first?” Bill asked.
“Let’s start at the general store.” Thea pointed at a storefront halfway down the block. “They’re old-timey and love this kind of thing.”
They assembled at the front of the store and, at a cue from Thea, started singing “Jingle Bells.” Out of the corner of her eye, Adison noticed Ken struggling to keep up. It appeared that the only words of the song he knew were the ones in the title.
A small crowd of shoppers gathered, and when they finished the song there was a round of applause.
“Do ‘Silent Night,’” an old man called.
Thea turned around to catch Adison’s eye. “Can you lead us on this one?”
“Sure.” Adison drew a breath, found the first note, and began singing.
“Silent Night” had been one of her mother’s favorite carols. Adison remembered learning it on the piano in elementary school. Even after her interest in the instrument waned, the song had remained important to her. Now, she couldn’t hear it without tearing up.
As she sang, she did her best to fight the tears. It was hard, though. They crept from the corners of her eyes, and she blinked them away the best that she could.
As she finished the last line, she noticed Ken wasn’t singing. Everyone else in the group was adding something, even if it was only harmonies or mouthing along and pretending to know what they were doing. But Ken only stood there, watching Adison.
The last note vanished into the crisp night, and the audience applauded loudly.
“That was beautiful.” Thea squeezed Adison’s hand. “You can really sing, girl.”
Adison ducked her head. “Thank you.”
Her voice had been one of the best things her mother had passed on to her.
The carolers moved down the street, ready to bring music to the next business. Adison lagged a little behind, though, enjoying the slow walk.
“That was amazing.” Ken appeared at her shoulder.
“Thanks.” She eyed him. “You don’t know that one, huh?”
“No. I do.”
“O-kay.” Adison laughed. “So why didn’t you sing along?”
He looked down as they walked. “I guess I forgot to.”
A thrill went down her back. It had felt good to have his gaze on her. It always did.
She cleared her throat. Say something, Adison.
“Anyway,” she ventured. “There’s the next song.”
“I’m sure you’ll crush that one as well.”
They arrived at a hair salon, and the group launched into “Deck the Halls.” Adison and Ken stood in the back, singing—in her case, at least. It seemed he was more humming than anything else.
They made the rounds down the street, the cold starting to creep through Adison’s many layers. Her toes were numb, and she shivered every once in a while. Still, she wasn’t ready to quit. The town was decorated with wreaths and lights everywhere, and every person they passed seemed to be in good spirits.
“I love it here,” she said. “I could stay forever.”
“What happened to staying in Buffalo forever?” Ken pulled his coat’s collar high around his ears.
She blinked, surprised that he remembered her saying that. “Oh. You’re right. I could never leave Buffalo. My whole life is there.”
“What if you were offered a home here?” he pushed. “For free? A big house like Thea’s?”
She rolled her eyes. “Is that what you’re giving me for Christmas?”
“Er…”
“Right. Didn’t think so.” She tossed her head and smirked—and nearly walked right into someone’s back. “Oh! Sorry!” Adison side-stepped to avoid crashing into the man.
“It’s okay.” The man raised his phone. “Sorry. Just taking a quick picture and then we’ll get out of the way.”
“It’s all right. No worries.”
The man joined a woman and two teenage daughters, raised his phone up high, and took a picture of the four of them smiling. He looked at the screen but frowned.
“Want me to take it?” Adison offered.
“That would be great. Thanks.” The man handed his phone over. Adison took a few different snaps then passed the phone back.
“Merry Christmas,” she said.
The caroling group had gotten ahead by now. They were at a shop halfway down the street. Adison hustled to catch up with them, and it was then that she realized she had no clue what had become of Ken.
Turning on her heel, she looked down the street in the direction they’d come, but he wasn’t there.
“Ken?” she called.
“Here.” He stepped out of a doorway and onto the sidewalk.
“I thought you’d disappeared.”
“No.” He dug his hands into his coat pockets and started walking.
She studied his profile, confused about the sudden mood change. They’d been having a nice time joking, and then he’d withdrawn. Right when they stumbled across