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The diner was packed, alive with the comfortable chaos of people who had known each other for lifetimes. Warmth wrapped around Sage like a hug, chasing away the bite of the Montana evening outside. The air smelled of heaven—bubbling beef stew, fresh-baked apple pie with just a whisper of cinnamon, and the rich, dark roast coffee that Mary Sue kept flowing like it was Christmas itself. In the corner booth, old Mr. Hargrove was arguing good-naturedly with the sheriff about last week’s elk sighting, while the jukebox spun a soft, nostalgic melody: “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas,” Judy Garland’s voice floating out like warm honey.

She sounds cool, Sage thought, smiling to herself. The other night she’d tried to talk Mama into adding something newer—Billie Eilish, maybe—and Mary Sue had looked at her like she’d suggested replacing the apple pie with kale smoothies. Sage figured it was only a matter of time before the whole town was humming along to something from this century.

She turned back to Annie, sliding another folded stack of bills into her friend’s apron pocket with a cheeky grin.

“Nope! You and Mama have been teaching me the ropes these last few days, so you deserve every cent. Besides, I know you’re saving up for the kids’ Christmas presents.”

Sage had met Annie’s younger brother Tommy—a sweet, autistic man in his early forties who still lit up like a kid over his drawings and marched to the beat of his own quiet drum. Sage also learned how Cal had helped Tommy in school protecting him from bullies, and how Annie had quietly carried the weight of raising him since their parents passed. She’d also fallen hard for Annie’s nine-year-old Ethan, with his gap-toothed grin, and six-year-old Lily, who already had Sage wrapped around her little finger.

From behind the counter, Isabelle leaned against Mary Sue with a theatrical sigh, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Yeah, Annie, and besides—once Mary Sue finally lets me take her cookie recipe global, we’ll all be billionaires. I’m telling you, those snickerdoodles are about to fund a whole new wing on the school.”

Mary Sue swatted at her with a dish towel, cheeks pink, but the smile tugging at her lips gave her away. “You hush, Isabelle. My cookies stay right here in Blackthorn Ridge where they belong.

Laughter rippled through the diner as the bell above the door jingled cheerfully. A gust of icy Montana wind slipped in, carrying the sharp scent of pine and fresh snow before the warmth swallowed it again.

“Caaaaaallllllllll!”

Sage didn’t hesitate. She vaulted over a stray purse, slid past a startled Annie with a whoop, and launched herself into Cal’s waiting arms with the grace of someone who’d done this a hundred times in her dreams. He caught her easily, that big, solid frame steady as ever. Anticipating her mischief, he caught her with one strong arm locked under her thighs, while his other hand stayed high on her back — deliberately keeping both well away from the plush, curvy target she was angling his hands for.

She frowned up at him, lips pursed in mock betrayal. “Hey! No fair.”

Cal’s smile widened, slow and devastating, those storm-gray eyes warm with amusement. “Sorry, princess. Better luck next time.”

Sage narrowed her eyes at him for a beat, then let a sweet, dangerous smile bloom. “Okay… daddy.”

The word hit him like a spark on dry tinder. Cal nearly dropped her. His arms tightened reflexively, but the split-second of shock gave Sage exactly what she wanted. She wiggled those voluptuous, plush globes of flesh right into his large palms as he scrambled to steady her.

Sage laughed, low and wicked, wiggling again for good measure. Heat crawled up Cal’s neck, turning his ears a telling shade of red. He grumbled, voice rough.

“What was that? I didn’t quite hear you. You look kinda flushed… you okay there, Bear?”

She was ready to push her luck even further when she froze, noticing the shorter, boyish man standing behind Cal. Studious, with thick black glasses and an expression of pure, open-mouthed shock as he stared at them.

Cal cleared his throat and collected himself, gently setting her down but keeping one possessive hand at the small of her back. “Sage, sweetheart, this is my best friend Michael. Michael, this is Sage.”

Michael blinked, adjusting his glasses like he was trying to reset reality. “My club sucks way more than your club!” he blurted.

Cal barked out a surprised laugh, which only made Michael’s eyes widen further—and drew chuckles from half the diner patrons who were now openly watching the show.

“It’s nice to meet you, Michael,” Sage said sweetly, still tucked warmly against Cal’s side. “Isabelle has told me so much about you.”

Michael’s gaze flicked to her, then back to Cal. “She did? Really? I mean… that’s cool. I mean, it’s cool that she talks. Of course she talks. It’s good that she talks to you. About… things?”

Sage shot Cal a delighted look. He just shrugged, the corner of his mouth twitching. She turned back to Michael with a grin that promised mischief. “Oh, this is gonna be fun.”

Michael seemed blissfully unaware, his attention already drifting toward the counter. When he spotted Isabelle smiling at him, his feet started moving on their own. He stopped in front of her, stuck out his hand like they were at a formal business meeting, and said earnestly, “Isabelle! It’s so nice to see you.”

“Holy shit…” Sage whispered to Cal, biting her lip to keep from laughing.

“I know,” Cal murmured back, lips brushing her ear and sending a pleasant shiver down her spine. “He’s a little… oblivious.”

“Oblivious?” Sage whispered. “Isabelle has a billboard above her head that says ‘Michael Barrington, please marry me.’”

Isabelle looked at Michael’s outstretched hand, then up at his face. Her eyes turned flinty. She ignored the hand entirely and said, cool as winter frost, “A pleasure to see you again, Mr. Barrington. I trust your trip was successful?”

Michael slowly lowered his still-extended hand, looking adorably confused.