Zoe breathed a deep sigh. She sat in her car, replaying the events of an hour ago. Her careless actions had almost disclosed her identity as the candy cane giver. She’d watched the back door for fifteen minutes without seeing a single person enter or exit. How was she to know Donovan Byrne would be out there? She must have been outside already, absorbed in her mission when he’d exited the building.

She’d performed a decent cover-up. People expected to see the candy canes in random places so it wouldn’t be strange to find one on the way to the youth building. Regardless, she’d have to exercise more caution in the future in order to keep her secret.

The thought of exposure threatened to break her out in hives. She didn’t want to be known, didn’t want the attention. Had received enough of it in her past to last a lifetime. She only wanted to make a difference in people’s lives, even through a brief message on a small candy cane. If igniting an ember of hope in one lonely soul was all that she accomplished, then that would be enough.

Headlights interrupted her musings. She looked up to see a car parking in the spot across from her. The passengers got out and went on their way with smiles and laughter like countless others had before them. Whatever problems they faced were shoved aside to live in the moment.

A shot of jealousy ran through her veins. She’d been part of that group once upon a time. Not of those specific people, but of the Christmas shoppers out with friends to enjoy the holidays … who stopped at the coffee shop to indulge in an eggnog latte before hitting the stores … who tried on ugly sweaters for the fun of it and laughed in the mirror as she looped arms with her friends.

But she’d lost all that and more. So much more.

Don’t go down that road.

She’d come far, but the grief had a habit of erupting at unexpected times. No tears came this time, though—a positive sign of the progress she’d made over the years. She closed her eyes, drew a long breath from the depths of her stomach, and clenched her fists, tightened her shoulders.

Ever so slowly, she exhaled and relaxed her muscles. The moment of tension slid away, replaced by a focus on her mission. She’d come to the mall to kill time shopping before passing out more candy canes, and that’s what she would do. A small setback-inducing trip down memory lane wouldn’t deter her.

Snow crunched under her feet and got into her shoe when she exited her car. That’s what she got for parking next to a plowed pile. Then again, her flat dress shoes weren’t an ideal choice for the weather. She’d chosen her boots first, then decided flats presented a better option since she’d be on her feet all evening. Leaning against the car, she removed her shoe and dumped out the snow.

Her foot didn’t warm on the way inside or as she walked around. The idea crossed her mind to find a bathroom and stick her foot under a hand dryer, but she bought a pair of socks and new shoes instead. Money wasn’t a concern, and even if it were, she needed a new pair of tennis shoes, anyway.

Before leaving the shoe store, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She looked like the people she used to make fun in college at Columbia—those who wore sneakers with professional outfits. She had promised herself she’d never do that no matter how much walking she had planned. I’ve grown up since then. I’m not even sure there’s a semblance left in me of that young girl.

Taking a left, she headed toward Marcy’s Department Store for a snack of freshly roasted pecans. Although it was too late for a full meal, her stomach begged for food. Only small portions of food remained after the dinner at church, and she couldn’t bring herself to accept any of it. Not when she knew Mike and Lori Druthers had worked hard to serve the community’s needy all evening, all while facing financial difficulties of their own. The leftovers could feed their family for a night, possibly two.

She ordered her pecans and ate them as she wandered the mall, not caring who saw her in the clashing outfit. Her feet were warm, dry, and comfortable—that’s all that mattered to her. She snuck into every women’s bathroom she passed, and if it was empty, she left a candy cane by each sink.

Several times, she’d duck into a store that didn’t appear too busy with a constant stream of patrons coming in and out of the dressing rooms and she’d ask to try on a shirt. Instead of trying it on, she’d stand there for several seconds, then emerge with a candy cane left behind. Whether it was found the next day, or that night by an employee cleaning, she prayed the candy cane and hand-written note would serve its purpose.

A closing announcement came from the mall’s PA system. Attention all shoppers. The mall will close in thirty minutes, and we ask that you finish your final purchases. We will reopen tomorrow at eight a.m. for your convenience. Thank you for making the Mall of Nativity your shopping destination this Christmas.

Zoe threw away the paper cone her pecans had come in and made her way to the food court for a hot chocolate before Miss Kandy’s Konfections shut down for the night. She’d need the warmth in her shortly and the sugary drink would complement the pecans she’d eaten. Okay, okay. Not really, but it sounds like a good excuse to have one.

She carried the hot chocolate to her car and drove to the post office with plans to return to the mall in an hour once the employees had left. In the meantime, she had other stops to make. Even though it didn’t make sense to backtrack, there were nights she didn’t want to be alone in her apartment, tonight included.

The trip to the post office had to be timed just right. The day crew left no later than seven, but a twenty-four-hour pharmacy had been built next door with any number of customers coming in and out at any given time, increasing her risk of being spotted. She’d almost been caught the last two years, but then she realized she’d been going soon after the two urgent care clinics closed and sent their last patients there to fill prescriptions. If she pushed her time back a half hour further, there were fewer customers at the pharmacy.

A line extending twelve cars waited at the traffic light to leave the mall. Zoe sipped her hot chocolate between outbursts of Christmas carols. Nothing could take away her love of the holiday music. Even that first Christmas after life changed forever, she’d sing along with them, albeit in a small whisper and often in the midst of tears.

