“Torch.” My heart did something complicated. “You don’t have to?—”
He turned, eyes locking on mine. “Yeah, I do. Because you matter to me. And this matters to you. So we’re doing it.”
My brain short-circuited. This beautiful, infuriating man was about to save my entire life.
“Okay,” I whispered. “Let’s do it.”
We moved like a NASCAR pit crew. Trays, tubs of icing, bottles of vanilla and cinnamon—all loaded carefully into the bed of his truck under the camper shell. My hands shook, not from the cold but from the weight of what he was doing for me. When I nearly dropped a tray, he caught it—and me.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured.
And somehow, I believed him.
Twenty minutes later, we were barreling down the mountain. I clutched my phone, even though there was still no signal.
“What if there’s nowhere to bake? What if the festival doesn’t have a kitchen or?—”
“Then we’ll figure it out.” His hand found mine, solid and warm. “Stop catastrophizing.”
“I’m being realistic.”
“You’re spiraling. There’s a difference.”
Fair. Product-launch Demi had color-coded contingency plans. Festival Demi was one minor inconvenience away from a meltdown.
“Thank you,” I said quietly. “Even if it doesn’t work?—”
“It’ll work.”
“But if it doesn’t, this—this means everything.”
He glanced at me, something soft in his expression. “Youmean everything. To me.”
My heart skipped. We’d known each other for a day. A day. This should’ve felt like too much, too soon.
But it didn’t. It felt exactly right.
The Wildwood Valley Christmas Festival looked like a snow globe come to life—garlands, lights, carolers, kids with cocoa. Perfect. Offensively perfect.
And I had no booth. No table. No plan.
Torch parked and hopped out. “Stay here. I’ll find someone who can help.”
“Who—”
But he was already gone, talking to an older woman with a clipboard and bright green glasses. They spoke. She looked at me. I sank lower in my seat. Then she smiled, patted his arm, and hurried off.
Torch jogged back. “That’s Bobbi. Runs the inn, half the town, and probably the weather. She’s getting you set up.”
“Set up where? I don’t have?—”
“She’s finding you one. Let’s unload.”
“This is insane. You can’t just?—”
He kissed me—quick, firm, shutting down my protest. “Trust me,” he said against my lips.
I did.
