The guy looks over his shoulder and says in a thick Brooklyn accent, “Are ya serious?” When he sees that Mason is, in fact, quite serious, he shakes his head and merges/forces his way onto the street.
Less than a minute later—and it only takes that long because of traffic—we arrive.
The cab driver mutters as he pulls away, but I’m too busy gaping at the tree to care. It’s huge—much larger than it looks on television—and so very beautiful. It’s not too late, half past ten, and there are plenty of people ice skating. I watch them,entranced with the Christmas decor, the lights from the tall buildings surrounding us, and of course, the tree.
“It’s amazing,” I whisper.
No one’s paying us any attention, but Mason scans the area, checking just to be safe. He stands close, trying to block me from the slight breeze.
I shiver in my short dress, but I don’t want to go yet.
“Did you have a nice time?” he asks.
I turn to him. “This whole evening has been unreal, Mason.”
He presses our palms together and then steps in, locking our clasped hands between us.
“Thank you for everything.” I pause, losing myself in his gaze. “It’s been the most magical night of my life.”
“You’re welcome, Harper,” he murmurs, pressing closer still. “I’m so glad you came with me.”
There’s merry commotion all around us, but we’ve stepped into our own world. There’s only Mason and me, and nothing could make the night more perfect…except for another kiss.
The only thing holding me back is my pesky common sense. I’m smart enough to know I can’t expect a relationship from Mason—our lives are too different. We met at a crossroad—a beautiful, magical, amazing crossroad—but eventually, we’re going to go our separate ways. Before I give in to this, I must prepare myself for the loss at the end.
We’ve drifted even closer. Mason’s warmth is such a stark contrast to the cold night. I want to step into his arms, let myself pretend there’s a future for us.
“I can see the indecision in your eyes,” he whispers, and he’s close enough I can feel his breath on my lips. “Why are you fighting it?”
“Whatever this is, it’s perfect but fleeting,” I say, squeezing his hands. “I just suffered one broken heart. I’m not sure I can handle the crushing reality of another.”
“Why are you so determined to believe we can’t work?” he demands softly.
“Besides the obvious? We barely know each other.” I pull away because my practical side is beginning to win.
“Then give me the chance to get to know you,” he says, tugging me back. “That’s all I want—a chance.”
“Mason.”
“Harper,” he says, and a spark of humor finally lights his pretty eyes. “I have several months to work on new songs for the upcoming album, and I can do that in Montana. I’ll buy a house, if that’s what it takes to convince you I’m serious about this. We’ll figure it out.”
Hope blooms in my chest, but I’m scared to let it take root.
“In Montana?”
“I don’t care for LA or Nashville, and though New York is fun to visit, you couldn’t pay me to live here. Montana is home—it always has been; it always will be.”
“What happens once you write your songs?” I ask.
“I’ll have to record in LA and then go on tour—but you’ll come with me. I wasn’t joking—work as my personal pastry chef while you write your cookbook. My crew won’t complain, I promise you that.”
“What if things don’t work out between us? Then what?”
He shrugs and gives me a teasing look. “We’ll deal with it. And for the record, I’ve heard that happens between normal, non-televised people as well.”
A cool breeze blows through the center, and I shiver again. Acknowledging I’m not in clothing suitable for the weather, Mason frowns and steps back, looking as if he’s about to hail another cab. “You’re freezing.”
He’s just holding up his hand when I make a rash decision. With my heart racing, I yank him back. Then I kiss him.