When the light changed, she drove through the intersection at her turn. Made the trip across town and to the post office. The drive isn’t nearly as treacherous as last night’s. She’d prayed for safety the entire way home last night. This evening, she hadn’t hit any slick spots, only had that one encounter when she’d unwittingly stepped on a snow pile.

Gathering her purse, she saw the door to the building open. A man walked out with a stack of mail. Who checks their mail at this hour? Her imagination kicked into overdrive, and she created a variety of explanations while she waited for him to leave. Once he’d entered his car, she went inside, as though, she too was checking her post office box.

She kept her head down, away from the clear view of any security cameras. Only after she saw him drive away did she pull out several candy canes and place them on the platform that held labels and pens. She hung two from pushpins already in the wall near the post office boxes then hurried to her car. On the way out of the parking lot, she dropped a card in the drive-thru mailbox and hooked a candy cane to the door latch after it had closed.

The familiar joy filled her. She said a prayer for each unknown person who found one. The only downfall of maintaining her privacy was not knowing who discovered each candy cane and how they might have been touched by its message. Maybe she could start an anonymous website on which people could share their story. Would it be of any interest to anyone but her? She’d have to ponder on it a while longer.

Lights on a nearby house flashed in rhythm to Frosty the Snowman. She’d heard the music playing when she left the post office. Driving slowly past the house, she took the time to look at all the decorations in the home’s yard—not just a quick glance, but a lingering examination meant to enjoy the sight.

How many other houses have lights up already? She thought the snow would have delayed many, but she’d momentarily forgotten the spirit of Nativity. Most of the town had their outdoor decorations up a week ago even if they didn’t turn the lights on until last night. She estimated three-quarters of the homes she saw had some form of decorations up, and if she had her guess, fifty percent of the remaining quarter would decorate by next weekend.

You couldn’t live in a town called Nativity and shun Christmas.

She’d decorate her apartment tomorrow after her volunteer shift at the homeless shelter. A laugh escaped. She’d graduated high school early, and by the time she’d turned twenty-two, she’d worked hard to earn a bachelor’s degree from Columbia University and an MBA from Yale, yet she’d spend her morning tomorrow doing laundry for other people. The irony—she received more satisfaction from her shifts at the shelter than her entire two-year employment with a Fortune 500 company.

Christmas lights never failed to put her in a festive mood, and she took multiple detours on the way to the fire department. Why hurry when only her cats awaited her. Knowing Snowball and Coal, they were curled in balls on opposite ends of her sofa. She’d long ago accepted that the cats had minds of their own and the habit couldn’t be broken.

The firehouse stop didn’t take long, neither did the police station a block away—another tricky endeavor due to the constant presence of on-duty first responders. She stopped at a few of the smaller churches in town and then circled to the mall.

Her final stop was the park. No one should be there now. Until next week’s tree lighting and then advent ceremony, the park wouldn’t see many visitors during daylight hours with the weather this frigid, let alone near midnight.

 She pulled in, wishing she still had hot chocolate left. The park kept her outside the longest since she walked the entire perimeter, leaving candy canes on each bench. She wouldn’t leave that many every night, but always put out more the first few days after Thanksgiving and the last week leading to Christmas.

“Awfully late to be out and about.”

She jumped backward, scared by the disembodied voice. Her heart pounded, even once her brain connected recognition of the voice to a familiar person. Sure enough, when she shifted her gaze to the direction of the voice, she saw Donovan Byrne. Once she caught her breath, she responded. “I could say the same about you.”

He shrugged but didn’t respond directly to her reply. “You’re behind the candy canes, aren’t you?”

“What do you mean?” Her blood ran cold, and it had nothing to do with the temperature.

“Your story earlier at church didn’t add up, and I put the pieces together.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “And just now I saw you putting them around the park.”

She froze in place. How could she deny the truth? She’d been caught. By a journalist no less. Defenses rose in the form of anger. “You were spying on me?”

“No.” He didn’t bat an eye at her hurled accusation. “When I had my suspicions, I took a guess at where you might show up.”

“Same difference,” she muttered, all joy zapped.

“Why the cloak-and-dagger act?” Creases formed around his eyes and he stepped forward. “And why do you do this?”

She shook her head. “This is something I do for myself, all right? I know you work for the newspaper—but please, don’t turn this into a story.”

The wrinkles deepened. “It’s in my nature. I can’t help it.”

“I don’t know you very well outside of seeing you at church, but I’m begging you, please keep my secret.” She held her breath, afraid of his answer.

Close enough to touch her, he reached out and laid a hand on her arm. “I work for the newspaper, yes, but my company’s motto—and my own—has always been people first. I would never disclose your identity without your consent.”

“Thank you.” Her chest sank with a relieved exhale. “I appreciate that.”

“It’s cold.” He jutted his chin toward his car, in the opposite lot from where she’d parked. “I’m going to get home.”

“Me, too.”

He pivoted on one foot then paused. “I’ll see you at church on Sunday.”

“See you then.” Her conversation skills lacked in the aftermath of being discovered.

She watched him leave, wondering if he could really be trusted. Sinking onto an icy metal bench, memories flashed in front of her. In her experience, the media had no scruples, no concept of boundaries. She found it hard to believe a newspaper would abide by a people-first policy. Usually, money or ratings came first.

“Please, Lord, help Donovan to respect my wishes and keep my identity a secret.”

The lights on an angel ornament hanging from a lamppost twinkled. Zoe clung to it as a sign God had heard her prayer and answered with a definite yes.