"What about you?" I asked. "Any word on the literary thriller?"
His expression shifted—excitement and nerves. "Actually, yeah. I got an email this morning too from a small indie press. They love it and want to talk about a two-book deal."
"Brent!" I threw my arms around him. "That's amazing! Why didn't you lead with that?"
"Because your news trumps mine. You're getting your first book published."
"So are you! A two-book deal for literary fiction? That's everything you walked away from New York for."
We sat there grinning at each other, then we were kissing, celebrating together, both of us riding the high of dreams coming true.
***
The next two days blurred together—meetings with publishers, signing contracts, telling everyone our news. By December twenty-third, I could barely believe any of it was real.
That evening, Brent picked me up from the library with a mischievous smile.
"What?" I asked, climbing into his car.
"You'll see. I have plans for us tonight."
When we arrived at his cabin, I saw why he'd been smiling. A Christmas tree stood in the corner by the fireplace—a perfect blue spruce, probably eight feet tall.
"You got a tree."
"From Finn yesterday. I’ve been waiting for you." He pulled me close. "It's our first Christmas together. That feels important."
Our first Christmas. The words settled warm in my chest.
We spent the evening decorating. Brent put on Christmas music—classics and jazz that filled the cabin with warmth. We made hot chocolate and worked our way through the boxes of ornaments.
"This one's from the retreat gift shop," Brent said, holding up a small ornament shaped like a book. "Bought it the first day. Before I knew what you'd come to mean to me."
My throat went tight. "Sentimental."
We hung each ornament with care. The book from the retreat. A silver bell from Garrett. A hand-blown glass icicle from Micah. A wooden star Asher had made. Some new ornaments we'd bought together at the Christmas market.
When we finished, we stepped back to admire our work. The star on top tilted slightly left.
"It's crooked," I said.
"I like it crooked." He pulled me close. "Perfect doesn't exist. But this? Us? This is pretty damn close."
We made pasta together for dinner—carbonara that Brent insisted was his specialty. He actually knew what he was doing. We ate by candlelight, drinking wine and talking about our books coming out in the spring.
After dinner, we settled on the couch in front of the tree. I noticed Brent's knee was bouncing nervously.
"You okay?" I asked.
"Yeah. Just—nervous. About your gift." He took a shaky breath and reached behind the tree, pulling out a small wrapped box.
My stomach flipped. "Brent—"
"It's not what you think. Just—open it."
Inside was a key on a simple keychain—silver and new, catching the Christmas lights.
"It's a key to the cabin," he said quietly. "I know we've only been together a few weeks. I know this is fast—really fast. But I don't want this to be just my place. I want it to be ours." His voice dropped. "I got this cabin so I could build a life here. With you. And I want you to know—this isn't temporary. This isn't me visiting or trying it out. This is me choosing you. Choosing us. Choosing this life we're building together."
