His attention slipped only once, when he pulled out what seemed like the millionth star-shaped trinket. Only, this one was different. It struck him. Multiple shades of ugly green and brown glass had been melted together to form a sort of patchwork glass star. Its edges created an outline out of twisted wire. The most similar thing he could think of was a stained-glass window, but those were beautiful. This wasn’t quite beautiful. It was sublime, perhaps. Holding it up to the light, he let the color play on his face, losing himself in the warped surface of the star.

“What’s this one?”

“That’s one of mine,” Kate said, her voice dipping low. The pride she’d taken only a few minutes ago in her stories and shared histories vanished.

“What is it? Did you make it?” Clark squinted, coming up closer to a raised etching along one of the corners. He could hardly make it out. “Is this a whiskey label? I didn’t know you drank.”

“I don’t.”

“Was this like an art project or something?”

After hours of learning about her town and these ornaments, he should have known none of these were just anything. They all carried their own weighted tales. To think Kate’s wouldn’t was the height of foolishness.

“When my dad died, right after my eighteenth birthday, I went to his apartment and cleaned it all out. I hadn’t been living there for, like, two years. Emily’s family took me in. So, I went through the whole house, throwing almost everything away. And then I got to my old bedroom. It was covered in broken bottles, like he’d just thrown them all at the wall and let them shatter. There had to be a hundred of them. He used my room as a garbage can, basically.” She laughed a wry laugh.

It occurred to Clark then how unfamiliar they were, and yet how close at the same time. They’d only met yesterday, but they’d both exchanged their most painful memories without a second thought. Maybe it was the magic of the season or her persistence or a little bit of both, but they trusted one another even when they had every reason to protect their own secrets.

He’d broken her once. He told her he didn’t care. He lied. But this moment was different. She wasn’t broken; she wasn’t hiding. But he still wanted to wrap her in his arms and hold her together.

“Kate—”