He gives a small nod that somehow says more than a whole speech. “We’ll get through it.”
We walk together under the arch, facing Janice as she stands before us with a binder that’s definitely more dramaticthan this situation requires. The murmuring crowd settles into a hush.
I feel every single pair of eyes. Janice beams so brightly you could probably see her from space. “Citizens of Cady Springs,” she announces, “and visitors, and friends—we are gathered here today to celebrate the success of our One Magical Match Holiday Bride Experience!”
The crowd claps, whistles, cheers. Someone yells, “We love you, Harper!” and I have to bite back a watery smile.
“This week,” Janice continues, “we’ve watched Ethan and Harper participate in our beloved traditions … tree lighting, cocoa tasting, gingerbread chaos.”
“Accurate,” Ethan mutters under his breath.
“And through it all, they’ve represented the spirit of the season,” she goes on. “Community, generosity … and maybe even a little holiday romance.”
Her eyes twinkle. I want to sink through the stage.
“As is tradition,” she says, “our Holiday Bride couple will now exchange symbolic vows. Nothing legally binding,” she adds quickly, winking at the crowd, “but a fun way to mark the end of their week.”
The end. The words land like a stone in my stomach.
Janice turns to me first. “Harper, dear, I’ll have you go first. Repeat after me.”
My hands curl around the little snow globe I’m holding — our snow globe. The one we made together. Lodge staff cleaned the base and added a little plaque with our names.
I stare into it with its tiny cabin and trees. Glitter snow swirls inside. A little world we made.
“Ready?” Janice prompts gently.
I lift my gaze. Ethan is watching me, expression soft. That look helps.
“I’m ready,” I say.
Janice reads, and I repeat, voice shaking at first but growing steadier:
“I, Harper, promise to always bring extra cocoa, laugh at bad jokes, and never shake the snow globe too hard when things get messy.”
The crowd chuckles.
“I promise to remember that even grumpy mountain men have soft hearts,” I continue, my chest tightening, “and that sometimes, the best surprises come wrapped in flannel instead of gift paper.”
Laughter again. I swallow.
“And for this holiday season,” I finish, “I’m grateful for the memories we’ve made … and for the man who helped me make them.”
My voice wavers on the last line. Janice gives me an approving nod like I just passed some secret small-town test.
“Beautiful,” she says. “Now, Ethan.”
Ethan shifts beside me, taking a quiet breath. I can feel his nerves in the way his arm brushes mine, the way his fingers flex at his sides.
“Repeat after me,” Janice says.
“I, Ethan,” he begins, voice steady but rough, “promise not to steal all the paper napkins … at least not without asking.”
The crowd bursts into laughter. Ruby actually whoops.
“I promise,” he goes on, eyes flicking to mine, “to always make room for one more snow globe … even if my shelves are already full.”
Another ripple of amusement.
