The cheerleader walks up and grabs Jeremiah’s elbow, moving them on. When Caleb’s gaze follows them, he catches sight of me.

“You made it,” he says.

I offer one of the drinks. “You looked cold.”

He takes a sip and then covers his mouth as he almost laughs. After he swallows, he says, “Peppermint mocha. Of course it is.”

“And not the cheap kind, either,” I say.

Luis and the other guy lean forward to look at something down the street beyond me. At the intersection is a parked pink-and-white stretch convertible. The back door is being held open, and a high school girl in a blue shimmering gown and light blue sash is helped into the backseat.

“Is that Christy Wang?” I ask. Back when I went to elementary school here a few weeks each year, Christy was the one person who never let me feel welcome. I wasn’t a real Californian, she said. She must have turned her personality around enough to win Winter Queen. Or maybe it has more to do with how incredible she looks in that dress.

“It’s a beautiful day for a parade, folks,” Luis says in a weird announcer voice. “Just beautiful! And this year’s Winter Queen is certainly a hottie. I’m guessing Santa placed her at the tippy top of his very, very Nice List.”

The guy sitting next to Luis cracks up.

Caleb jokingly shoves them into each other. “Dude. Show some respect. She’s our Queen.”

“What in the world are you guys doing?” I ask.

The guy I don’t know says, “It’s parade commentary. Every year there’s a weird lack of TV coverage, so we’re doing this town a favor. I’m Brent, by the way.”

I hold out my free hand. “Sierra.”

Caleb looks at me, embarrassed. “It’s an annual tradition.”

Brent points a finger at me. “You’re the Christmas tree girl. I’ve definitely heard about you.”

Caleb takes a big swig and shrugs, feigning innocence.

“Nice to see you again, Luis,” I say.

“You too,” he says. His voice is soft, perhaps laced with self-consciousness. He perks up after a man with an untied shoe walks by. “Let’s hear it for the Trendsetters Club, everyone. Start by tying one shoelace tight and then let the other hang loose. If you’re cool, it’s bound to catch on. This one? It ain’t catching on.”

“Don’t trip, trendsetter!” Brent says. The man looks back, and Brent smiles and waves at him.

No one says anything for several seconds as they all sit and watch people pass by. Caleb takes another sip and I slowly step back.

“Where are you going?” he says. “Stay.”

“It’s okay. I don’t want to interrupt your announcing job.”

Caleb looks at his friends. Some silent guy communication happens and then he turns to me. “Nope. We’re good.”

Brent shoos us away with his hands. “You children run along and have fun.”

Caleb fist-bumps his friends and then steers me toward the parade route. “Thanks again for the drink.”

We walk past a few stores open late for the parade crowd. I turn toward him, hoping a lighthearted conversation will begin to flow. He looks at me and we smile at each other, but then we both face forward again. I feel so off my game with Caleb, so unsure and awkward.

Finally, I ask the one thing truly on my mind: “Who was that guy back there?”

“Brent?”

“The drummer in the marching band.”

Caleb takes a sip and we walk a few more steps in silence. “Jeremiah. He’s an old friend.”

“And he’d rather march in a parade than do commentary with all of you?” I ask. “Shocking.”

He smiles. “No, probably not. But he wouldn’t be hanging out with us even if he could.”

After a long hesitation, I ask, “Is there a story there?”

His answer is immediate. “It’s a long story, Sierra.”

I’m obviously prying, but then why would I consider even a friendship with him if I can’t ask a simple question? It’s not like the question came out of nowhere. It was regarding something that happened right in front of me. If something that small shuts him down, I don’t know if I want to stick around. I’ve walked away for much less than this.

“You can go back to your friends if you want,” I say. “I need to help Heather anyway.”

“I’d rather come with you,” he says.

I stop. “Caleb, I think you should be with your friends tonight.”

He closes his eyes and scrubs a hand through his hair. “Let me try again.”

I look at him, waiting.

“Jeremiah was my best friend. Stuff happened, which I guess you’ve heard some of, and his parents didn’t want him hanging around me anymore. His sister is sort of the hall monitor—a mini version of his mom—and she somehow manages to always be around.”

I replay the way Jeremiah’s mom looked at Caleb as she drove by and his sister marched him down the sidewalk. I want to ask for more details, but he needs to want to tell me. The only way we can get closer is if he’s the one asking me in.

“If you need to know what happened, I’ll tell you,” Caleb says, “but not now.”

“Then soon,” I say.

“Just not here. It’s a Christmas parade! And we’ve got peppermint mochas.” He looks at something behind me and smirks. “Anyway, you’d probably miss some of what I said because of the band.”

As if on cue, the marching band breaks into a loud, percussive rendition of “Little Drummer Boy.”

I shout over them to be heard. “Point taken!”

We find Heather and Devon standing a block from where the parade begins. Devon clutches the clipboard to his chest, almost like a security blanket, while Heather glares at him.

“What’s up?” I ask.

“The Winter Queen asked for his number!” Heather blurts. “And I was standing right there!”

A tiny smile passes over Devon’s lips, and I almost smile back. Christy Wang has not changed at all. It also makes me wonder whether all of Heather’s talk about breaking up was just that… talk. She has to feel something for him, even if it only comes out as jealousy.

