“I’ll give you another chance,” I say. “On one condition.”
“Name it,” he says, way too fast.
“You don’t get to run next time it scares you,” I say. “You tell me. We figure it out. Together. You don’t get to decide for both of us what I can handle. Deal?”
His eyes soften in that way that makes my knees feel like undercooked spaghetti.
“Deal,” he says. “You get a condition. I get one too.”
“Bold,” I say. “What’s yours?”
“Get in the sleigh with me,” he says. “No cameras. No campaign. Just us. I brought it all this way. Feels like we should at least go around the block.”
I laugh, a wet, choked sound that feels weirdly like joy. “That’s your condition?”
“I’m a simple man,” he says.
“I don’t think that’s true at all,” I say, but I hold out my hand anyway. “Help me up, then, mountain man.”
His fingers close around mine, warm and sure. He helps me into the sleigh like we’re the only two people in the plaza. The crowd claps. Someone wolf-whistles. I vaguely register Margo filming from the steps with a gleam in her eye that sayscontent gold.
Rhett climbs in beside me, takes the reins the handler passes him. There’s one horse—no Donner or Comet, but a patient brown gelding with a wreath around his neck and bells that jingle when he tosses his head.
“You ready?” Rhett asks.
“With you?” I say. “Yeah.”
He clicks his tongue, and we start forward, the runners gliding surprisingly smooth over the fake snow. The crowd parts, cheering, and then we’re out onto the side street that loops around the plaza, the lights arching overhead like our own private galaxy.
He keeps one hand on the reins, the other tentatively sliding over mine under the blanket.
I let my fingers twine with his.
“Saint Pierce looks good on you,” I say, watching his profile in the glow of the streetlamps.
“Feels weird,” he admits. “But not bad. Security firm seems solid. Boss is ex-military. Ruin’s down there half the month. They’re willing to work around my Jubilee season. I can do most of the work out of this office and consult on some of the risk stuff.”
“You… really thought this through,” I say, heart swelling.
“Took me long enough,” he says. “I figured if I was going to show up on your turf, I needed more than promises and a sled. I needed to prove I wasn’t just visiting your world. I’m willing to live some of my life in it.”
My chest feels too full.
“And the mountain?” I ask.
He smiles, small and soft. “Still mine. Still home. But maybe it doesn’t have to be just mine anymore.”
The wind tugs at my hair. The bells chime. The city hums around us, lights reflecting in his eyes.
“I love you too, you know,” I say.
His hand tightens on mine. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” I say, feeling it all the way down. “Stupidly. Inconveniently. In a way that makes no sense and all the sense.”
He exhales like he’s been holding that breath for days. Weeks.
“Can I kiss you?” he asks.
