By Proxy(43)

They peeked in windows, pointing out decorations to each other and exclaiming over cleverly arranged lights. Jenny indicated her favorite shops and boutiques, and they grabbed gingerbread cookies from a little booth outside of the saddler’s shop.

Nothing tasted quite like fresh gingerbread. The warm, fresh-baked cookies immediately conjured sharp memories of Sam’s childhood kitchen. Arriving home after school at Christmastime, the smell of his mother’s baking would make his mouth water before he even had time to shuck off his backpack in the front hallway. And there she’d be in the kitchen, taking batches out of the oven to be cooled and decorated later. There was always enough for him and his sisters, and there was cold milk, too. She’d tell him to wait for it to cool down, but he’d bite too soon in anticipation and not even feel the sting of the burn on his tongue, savoring the spicy sweetness of her Christmas cookies.

He smiled at Jenny. “Mmm!”

“Good, right?” She reached up a finger to gently brush off a lingering crumb at the corner of Sam’s mouth. Currents zapped between them like electricity, and Sam’s tongue darted out where her finger had touched him.

He cleared his throat. “Any more?”

She smiled like a minx and shook her head slowly, raising her eyebrows at him knowingly. “Nope. No more.”

Hmm. Jenny teasing me? Well, this I like! And he took her hand again, lacing his fingers back through hers as they continued walking.

Their walk took them to the Gardiner Tackle Shop at the end of the street, and beside it Sam noticed a small white structure that resembled a small, country schoolhouse. It only took him a moment to realize it was the finished Gardiner High School booth, all twenty pieces having been fit and nailed together by Erik and Lars that afternoon. He smiled at how merry it looked, roped with evergreen and white lights. Wow. Those Lindstrom brothers work fast! He was impressed by their quick work and sort of pleased he had personally contributed to the Stroll.

The booth had open windows on all four sides, and a large shelf in the front offered hot apple cider and cider donuts. A cluster of senior girls sang Christmas carols a capella from inside. Beside them was Principal Paul, looking dapper in a navy suit and Santa hat, greeting his students and their parents and exchanging holiday cheer.

Sam watched Paul’s face as they approached. It brightened as it focused tenderly on Jenny. But his eyes followed her arm down to her hand, securely attached to Sam’s, and he cringed briefly, shifting his eyes up to Sam with disapproval. He offered Sam a perfunctory wave, which Sam returned with his free hand. To his regret, Jenny dropped his hand and crossed over to Paul.

“Hey, Paul,” she started, contrite and hopeful.

“Jen.” He nodded once coolly. “Sam.”

Sam had it in him to feel sorry for the guy. “Good to see you again, Paul.”

“Jenny!” She turned and hugged an older woman and young girl beside her, effectively leaving Sam and Paul staring at one another across the shelf. Paul gestured for Sam to follow him to the far corner of the booth where they couldn’t be overheard by the cider-and-donut crowd.

Paul assessed him, nodding slightly, eyes narrowing just barely. “Don’t hurt her.”

Sam didn’t have a ready answer to this command. He wished he could say he would never hurt her, but their growing feelings and imminent separation would make such a declaration foolish. Pulling apart from one another on Monday would hurt. Pulling two connected things apart always left a mark. If it was any consolation, she wouldn’t be the only one in pain. Sam was sure of that.

Administrators were adept at reading people’s faces, and Sam felt like an open book. Paul shook his head in disgusted resignation, understanding. “Okay. Then I’ll help her pick up the pieces when you go.”

Sam clenched his teeth together, tightening his jaw, staring back at Paul with fury. “We’ll figure it out. Jenny and me.”

Paul’s nostrils flared and he shook his head at Sam. “If she were mine—"

“She’s not.”

Paul inhaled sharply and stared at Sam with searing blue eyes, hurt and angry at once. “It won’t end well, Sam. She’s a small-town girl.”

“It’s none of your business, Paul.” Sam started to turn away, then thought of something and faced his rival again. When he spoke, his voice was softer, sorry. “We didn’t know this would happen. We didn’t plan it.”

Paul sighed and his face softened then too. He nodded at Sam as he might to a student who was trying to own up to wrongdoing.

“You don’t know her,” he whispered, the agony clear in his voice.