Page 20 of Celebrating the Season

7

ELLERY

Forestville’s annual Winter Festival transformed Main Street into a twinkling, sparkly winter wonderland. I squeezed Boaz’s hand as we stepped onto the snow-dusted cobblestones, drinking in the festive sights and sounds. Strings of white lights crisscrossed overhead, casting a warm glow on the bustling crowd. The scent of cinnamon and pine filled the air.

“This is incredible,” Boaz breathed, his brown eyes wide with childlike wonder. His enthusiasm was infectious, and I felt a surge of affection.

“Wait till you see the ice sculptures,” I said, tugging him toward a nearby booth. “But first, let’s get something to warm us up.”

The hot chocolate stand was doing brisk business, steam rising from paper cups clutched in mittened hands. I ordered two, handing one to Boaz with a wink.

“Gotta keep that motor mouth of yours from freezing shut,” I teased.

Boaz’s full lips quirked into a grin. “Oh please, it’d take more than a little frost to shut me up. You should know that by now, old man.”

I chuckled, oddly pleased by the jab at our age difference. There was something refreshing about Boaz’s irreverence. At fifty, I’d gotten used to being treated with a certain deference, especially given my background. But Boaz saw past all that, treating me like any other guy he was interested in. It was liberating.

“You’re right. What was I thinking?” I said, affecting a serious tone. “We’d need at least a blizzard to accomplish that miracle.”

Boaz stuck out his tongue, then took a sip of cocoa. A dollop of whipped cream clung to his upper lip, and I had to resist the urge to lean in and kiss it off. Instead, I reached out and wiped it away with my thumb. The brief contact sent a spark through me.

“Thanks,” Boaz murmured, his cheeks flushing pink. Whether from the cold or my touch, I couldn’t say.

We started down the street, our shoulders brushing as we walked. I was hyperaware of every point of contact between us. It had been a long time since I’d felt this way about anyone—giddy and nervous, like a teenager on a first date.

“What’s your favorite part of the festival?” Boaz asked, gesturing with his free hand. “The food? The music? Ooh, or is there some manly lumberjack competition where you get to show off those muscles?”

I laughed, shaking my head. “You’ve got a one-track mind, you know that?”

“Can you blame me?” Boaz waggled his eyebrows. “You’re a walking thirst trap.”

Aaand I officially felt old, having no idea what that even meant. Maybe best to ignore it? “I’ve only visited the Winter Festival once before, and that was two years ago before I decided to move here. I was exploring several small towns then to see where I’d feel most at home.”

“Why did you pick Forestville?”

I considered the question, taking in the festive scene around us. Families strolled by, children squealing with delight. Couples huddled close, sharing private smiles. The whole town seemed to have turned out. A sense of warmth and community permeated the chilly air.

“Honestly?” I said at last. “It’s this. All of it. The charm of it, but also the friendliness of people, how welcoming they were. It felt like coming home to me. The fact that there’s an active queer community helped too.”

Boaz was quiet for a moment with an unusually contemplative expression. “I can see why you like it here so much.”

I squeezed his hand again, overcome with a rush of emotion. “I’m glad you’re here to share it with me this year,” I told him, meaning every word.

“Ellery!” a familiar voice called out. I turned to see Auden Frant, Forestville’s sheriff, approaching us with a friendly wave. That man knew how to fill out a uniform, damn. He was not my type, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t appreciate the view. I’d introduced myself when I’d moved into town, figuring it couldn’t hurt to let local law enforcement know a little about who was moving into their precious town.

“Hi there, Sheriff,” I greeted him. “Enjoying the festivities?”

Auden grinned, his salt-and-pepper mustache twitching. “Always do. Though I’m keeping an eye out for any snowball-related incidents.” He winked, then glanced at Boaz.

“Oh, right,” I said, remembering my manners. “Auden, this is Boaz Robson. Boaz, meet Sheriff Auden Frant.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Sheriff,” Boaz said, shaking Auden’s hand. “I gotta say, this is way more exciting than the neighborhood watch back in LA. Do you get to referee the snowball fight? I saw it’s students against teachers.”

Auden laughed, clearly charmed by Boaz’s quick wit. “Yup, I’m the official referee. But between you and me”—he leaned in conspiratorially—“I’m not above joining in if the teachers start losing too badly. My husband’s the English teacher, so I gotta defend his honor.”

“A man after my own heart,” Boaz declared, grinning. “If you need some extra help, you could deputize me for the night. I’ve got a mean throwing arm.”

I watched their easy banter, a warm feeling spreading through my chest. It was good to see Boaz fitting in so naturally, his outgoing personality drawing people in.

---