Total pages in book: 42
Estimated words: 40951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 205(@200wpm)___ 164(@250wpm)___ 137(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 40951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 205(@200wpm)___ 164(@250wpm)___ 137(@300wpm)
His fingers close around mine, warm and sure. He helps me into the sleigh like we’re the only two people in the plaza. The crowd claps. Someone wolf-whistles. I vaguely register Margo filming from the steps with a gleam in her eye that says content gold.
Rhett climbs in beside me, takes the reins the handler passes him. There’s one horse—no Donner or Comet, but a patient brown gelding with a wreath around his neck and bells that jingle when he tosses his head.
“You ready?” Rhett asks.
“With you?” I say. “Yeah.”
He clicks his tongue, and we start forward, the runners gliding surprisingly smooth over the fake snow. The crowd parts, cheering, and then we’re out onto the side street that loops around the plaza, the lights arching overhead like our own private galaxy.
He keeps one hand on the reins, the other tentatively sliding over mine under the blanket.
I let my fingers twine with his.
“Saint Pierce looks good on you,” I say, watching his profile in the glow of the streetlamps.
“Feels weird,” he admits. “But not bad. Security firm seems solid. Boss is ex-military. Ruin’s down there half the month. They’re willing to work around my Jubilee season. I can do most of the work out of this office and consult on some of the risk stuff.”
“You… really thought this through,” I say, heart swelling.
“Took me long enough,” he says. “I figured if I was going to show up on your turf, I needed more than promises and a sled. I needed to prove I wasn’t just visiting your world. I’m willing to live some of my life in it.”
My chest feels too full.
“And the mountain?” I ask.
He smiles, small and soft. “Still mine. Still home. But maybe it doesn’t have to be just mine anymore.”
The wind tugs at my hair. The bells chime. The city hums around us, lights reflecting in his eyes.
“I love you too, you know,” I say.
His hand tightens on mine. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” I say, feeling it all the way down. “Stupidly. Inconveniently. In a way that makes no sense and all the sense.”
He exhales like he’s been holding that breath for days. Weeks.
“Can I kiss you?” he asks.
I grin. “You’d better.”
He reins the horse to a slow stop under a canopy of lights strung between buildings—white and gold and shimmering, like someone poured the stars down just for us.
Then he leans in and kisses me.
It’s different from the cabin—less desperate, more certain. No storm outside, no question of whether we get another chance. Just the press of his lips, the warmth of his hand on my cheek, the steady thump of his heart under my palm where I’ve flattened it over his chest.
The city fades.
The crowd. The lights. The worry.
It’s just us.
When we finally pull back, we’re both breathing harder, smiling like idiots.
“Happy almost New Year,” I whisper.
“Best one I’ve had in a long time,” he says.
EPILOGUE
IVY
One Year Later
I’m standing in the birch lane in Chimney Gorge, camera in hand, snow crunching under my boots.
The Jubilee is bigger this year. Sponsors signed on early. Our “Jubilee Meets the City” teaser went live in October and melted the internet. The town is packed with visitors and volunteers and lights.
Rhett is up by the sleigh, adjusting a runner. He looks the same and different—still solid, still steady, but lighter somehow. He splits his time now—two days a week at the security firm’s Saint Pierce office, two or three up here, weekends wherever we decide we need them more.
Sometimes that’s the cabin.
Sometimes that’s my apartment, half-filled with his things now.
He straightens, catches me filming him, and tips an invisible hat. “Content?”
“Always,” I call back.
He walks over, wraps an arm around my waist, and kisses my temple. “You almost ready?”
“Almost,” I say, adjusting the focus. “I just need a closing shot.”
“Of what?”
“Of this,” I say, turning the camera on us and snapping a quick photo—our cheeks pressed together, the birches behind us, the faint glitter of the Chimney Gorge tree in the distance.
Our Christmas card, basically.
He laughs. “You gonna make the whole internet cry again, Garland?”
“Maybe,” I say. “Is that a problem, Ryder?”
He pretends to think about it. “Long as I get you when the cameras are off.”
“You do,” I say, stealing a quick kiss. “You will.”
Down the path, a familiar voice calls my name. Melanie, bundled in a ridiculous puffball coat, waves from the sleigh with Everett on her lap and Lucas at her side. Everett shrieks and demands a bell.
Rhett squeezes me once more, then heads back to the horses. He moves easily, calling out to Everett, teasing Lucas, trading a wave with Mayor Turner. He belongs here.
So do I.
My life is bigger now.
It’s meetings and campaigns and Saint Pierce coffee. It’s snowy cabins and security case files and watching Rhett stare down a threat assessment the way he used to stare down a storm. It’s baby giggles and best-friend sleepovers and a tiny wooden ornament on my city tree that says Chimney Gorge Christmas Jubilee in fading gold paint.