“You planning on sticking around?” I asked softly, my heart beating a steady, hopeful rhythm.
He looked at me, surprise flickering in his eyes before he smiled—wide, sure, a little crooked. The same smile that had once been so rare, now felt like a natural part of him. “If you’ll have me.”
I didn’t answer in words. I just took his hand, my fingers lacing through his, a silent promise. In that quiet, firelit moment, surrounded by the warmth of our new family and the gentle crackle of the fire, I knew—this was home. Finally, completely, beautifully… home.
Chapter 28 - New Traditions
Max
The snow had started falling just before noon, soft flakes drifting lazily across the ranch like confetti from heaven.
By the time lunch was served, a light dusting covered the rooftops and fence rails, turning Starcrest into a picture-perfect Christmas card. It was a day of quiet celebration, a collective exhale after the hurricane of the past few weeks.
Ella stood beside me beneath the wide wooden archway leading to the barn—now a festive dining hall filled with the faces of ranch hands, neighbors, and just about every kid in town.
The tables were set with mismatched chairs and heirloom dishes, and someone had playfully tied a string of ornaments to Duke’s collar. He wore them with a kind of proud resignation, his tail still wagging at every familiar face.
The air buzzed with laughter, the soft strum of a guitar, and the clink of silverware. The rich, homey scent of pot roast, simmering cider, and a dozen different casseroles hung in the air, a testament to the meal everyone had brought.
Clint held court near the cider barrel, spinning tales that were probably half true to a captivated group of children.
Sarah moved like a whirlwind, her face flushed with happiness as she refilled mugs and handed out slices of pecan pie.
Jerry and a few others played cards at a table near the window, their good-natured arguing a familiar comfort. It wasn’t fancy, but it was full of joy.
Ella leaned into me slightly, her arm brushing mine as she laughed at something Ethan said. The man was still in town, guitar slung over his shoulder, cowboy hat pushed back on his head as he tuned up for an impromptu performance.
“Who knew Starcrest had this many people who’d brave the cold for pot roast and peach cobbler?” Ella murmured, her voice filled with wonder.
“They didn’t come for the food,” I said, watching her, a quiet pride swelling in my chest. “They came for you.”
She turned to me, surprise flickering across her face.
“For us,” I amended, quieter now, a new kind of confidence in the words. The pause that stretched between us was warm despite the chill in the air, a silent acknowledgment of all we had gone through and all we had built.
“Max,” Ethan called from the makeshift stage. “Get up here. You too, Ella.”
Ella looked startled, her eyes wide. I offered my hand, my fingers wrapping around hers, a small gesture of assurance.
“Come on,” I said, my voice low and a little playful. “Might as well start this new tradition right.”
The crowd quieted as we stepped up beside Ethan. He grinned at us, a genuine warmth in his eyes, before stepping back to let Ella speak.
She cleared her throat, visibly nervous, but when she spoke, her voice carried with a quiet strength that held the room.
“Thank you all for coming today. For showing up, not just for the ranch, but for each other. You’ve reminded me what community looks like. What home feels like. We’ve faced storms—real ones and the kind that come with fear and doubt—but today? Today we celebrate what we’ve built together.”
She looked over at me then, her voice softer but still strong, a deep, beautiful warmth in her gaze. “And Max, thank you—for believing in this place even when I didn’t know how. For standing with me.”
I stepped up beside her, my heart swelling with emotion. “When Ella first arrived, I figured she’d be gone in a week. And I wouldn’t have blamed her. This place isn’t easy. It’s hard work and long nights. But she stuck. She fought for it. For all of us. And now… now I can’t imagine it without her.”
The room fell quiet, a different kind of silence—heavy with emotion, filled with a shared, hopeful anticipation.
Then Ethan stepped forward again. “And I plan to be back next year—and the year after. If Starcrest wants a holiday concert tradition, it’s got one.”
Cheers rose like fireworks, and the room erupted in applause. After the music started again, and Ethan launched into the first verse of a folksy Christmas ballad, Ella and I slipped away from the stage and found a quiet corner of the barn.
The lights glowed low and warm, bouncing off the garlands and snowflakes that still clung to the windowpanes.