Caleb and I follow them to a small gap between families sitting on the curb to watch the parade. Heather sits down first and I squish up close beside her. Devon remains standing and Caleb gives him a fist bump before sitting next to me.

“She really asked for his number?” I say.

“Yes!” Heather hisses. “And I was standing right there!”

Devon leans forward. “I didn’t give it to her, though. I told her I already had a girl.”

“Had is almost right,” Heather says.

“She is a good-looking Winter Queen,” Caleb adds.

I hear the teasing in his voice, but I elbow him anyway. “Not cool.”

He smiles and bats his eyes like Mr. Innocent. Before Heather can say anything more, or Devon can dig himself a deeper hole, the Bulldogs marching band rounds the corner, led by the cheerleaders. The crowd cheers along to their instrumental “Jingle Bell Rock.”

I watch Jeremiah pass, drumsticks pattering away. We all clap along, but I slowly stop and study Caleb. After everyone else has turned to see the next group in the parade, Caleb’s eyes are still on the band. The drums are distant now but he keeps the rhythm, tapping his fingers against his knees.

Caleb shuts the tailgate behind another tree in the back of his truck. “Are you sure you have time for this?” he asks.

Actually, I do not have time for this. The lot gets slammed after the parade every year, but we came straight back and I asked Mom if I could go on this one run with Caleb. She gave me thirty minutes.

“It’s not a problem at all,” I say. Two more cars pull up to our lot and he gives me a skeptical look. “Okay, maybe it’s not the most convenient time, but I want to do this.”

He dimple-grins and walks around to his door. “Good.”

We pull up to a small, dark house only a few minutes away and both get out. He takes the middle of the tree and I grab the trunk. We walk up a few concrete steps to the front door and adjust our grips. At the sound of Caleb ringing the doorbell I can feel my heart start to race. I’ve always enjoyed selling trees, but surprising people with them is a whole new level of excitement.

The door opens fast. An irritated man glares from Caleb to the tree. An exhausted-looking woman beside him gives the same look to me.

“The food bank said you were coming earlier,” he snaps. “We missed the parade waiting for you!”

Caleb drops his gaze momentarily. “I am so sorry. I told them we’d be here after the parade.”

Through the doorway, I see a playpen in the living room with a diapered baby asleep inside of it.

“That’s not what they told us. So were they lying?” the woman says. She pulls the door open wider and nods into the house. “Just put it in the stand.”

Caleb and I carry in the tree, which now feels ten times heavier, and get it set up in a dark corner while they watch. After adjusting it a few times to make it as straight as possible, we stand back and look it over with the man. When he doesn’t object, Caleb motions for me to follow him back to the door.

“I do hope you have a merry Christmas,” Caleb says.

“It’s not off to a great start,” the woman mutters. “We missed the parade for this.”

I begin to twist around. “We heard you the—”

Caleb grabs my hand and pulls me toward the door. “Again, we’re very sorry.”

I follow him out the door, shaking my head. When we get back in the truck, I unload. “They didn’t even say thank you. Not once!”

Caleb starts the engine. “They missed the parade. They were frustrated.”

I blink. “Are you serious? You brought them a free tree!”

Caleb throws the truck into reverse and eases into the street. “I’m not doing this to earn a gold star. They had a little baby and they were probably tired. Missing the parade—misunderstanding or not—would be frustrating.”

“But you’re doing this with your own money on your own time…”

He looks at me and smiles. “So you would only do this if people tell you how awesome you are for it?”

I want to scream and laugh about how ridiculous those people were. About how ridiculous Caleb is being right now! Instead, I’m left speechless and he knows it. He laughs and then looks over his shoulder to change lanes.

I like Caleb. I like him even more every time I see him. And this can only lead to disaster. I’m leaving at the end of the month, he’s staying, and the weight of everything not said between us is growing too heavy to carry much longer.

Back at the lot, Caleb puts the truck in park but keeps the engine running. “Just so you know, I am very aware of how mean they were about getting a free tree. I have to believe, though, that everyone is allowed a bad day.”

The lights surrounding the lot bring shadows into Caleb’s truck. He looks at me, his features half hidden, but his eyes catch the light and beg to be understood.

“I agree,” I say.

CHAPTER TWELVE

It’s the busiest day at the lot so far. I barely have time to go to the bathroom, let alone eat lunch. So I pick at a bowl of mac and cheese at the counter in the rare moments between ringing up customers. Monsieur Cappeau sent an email this morning asking me to call him over the next day or so pour pratiquer, but that’s way down on my need-to-do list.

Today’s tree delivery came early again, not only before we opened but before any of the workers even arrived. Dad called a few of the more dependable ballplayers to come in early, so at least there were a handful of us to tiredly unload the shipment.

As exhausted as I am from unloading so many trees before breakfast, I’m grateful for the extra business. It feels like things may be picking up, and keeping the lot open another year could be a possibility.

I stand beside Mom at the register and point toward Mr. and Mrs. Ramsay outside. I attempt some tree lot commentary, like Caleb and his friends at the parade.

“Folks, it looks like the Ramsays are arguing over whether or not to pay extra for this stunning white pine,” I say.

Mom looks at me as if questioning my sanity, but I continue.

“We’ve seen this before,” I say, “and I don’t think I’m spoiling it to tell you Mrs. Ramsay will get her way. She’s never been a fan of the blue spruce, no matter what Mr. Ramsay says.”