He studies me for a long moment, eyes searching mine. I can see the war happening behind them—years of isolation battling against something new and fragile. Hope, maybe. The possibility of something more.
"You really think so?"
"I know so." I squeeze his hand. "Besides, I'll be there. You won't be alone."
Something settles in him then, like the click of a lock finally finding its key. Like a decision being made. He leans down, pressing a kiss to my forehead… gentle, reverent, full of promise.
"Then I'll go," he murmurs against my skin. "As long as you're there with me."
I tilt my face up, capture his lips with mine. The kiss is slow and sweet, tasting of coffee and new beginnings. When we break apart, we're both smiling.
"We should probably load up those toys," I say reluctantly. "Now that the storm has passed, the road will be cleared soon, and the festival's tomorrow night."
"Yeah." But he doesn't move, just stands there holding me, like he's memorizing the moment. "Faith?"
"Hmm?"
"Thank you."
"For what?"
"For barging into my cabin. For not being scared off by my grumpy ass. For reminding me that Christmas isn't just about what you've lost—it's about what you might find."
My throat goes tight with emotion. "You know this doesn't end when the road’s clear, right? You're not getting rid of me that easily."
His arms tighten around me. "Good. Because I'm not letting you go."
We stand there in the doorway, wrapped in each other and morning light, while outside the world glitters with fresh snow and endless possibility.
Chapter 10
Beau
Thetownsquareglowslike a snow globe come to life.
Strings of lights loop between the lampposts in swooping arcs, carols drift from the bandstand where the high school choir sings with enthusiasm if not always pitch, and the smell of cinnamon sugar and hot cider fills the air. Children run through the square bundled in puffy coats, their laughter bright as bells.
It's been a long time since I've stood here.Too long.The last time was with my dad, before the world went gray. But Faith's hand is warm in mine, her presence steady beside me, and suddenly the noise and color don't seem so bad. They seem... right.
The toy booth sits near the big tree, a towering Douglas fir from the Walker Tree Farm and decorated with thousands of lights and homemade ornaments. My toys are stacked on tables draped in red cloth, each one carefully arranged. Carved animals, trains with wheels that spin, dolls with hand-painted faces and movable limbs. Faith spent the morning adding ribbon and tags, making everything look festive.
My name is on a little wooden sign Faith painted herself. It saysHandcrafted with Love by Beau Lawson.
I told her it wasn't necessary, that people didn't care who made them. She told me it absolutely was. That they deserved to know who brought magic into their homes.
Now, watching a small boy clutch a carved bear to his chest, laughing as his mom thanks me with tears in her eyes, I think maybe she's right.
"See?" Faith squeezes my hand, looking up at me with those eyes that see straight through to my soul. "Told you they'd love them."
I glance down at her, heart doing that steady ache I'm starting to like. She's bundled in red—her coat, her scarf, that ridiculous pompom hat that started all of this. Her cheeks are flushed from the cold, her smile brighter than all the lights strung above us.
She's beautiful. And somehow, impossibly, she'smine.
"Guess you were right about Christmas spirit," I say, pulling her closer against the cold.
She grins up at me, eyes sparkling like the lights above us. "It was never gone, Beau. You just needed a little help finding it."
A little girl approaches—maybe six, with pigtails and missing front teeth—and shyly picks up a wooden doll I'd carved to look like she was dancing. The joy on her face when she hugs it to her chest makes something warm expand in my chest.
