“I thought I could live the rest of my life with just the mountain,” his voice goes on. “Horses. Snow. Old memories. Then a woman in a red coat fell into my sleigh and made a joke about OSHA and ruined everything.”
The crowd laughs. I cover my mouth.
“She filmed the town I thought I’d already seen every side of,” he continues. “She made it new. She made me talk. She made me remember that quiet doesn’t mean alone. And then when it got hard, I did what cowards do.”
The music softens, just bells and a faint piano line.
“I let fear make my choices,” he says. “I told myself she’d be better off without me. That the life she wanted and the life I knew how to survive couldn’t fit together. She called me out.”
My throat closes.
“She was right,” his voice says. “I was a coward. I hurt her. And I’ve been miserable ever since.”
The video fades into a still shot: the Chimney Gorge tree, lights glowing. No people. Just the sense of something waiting.
The audio clicks off.
The plaza is very,veryquiet.
Rhett steps forward, turning to face me fully. I feel every pair of eyes on us, but in this moment it might as well be just him and me.
He clears his throat. “Ivy.”
Hearing my name in his actual voice, not just recorded, does something dangerous to my knees.
“I got a job in Saint Pierce,” he says, loud enough for the mic in his hand—where did that come from?—to catch it. “Private security. Ruin helped. I start after New Year’s. I’m keeping the cabin. I’ll still work the Jubilee. I’m not giving up that part of me. But I don’t want to hide up there anymore.”
The words sink in slowly.
“You’re… moving here?” I manage.
“Splitting time,” he says. “But yeah. I’ll be here. In the noise. In the mess. In line for coffee behind people who say ‘venti’ without irony.”
Some of the crowd chuckles.
His eyes never leave mine.
“I can’t undo what I said,” he goes on. “I can’t pretend I didn’t hurt you when I thought I was protecting you. But I can do this.” He gestures to the sleigh. “I can show up. In your city. In your world. Even when it scares the hell out of me.”
He swallows, the muscles in his throat working.
“I don’t want just the mountain anymore, Ivy,” he says, voice roughening. “I want the mountain and the madness of loving you. I want the quiet and the late-night edit sessions and the way you put cinnamon in your cocoa when you think no one’swatching.” A small, crooked smile. “I want to figure it out. The drives. The days. The weird hours. All of it.”
My eyes burn.
He takes a breath. “You were right. I was a coward. I’m trying not to be one anymore. So this is me asking—publicly, which is your fault, by the way—if you’ll give me another chance. If you’ll let me try to be the man who doesn’t walk away when it’s hard.”
The bells jingle faintly as he steps away from the mic, leaving it squealing in a tech’s hands. He walks toward me, each step measured, like he’s giving me time to bolt.
I don’t bolt.
When he’s a few feet away, he stops. Close enough that I can see the flecks of gold in his eyes. The way his hand shakes just a little where it hangs at his side.
“I love you,” he says.
The world tilts.
He says it like it’s the simplest truth he knows. No drama. No flourish. Just three words that crack something open in my chest and let light flood in.
