"It might be. Do you want it?"
"No, you keep it." His voice is lower. "You should have it to remind you of that moment."
I wrap it in a piece of tissue from the station supplies and put it very carefully in my pocket.
There’s not a thing in this world that is going to make me forget that moment. The moment a baby elk had me slam on my brakes in front of my future Daddy.
The sleigh rides run from six until the tree lighting at eight, and Holly has orchestrated them with her usual precision. Couples and small groups take a ride on a circuit through the lower grounds and up toward the ridge overlook and back, twenty minutes of bells jingling, cold air biting noses and cheeks and the horses' breath misting in the dark.
She puts Anthony and I together without making a production of it. I suspect she had our names on the same line from the very beginning.
The sleigh is just big enough for two to sit close. The blanket the driver tucks over our laps means our legs are pressed together under the heavy wool and the lights of the resort fade behind us as the horses carry us into the dark.
This is the most romantic thing that has ever happened to me in my professional life and I am not going to think about that right now.
I'm thinking about it.
"I need to tell you something," I say, because the dark and the bells and the cold make everything easier.
"Tell me."
"The resort piece I'm writing about this week, the angle I finally found came from what you said on the night walk about designing the route around what people feel. I've been writing about this place as a living thing that someone built with love, and the reason I could see that was you." I look at him. "I wanted you to know that. You’ve inspired me."
He's quiet for a moment. The sleigh runner hisses over packed snow. Somewhere in the dark a bell on the horse's harness catches and rings.
"Thank you for telling me," he says. "I’m happy to inspire you in any way I can." He takes my hand under the blanket, fingers lacing through mine.
I don't breathe for a second.
Then I breathe, slowly, and lean into him, and he doesn't move away, and the horses carry us further into the dark. His hand is warm in mine.
Oh.
This is what it feels like. This is what I was looking for.
We ride in silence for a while. The good kind of silence.
"I want to talk to you after the tree lighting," he says, eventually. "What I said last night and the things I don't want to wait on."
"I know."
"Are you —" He pauses, which is rare enough that I look at him. "Are you all right with that?"
He's asking. He's checking on me. He's making sure I know it's coming and that I want it to.
"Yes," I say. "I've been all right with it since you said it."
His hand tightens briefly on mine. Not a lot. Just enough.
Just enough to say: good. I heard you. I've got you.
I tighten back.
The tree lighting at eight is different from the preview.
Not in spectacle, the tree blazes to life with the same gold and ivory and green, the crowd makes the same involuntary collective gasp, Holly cries in the same beautiful way. But there are way more people and every staff member is present, Holly wanted them to be a part of this, and the music is louder, and the feeling around me is the specific feeling of a thing going from possible to real. All their handwork has accumulated to this moment. It’s happening, it’s real and they’ve accomplished what they set out to do.
Anthony keeps my hand through all of it.
