“Has she talked to Luke again?”
I shake my head. “Not that she’s mentioned. All she talks about is Peppa. That’s one of Stella’s cats. And I know she’s working at a diner there, so she’s doing her best. I’m going to trust that for now.”
We work in silence after that, the kind that lets thoughts settle without crowding. When the stall is finally assembled in pieces, every joint tight, every surface sealed against moisture, I step back and take it in.
It looks solid. Like it belongs outside with flowers and people moving past it with cups of cider in their hands.
We load it into the truck, securing everything with care. Snow is coming down harder now.
As we drive toward the square, I watch the familiar buildings pass by, the bakery with its fogged windows, the café where Wren’s mom sometimes waves even if she’s in the middle of a rush.
Mayor Brighton spots us immediately.
He’s bundled in a thick coat, scarf wrapped twice around his neck, clipboard under one arm. He steps closer, boots crunching on snow, eyes lighting up when he sees the stall.
“Well,” he says. “This is something.”
“We wanted to show you the progress,” Ryker explains. “About the demolition schedule.”
Brighton nods. “I’ll admit, I was a little convinced you were running behind.”
I open the tailgate, lowering the ramp so he can see the design. “We adjusted the plan. Temporary structures for the market. Keeps foot traffic up while the hall is closed.”
He circles the stall, fingers brushing the cedar. “This is smart.”
“It lets vendors stay visible,” I add. “And it keeps the square active.”
Brighton smiles, genuinely pleased. “You should run this by Dorian and get it started as soon as possible.”
“We will,” Ryker says.
Brighton nods once more, satisfied, and heads off to harass someone else about permits.
Snowflakes drift down thicker now, clinging to my lashes when I tilt my head back. I breathe in cold air and turn.
That’s when I see her.
Norah is stepping out of her truck, bundled in a skirt that moves gently, an oversized coat wrapped around her. Wren is beside her, long dress and boots, belly round and proud.
Norah’s laughing at something Wren says.
It hits me hard.
She’s exactly what Christmas should feel like.
Warm. Bright. Full of something worth gathering around.
I smile before I can stop myself, heart opening wide and unapologetic. For the first time in a long while, I’m not bracing for loss.
I’m standing in the middle of something good, watching it arrive, knowing I helped build the place where it can stand.
And that feels like enough.
She smiles when she sees us, and something inside my chest opens without permission.
I step toward her before I can overthink it, hands cold from wood and metal, heart warm enough to make up the difference.
I kiss her. Not a quick peck meant for politeness, but a real kiss, one that says I’m here and I’m glad you are, too.
