Page 80 of A Cheesecake Christmas

My arm tightens around her. How do I do this? How do I help the woman I love? If I thought it would help, I’d totally break into the booth and snag a bunch of almonds. But the point is to enjoy them with her grandpa. Here.

We continue on, my arm slipping from her, the weight between us growing as we illuminate the shadows of the rest of the booths. I know she has things to say, stories to tell me of all of these booths, these tiny pieces of her childhood. We come to a stop at the trainset and village, the largest one of its kind that I’ve ever seen. Aria’s face is grim.

“It looks so different in the dark,” I say.

She only tilts her phone at an angle so she can better see it. Without a word, she keeps walking along the booths, her UGGs making a slight squeeze with every step. She’s silent, though, and I am, too.

Reaching the double wide back door adjacent to a large, old kitchen, we stand at the window, surveying the snow being blown sideways in the fierce gusts.

“Theo?” Aria clutches the window frame. “They’re not going to let people in here tomorrow, are they?”

I blow out a slow breath. “Honestly, probably not.” I face her and brush away a strand of hair that’s escaped her bun. “I can’t wrap my head around not having a closing day. There’s got to be something we can do.”

“Theo.” Grief carves through her features. “I’m sad about the Flemings. About everything.”

I can’t fix this. This storm, this act of God, is beyond my control. I’d give anything to make it right. And I know this isn’t my fault. But I hurt for Aria’s hurt.

The woman I love is hurting, and there’s nothing I can do about it.

Chapter 35

Theo

We weave our way back out to the front entrance, waving halfheartedly to the guy in the orange reflective vest.

No. This isn’t going to work. I have to fix this.

“Would it ever work to move locations somehow, Aria?” I open the umbrella and pull her tighter to me, taking in a sharp breath as the wind hits our faces.

She gives me an incredulous look, and I don’t even let her answer that. “Of course it wouldn’t. The logistics of that would be . . .” Dumb idea. Besides, there isn’t another location in New Hedge even remotely large enough.

Things go from bad to worse as we see a cascade of streetlamps go out, with a zip, the lamps, one-by-one, fizzle in a line all the way up and down the road the mansion is on.

“Okay, more of the power is gone now,” I state the obvious. “Must be an overloaded transformer.”

Now her jaw is so hard, she’d have a hard time opening her mouth to speak, even if she wanted to.

“Um, maybe we could have the vendors bring wagons or carts and they can sell their items up and down the town center tomorrow?”

“The weather, Theo. It’s too cold, not to mention the snow and wind.”

As if on cue, some reflective emergency equipment that we’re passing flips on its side in a gust of wind, sliding to a stop near our feet.

I tighten my grip on her. We’re almost to the BMW and then we can be safe and warm inside while we figure out what to do.

A chill whips through me, but it’s not the wind.

It’s fear.

I’ve set up this festival, maybe even this Christmas in general, to mean something for our relationship, a representation that somehow, against the odds, we can make it possible. That we can take a seemingly impossible situation flourish and grow into a meaningful thing, a lasting thing.

And I might be dramatic or out of touch right now, but that fear is present. The fear that if the festival is ending in failure, that somehow means me and Aria will.

Once we’re safe inside the car and warming our frozen fingers, I ask Aria how she’s doing, not sure I want to hear the answer.

“The festival is just the festival, right? It’s not what Christmas is actually about.” She shrugs, flicking a tear off her cheek with her fingernail. “And it happened. It didn’t end in the way we wanted it to, but at least it happened.”

“Yeah. And despite the lower number of booths, it seems like the vendors are happy with how things turned out.”

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