I never imagined I could be this happy. Growing up, I dreamed of the day I’d meet the man who would become my husband. And now, watching him keep the kids in line as they approach the pathway lined with my lanterns, I realized it was better than I dreamed.
“Nothing hotter than a guy who’s good with kids,” a fellow vendor said as she stepped up next to me.
Her name was Sheraton and she sold handmade snow globes. She’d come by my booth yesterday morning and checked out my lanterns, saying she might buy some as gifts for her family.
She was right. Wade was so good with the kids. A natural. He’d make a great father—not all that different from mine. Making dinner, picking up takeout, driving his daughter to cheerleading practice and interrogating any boy who showed up to take her out on dates. And if we had a son, he’d be out there playing soccer or basketball or whatever it was boys played these days.
Memories washed over me. Memories that were so detailed, it was almost like watching a movie. Highlights from my childhood rushed through me—a childhood that was without any trauma at all until my parents sat me down and said my mom was sick, but she was going to get better.
She got sick. Very sick. And my dad tried so hard to hold everything together. He cooked her favorite meals when she could barely keep anything down. He drove her to every appointment, held her hand through every treatment. He tucked me in at night and promised everything would be okay, even when I could see the fear in his eyes.
Then she died. And two months later, so did he.
The doctors said it was his heart, but I knew. Grief can kill just as surely as any disease.
I watched Wade crouch down to tie a little girl’s shoe, his big hands so gentle with the ribbon on her costume. The sight hit me like a physical blow. He’d be just like my dad—devoted and loving. The kind of man who’d move mountains for his family.
And that terrified me.
What happened when the unthinkable struck? What happened when cancer came knocking, or a heart attack, or any of the thousand ways life could rip the people you loved away from you?
My gaze drifted to the lanterns lining the pathway, their warm glow dancing across the children’s faces as they sang their Christmas carols. It was beautiful and magical. It was also temporary.
Everything beautiful was temporary.
The lanterns would be packed away tomorrow. The festival would end. The children would grow up and move away. And Wade…
Wade could leave too. Not by choice, maybe, but life didn’t ask permission.
My chest tightened, panic rising like a tide. I couldn’t breathe. The laughter around me became too loud, the lights too bright. The smell of hot chocolate and cinnamon suddenly made me nauseous.
I had to get out of here.
“I—I need some air,” I mumbled to Sheraton, who was still watching the pageant with a smile.
She glanced at me, concern flickering across her face. “You okay? You look pale.”
“Fine. Just need a minute.”
I pushed through the crowd, weaving between families and food trucks, my heart hammering against my ribs. Behind me, children’s voices rose in harmony, singing “Silent Night,” but all I could hear was the roar of blood in my ears.
I made it to the parking lot, spotted my car, and broke into a run before the tears started. I hopped in and drove to the inn, my breath coming in short gasps that reminded me of the way the windows had fogged up last night.
By the time I reached my room, I was sobbing. Ugly, wrenching sobs that came from somewhere deep and broken inside me. I fumbled with the key card, my hands shaking so badly I could barely get the door open.
I collapsed on the bed, still in my coat, and let the grief wash over me. Grief for my parents. Grief for the future I’d glimpsed with Wade and was too terrified to reach for. Grief for the girl who used to believe in happily ever after before life taught her that everything ended.
I don’t know how long I lay there, but eventually I heard footsteps in the hallway. Then a soft knock on my door.
“Brielle?” Wade’s voice, low and concerned. “Sweetheart, are you in there?”
I squeezed my eyes shut, willing him to go away. Willing myself to stop wanting him so desperately.
Another knock. “I know you’re in there. Sheraton told me you weren’t feeling well.”
Silence stretched between us, broken only by my ragged breathing.
“I’m not leaving,” he said finally, his voice gentle but firm. “I’ll stand out here all night if I have to. But I’m not leaving you alone when you’re hurting.”
