The words came out more seriously than I’d intended, and Holly looked up at me with the kind of expression that suggested she was hearing a promise rather than just romantic banter.
“For the rest of your life?” she asked softly.
“If you’ll have me,” I repeated, knowing that I meant it completely. “Holly, I know we’ve only been together officially for a few hours, but…”
“But you’re already thinking about forever,” Holly finished.
“I’ve been thinking about forever since you made me help you hang Christmas lights,” I admitted. “I just wasn’t brave enough to admit it until yesterday.”
Before Holly could respond to my inadvertent declaration of permanent romantic intentions, Bernie appeared with his camera and the kind of enthusiastic expression that suggested he’d overheard our entire conversation.
“Perfect!” he said cheerfully, raising his camera. “Can you two look at each other like you’re madly in love? This is going on the front page of next week’s edition.”
“We are madly in love,” Holly pointed out with amusement.
“Even better,” Bernie said, snapping several photos. “Natural chemistry is always the best. Much more authentic than those posed engagement photos people usually do.”
Engagement photos. The words hung in the air like a suggestion, and I found myself wondering if it was too soon to start thinking about proposals and wedding planning and allthe traditional romantic milestones that suddenly felt not just possible but inevitable.
“Bernie,” Holly said with affection, “maybe save the engagement speculation for after we’ve been together longer than twenty-four hours?”
“Fine, fine,” Bernie said with disappointment. “But when you do get engaged, I get exclusive photo rights. The Gazette needs good romantic content.”
As Bernie wandered off to photograph the cookie decorating station, I turned back to Holly, who was watching me with the kind of expression that suggested she was also thinking about engagement timelines and wondering if it was possible to fall this hard this fast.
“So,” she said carefully, “forever, huh?”
“Too fast?” I asked, suddenly worried that I was overwhelming her with the intensity of my feelings.
“Not fast enough,” Holly said with a smile that made my chest tighten with happiness. “I’ve been thinking about forever, too. I just thought I was being ridiculous.”
“We’re both being ridiculous,” I said, pulling her closer despite the fact that we were supposed to be coordinating festival activities instead of having life-altering romantic conversations. “But I’m okay with ridiculous if you are.”
“I’m very okay with ridiculous,” Holly agreed, and then she was kissing me again, right there in the middle of the town square while families with small children and elderly couples and teenagers on Christmas break wandered around us.
We probably would have continued being ridiculous indefinitely, but the sound of a car engine that was clearly struggling with Vermont winter roads interrupted our romantic moment. I looked up to see a sleek black sports car creeping through the town square, its low-profile tires spinning ineffectively on the snow-covered pavement while the driverapparently tried to figure out how to navigate a small town that hadn’t been designed with luxury vehicles in mind.
“That’s not a Vermont car,” Holly observed, watching the sedan’s slow progress and trying not to laugh.
“Definitely not,” I agreed, though something about the vehicle was triggering a sense of dread that I couldn’t quite explain. “Looks like someone took a wrong turn on their way to... somewhere with better roads.”
The Porsche finally managed to park—or at least come to a complete stop—near the town hall, and I watched with growing apprehension as the driver’s door opened to reveal a figure in an expensive wool coat that was definitely not designed for actual winter weather.
Richard. My former boss, standing in the middle of Everdale Falls’ Christmas festival wearing a thousand-dollar coat and leather dress shoes that were already collecting snow, looking around the town square like he’d accidentally landed on an alien planet.
“Oh, shit,” I said under my breath.
“What?” Holly asked, following my gaze to where Richard was carefully picking his way across the snow-covered pavement with the kind of cautious steps that suggested he was genuinely concerned about his footwear survival rather than falling on his ass.
“That’s Richard,” I said, feeling my stomach drop somewhere into the vicinity of my boots. “My boss. Former boss. The one I was supposed to call yesterday with my decision about coming back to New York.”
Holly went very still beside me, and I could practically feel her mental shift from happy to wary.
“What’s he doing here?” she asked, though her tone suggested she already suspected the answer wasn’t going to be good.
“Probably trying to convince me to change my mind about quitting,” I said, watching Richard continue his precarious journey toward the festival area. “He’s not used to taking no for an answer.”
Richard had finally reached the edge of the town square and was looking around with the kind of bewilderment that suggested he’d never seen a small-town Christmas festival and wasn’t entirely sure what to do with the experience. His coat was already dusted with snow, his perfectly styled hair was beginning to wilt in the winter air, and his leather shoes were making soft squelching sounds with each step.
