Page 37 of A Christmas Spark
“Now can we get the cider?” he asked hopefully, glancing over at Mabel. “I do need to get back tonight at some point?—”
“Of course,” Mabel said, but she sounded distracted, and George could see that her gaze had already drifted toward a nearby booth where a woman was selling chocolate-dipped peppermints. She was already heading that way before he could say anything to stop her, and honestly, he wasn’t sure that there was anything hecouldhave said. He’d always known how much Mabel loved Christmas, but this felt like a new revelation as tojusthow much.
Mabel was already holding out a sample to him by the time he made it to her side. He took it, and he had to admit as he popped it into his mouth, it was delicious. It was one of those soft peppermints, coated in a thin candy shell of chocolate.
“I’ll take a box,” Mabel said to the woman in charge of the booth. “These would make great stocking stuffers—take a few of them and put them in some red cellophane, tie them up with gold ribbon—” She laughed, seeing the expression on George’s face. “Alright, I think I’m putting him to sleep. Let’s go.”
Let’s go, George quickly found out, meant stopping to try samples from at least three more food stands—a cider donut stand, a stand selling various soups, and one with cinnamon-dusted dried fruit—and pausing at a couple of the games as well, before they finally made it to the Sweet Orchard cider stand. Mabel had insisted on participating in a ring toss, despite his insistence that those games were always rigged—she’d proven him wrong by winning a snow globe with a slightly wonky-looking reindeer in it—and a booth where participants were challenged to see how quickly they could paint stripes on a candy cane. By the time they made it to the stand, George was sure they’d been at the market for nearly two hours.
It was hard to deny how happy it seemed to be making Mabel though. Her cheeks were pink from the cold and from laughing, and while he always thought she looked younger than her sixty-eight years, he thought he saw a glimpse of her as a much younger woman, bright-eyed and carefree.
For all that he hadn’t wanted to hang around the market all night, he had the brief thought that maybe it was worth it, to see Mabel so happy.
The cider stand was a rustic-looking booth with a hand-painted wooden sign hanging above it, readingSweet Orchard Cider: Local apples, traditional taste.The vendor, a man about George’s age with a shorter beard and twinkling blue eyes, smiled broadly at them as soon as they walked up, taking the spot in the crowd of another couple that had wandered off with cups of steaming cider. “Evening!” the man said cheerfully. “Looking to try some cider?”
“That’s exactly what we’re looking for,” Mabel said. “My friend here needs a supplier, he’s expanding his stand at the Christmas tree farm. But we wanted to sample some first.”
“Well, you’ve come to the right place,” the man said, reaching for two small paper cups. “This batch was pressed just yesterday from apples we picked last week. Still got that fresh, crisp taste.” He poured two hot cups of cider. “Now, this is the regular stuff, but we also have caramel, and pumpkin spice flavors. We sell it in jugs so you can heat it up and serve in cups, and also in bottles, for those who want it chilled.”
George accepted his cup and took a cautious sip, then a longer one. He had to admit, the cider was delicious, and muchbetter than the online supplier he’d been using. He could taste how fresh it was.
“This is very good,” he admitted. “I think I might put in an order.”
“I told you so,” Mabel said smugly, smirking at him over the lip of her cup as she took another sip.
“How much would you need for bulk orders?” the vendor asked, and George found himself in a serious discussion about quantities and delivery schedules while Mabel wandered a few steps away to examine the other offerings at the booth—apple butter, dried apple chips, and what appeared to be more apple cider donuts that made George’s mouth water just looking at them.
He’d just finished finalizing the order, when Mabel waved at the vendor. “I’d like to get a half-dozen of these apple cupcakes with the cinnamon cream-cheese frosting, please,” she called out. “And another cup of cider for each of us too, if you don’t mind. My treat.”
George started to protest, but Mabel waved him off. A few minutes later, they each had a steaming cup of cider in hand as they walked away, and Mabel had a tin of cupcakes in her tote bag, and one in her hand. “The cider is going to be perfect with this,” she said, a blissful look on her face as she leaned in to take a big bite of the cupcake.
The frosting, a little slippery from the warm cupcake, tilted toward her nose as she took the bite, leaving her with a smear of whitish cinnamon frosting on her nose. She laughed, shaking her head as she swallowed. “Oh, no.” She fumbled for a way to hold the cupcake and cider in one hand to go for a napkin, but before she could figure it out, George reached out. He hadn’t really thought about it, but in the moment, he couldn’t resist wiping the smear of frosting off of Mabel’s adorable nose.
He hadn’t intended to let his fingers brush her cheek either, as he pulled his hand away. In all the time that they’d been friends, he’d never touched her like that. But from the way Mabel’s eyes went wide as she looked at him, he didn’t think she’d minded. Her face had gone soft in a way that he’d never seen it before.
It startled him, and he wasn’t sure how to respond, or exactly why he’d done it. He cleared his throat, taking a step back, and motioned toward the parking lot.
“We should, ah—we should be getting back. I’ll drop you off.”
Mabel nodded. It was the most quiet he’d ever seen her. He didn’t think she was upset, but he wasn’t surewhatshe was, and it unsettled him in a way that was unusual for him.
The ride back to Mabel’s house was mostly silent. They made some small talk about the cider order, and how he planned to make it a recurring one if it sold well. As he pulled up into her driveway, he glanced over at her.
“Thanks for, ah—thanks for bullying me into going,” he said with a faint chuckle. “It was a good time.”
“It was.” Mabel smiled at him, and it almost looked shy. Mabel Stewart was never shy. It made his chest feel strange to see it, and he waved awkwardly at her as she slid out of the car, taking her things with her.
As he backed out of the driveway, heading back to his own home, he wondered exactly what it was that he was starting to feel.
Whatever it was, it was something that he hadn’t experienced in a long, long time.
And he wasn’t entirely sure what to do about it.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Mabel stared down at her half-eaten Monte Cristo sandwich, not really seeing it. It was delicious, and she’d been looking forward to brunch at the Snowdrift Diner all week, but she couldn’t focus on her food. Despite the fact that the ham and cheese and raspberry jelly sandwich was perfectly fried to a crunchy, mouth-watering crisp, she’d hardly tasted a bite of it.
Her mind was firmly on the previous evening with George.
