“And for this holiday season,” he says, the humor in his tone softening into something deeper, “I’m grateful for this town … for the land I get to keep … and for the woman who made being here feel like coming home.”
My throat tightens. He didn’t have to say that. Not in front of everyone. But he did.
Janice presses her hands together like she’s about to burst into confetti. “Wonderful. Now, as is our tradition, we ask our Holiday Bride couple to present their keepsake as a reminder of the week they shared with all of us.”
My fingers tighten around the snow globe.
Ethan nods at me. “You made it,” he murmurs. “You should do the honors.”
“We made it,” I correct softly.
But I step forward anyway, cheeks flushed, and hold up the globe for everyone to see.
“This is our little cabin,” I say, voice trembling. “Our trees. Our … blizzard.” A low chuckle runs through the crowd.
“We’ll keep it,” I add. “To remember this week. And everyone who made it special.”
The applause this time is gentler. Warmer. I step back to Ethan’s side.
Janice lifts her voice one last time. “Well then! By the power vested in me as mayor and chief holiday enthusiast, I now pronounce this Holiday Bride Experience officially complete!” She grins. “You may kiss your not-quite bride.”
The crowd laughs and cheers, waiting and expecting ‘the kiss’. Ethan looks at me, that almost-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You okay with this?” he asks under the noise.
I nod, barely trusting my voice. “Yeah.”
He leans in, cupping my cheek with a hand that’s both warm and slightly rough. The kiss he gives me isn’t showy or overly dramatic. It’s simple. Sure. Certain. And completely, utterly real.
The crowd roars. Someone whistles. Someone else shouts, “Get a room!” We pull apart slowly, both a little dazed.
“This concludes our ceremony!” Janice announces, turning toward the audience. “Let’s give them one more round of applause!”
The applause swells again.
I exhale, a strange mixture of relief and sadness swirling in my chest. This is it. This was the last official thing. After this, the lodge. Packing. Returning to my normal life with my shop, my snow globes, my …
“Actually,” Ethan says suddenly. The word cuts right through the noise. The applause stutters. People shift in their seats. Janice turns back, brows lifting. Ethan doesn’t look at her. He’s looking at me.
“Sorry,” he adds, voice carrying more than it has any right to. “I’m not quite done.”
He clears his throat, still holding my hand. His palm is warm and a little damp. Nerves. I’ve never seen him nervous like this.
“A week ago,” he says, loud enough for everyone to hear, “Janice came to my cabin and offered me a deal. I show up. I play the part. I pretend to be a good sport for a few holiday events …” He glances out at the crowd briefly, then back at me. “And in exchange, I get to keep a piece of land that means a hell of a lot to me.”
The town murmurs softly. I hold my breath.
“I wasn’t thrilled,” he continues dryly. “I didn’t want to be in the spotlight. I didn’t want cameras in my face or cocoa shoved at me or … any of this.”
Another low ripple of laughter. His gaze finds mine again.
“And then you,” he says, “walked into all of it with me.”
My chest squeezes.
“You made the noise bearable,” he says. “You made the chaos fun.” A tiny smile tugs at his mouth. “You laughed at mynapkins. You dragged me into markets. You turned a stupid craft into something that actually mattered.”
The snow globe suddenly feels heavier in my hands.
“You didn’t ask for any of this either,” he adds, voice softening. “But you showed up. You were kind. Brave. Honest. You let me in.”
