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“But I am to be the queen, and I must consider my loyal subjects,” Eve said, clearing her throat, her face a shade of mild anguish, but still quite lovely.

“Well, what’s Nigel like? Be honest, is Ferguson the one you really want to, bone, er, be with?”

“Nigel’s a dear friend, but, oh, Annie, he’s such a bore!” Eve gushed.

“But is he hot?” Annie asked. “He’s clearly pretty well off if he’s been promised to a princess, right?” Eve shook her head. “Do you have a pic?” Eve thought for a moment before pulling out a small black leather wallet and finding a tiny image tucked away in a small sleeve. She looked at the picture and sighed before giving it to Annie. Annie took it and let out a puff of air, nearly choking. “Woof,” Annie sputtered in response, and Eve nodded. Nigel looked like a real dweeb. And not the secretly sexy kind. This Nigel looked much older than Eve, and his crooked grin was full of thick metal braces. His hair was shoulder-length and gave off an appearance of being wet with grease, framing his unfortunately acne-ridden cheeks. “Wait, is this a painting?” Annie asked, bringing it closer to analyze.

“Yes, it’s his royal portrait, so they’ve enhanced his features a bit. I’m afraid he doesn’t quite look like this in person,” Eve admitted.

“Ah, I see,” Annie said, trying to imagine a rougher version of this already very rough painting.

“I don’t want to marry him, Annie,” Eve said, stopping abruptly in the middle of the path, allowing Ferguson to get much closer to the linked duo before he silently stepped backward, always keeping his sights on Eve. Annie thought Eve’s eyes actually now looked wet with real, human tears.

“Then you won’t,” Annie told her, giving her arm an affectionate and supportive squeeze. “It’s your story, Eve. You need to follow your bliss and all that. Your country is rooting for you to be happy, like genuinely happy. The kingdom of Wintermore needs a queen who is living her best life so they can too. If you want to marry someone other than Nigel—Ferguson, even—I’m sure everyone in your country would support you. And I bet your dad would say the same thing.”

Overcome by the moment, Eve let out a small sob before wrapping Annie in a huge hug.

“Thank you, Annie,” she whispered, refusing to let go. “You don’t know how much I needed to hear that.”

“Eve, you’re a real babe. I couldn’t dislike you if I tried. You remind me of the best person I know, and that’s the highest compliment I could give someone,” Annie smiled. “You deserve your happy ending.”

“That’s so kind,” Eve said, swabbing her eyes until they looked dry again. “Oh, I must sound like such a silly schoolgirl to a big-city professional like you, but I believe my feelings for Fergie represent the purest love I’ve ever known.”

“It’s not silly,” Annie said kindly. “Allowing yourself to fall in love fully like that seems like the ultimate act of bravery to me. Does Ferguson know how you feel?”

“I don’t think so,” Eve said, shaking her head. “It’s so very complicated with the storm and being unable to talk to anyone back home. I don’t want to hurt Nigel either. I should confront him in person,” Eve continued, nibbling a tiny corner of her pink lip in thought.

“It will work out,” Annie reassured her. “It has to.”

Eve gave her an appreciative squeeze. “Now that you’ve offered such loving advice, please tell me more about your beau,” Eve said, batting her eyelashes playfully in Annie’s direction, making her laugh.

“My beau?” Annie asked. “I don’t believe I have one of those at the moment.” Annie reddened, thinking that the last guy Annie had kissed now had a Christmas maze, the grief from his dead wife, and a precocious child to manage. And she still couldn’t get him to almost kiss her.

“You’re blushing!” Eve squealed.

“Am not!” Annie laughed.

“You say you don’t have a beau, but there’s clearly a man who thinks of you as his sweetheart; it’s so obvious,” Eve said.

“Chris?” Annie asked, and Eve’s face clouded in confusion. “The widower dad who’s directing the annual Christmas play but also volunteers at his family’s Christmas tree farm?” Annie added in a rush.

“No, no, Santa Claus!” Eve laughed.

“Felix?!” Annie cried, a look of momentary horror followed by careful consideration playing across her face.

“No, silly, your Santa. From the rink! Nick,” Eve explained.

“What? Nick? No, I’m just his neighbor,” Annie muttered, her face growing hotter by the second.

“He looks at you like you’re a prized jewel from the royal family’s collection.” Eve smiled.

“I think he’s sort of with Bailey,” Annie said, chewing the inside corner of her mouth.

“The little bakery shop girl? No, she’s not right for him at all,” Eve decided, making Annie laugh again.

“Why do you say that?” Annie asked. Eve stopped Annie and looked deeply into her eyes.

“We shared supper tonight at the inn,” Eve disclosed. “I thought Grant should discuss a potential partnership with the bakery moving forward, to expand the culinary offerings and cross-promote within the town.”