“I realized it up on the mountain after you left,” he goes on, softer now, just for me. “Sitting in that cabin with the quiet I thought I wanted and feeling like I couldn’t breathe without you in it. I love you, Ivy Garland. And I’m sorry I didn’t grab onto that the first time around.”
Tears spill over.
I let them.
“You’re ridiculous,” I say, laughing through the crying. “You realize that, right?”
“Frequently,” he says. “Usually by you.”
The crowd is a low murmur around us—whispers and soft ooohs, someone’s kid saying, “Are they gonna kiss, Mom?”
I take a breath that feels like my first real one in weeks.
“Do you know what hurt the most?” I ask.
He flinches, nods. “Tell me.”
“That you didn’t even let me try,” I say. “You decided for both of us that it wouldn’t work. That you couldn’t give more. That I’d resent you. You didn’t give me the chance to prove I meant it when I said I wanted both.”
He nods again, throat working. “I know. I was wrong.”
“And now?” I ask.
“Now I’m here,” he says simply. “Scared. Loud. Bells and all. Asking.”
The hurt doesn’t vanish.
But it shifts.
It makes space for something else: the image of him making this call, hauling a sleigh into the city, wiring my footage to a sound system he probably hates, standing in front of a crowd when he’d rather be alone in a barn.
For me.
The hollow ache in my chest that I’ve been trying to fill with work and coffee and busywork cracks all the way open.
I step closer.
“So,” I say, my voice shaking for entirely different reasons now. “This whole thing… was it at least approved in the content calendar?”
One corner of his mouth lifts. “Margo said it tested well with your target audience.”
“I bet she did.” I sniff, smiling even as another tear escapes. “This is really not subtle.”
“Subtle didn’t work,” he says. “Thought I’d try your way.”
“Grand gestures and emotional vulnerability?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Seems to be your brand.”
I stare up at him.
At this man who lives for quiet and still showed up in my noisy city with bells on.
Literally.
“Okay,” I say.
He blinks. “Okay?”
