been part of this community for generations."

There's a twinkle in Betty's eye as she says this, and I'm struck once again by how much she reminds me of my grandmother. She has the same wise, knowing look, as if she can see right through to the heart of things.

"It's a beautiful piece," Molly says, gesturing to the gingerbread farm. "Do you know who made it?"

Betty nods, a proud smile spreading across her face. "That would be Chef Antoine from the Grand Hotel in the city. He's been fascinated by our little town ever since he visited for the fall festival. Talented man, isn't he?"

As we continue to admire Chef Antoine's handiwork, I find myself lost in thought. The gingerbread version of the farm looks so idyllic, so perfect. Is that how others see it? How they see me? The steadfast farmer, rooted to the land, a pillar of the community?

I glance at Molly, watching as she points out details of the gingerbread farm to Chad. Her face is animated, her eyes bright with excitement. Chad hangs on her every word, his own face a mirror of her joy. The sight of them together, so happy, so at home here in Benton Falls, fills me with a warmth I can't quite name.

"It's something special, isn't it?" Betty's voice breaks into my reverie, and I turn to find her watching me with a knowing smile.

"The gingerbread house?" I ask, though I have a feeling she's talking about something else entirely.

Betty shakes her head, her eyes twinkling. "Family, Evan. The way you three fit together. It's a beautiful thing to see."

I feel a blush creeping up my neck at her words. "We're not... I mean, Molly and I aren't..."

"Oh, I know," Betty says, patting my arm gently. "But sometimes the best families are the ones we choose for ourselves. And sometimes, the things we've been searching for have been right in front of us all along."

Before I can respond, Chad's excited voice cuts through the air. "Mom! Evan! Can we go see the judging? I want to see which one wins!"

Molly laughs, ruffling Chad's hair affectionately. "Of course, honey. Let's go find a good spot to watch from."

As they move away, Betty gives me one last meaningful look. "Don't let fear of change keep you from embracing what's right in front of you, Evan. Sometimes, the biggest adventures are the ones we never expected to have."

With that cryptic advice, she vanishes into the crowd, leaving me to ponder her words. I shake my head, marveling at Betty's ability to see right to the heart of things. She's right, of course. The thought of fully embracing this new dynamic with Molly and Chad is both thrilling and terrifying. But as I watch them make their way through the crowded hall, Chad's excitement infectious and Molly's laughter ringing out above the general hubbub, I can't deny the pull I feel towards them.

I'm about to follow when I hear a voice call my name.

"Evan. There you are. I was hoping I'd run into you again."

I turn to see Morgan Caldwell approaching, her camera crew in tow. She looks as polished and professional as she did at the tree lighting ceremony last week, her dark hair styled in sleek waves, her outfit screaming big city success.

"Morgan," I greet her, trying to keep my voice neutral. Our last encounter left me feeling unsettled. "How's the coverage going?"

She beams clearly in her element. "It's going great! The response to our segment on the tree lighting has been fantastic. People love the small-town Christmas charm of Benton Falls."

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