The girls stared up at her, eyes wide with awe.
I stood a few feet away, watching, pride tightening in my chest until it almost hurt. When she rose, I couldn’t stop myself. I walked to her, slipped an arm around her waist, and kissed the top of her head. “You always were good with kids.”
She looked up at me with that quiet smile. “You were watching?”
“Always.”
Ryder groaned loud enough for half the farm to hear. “For the love of mistletoe, get a room!”
“Leave ’em alone,” Fallon said through laughter. “It’s about time.”
Even Gwen called over, “You two are making this place look like a Hallmark movie!”
Kristin’s cheeks turned pink again, but she didn’t pull away. Her fingers found mine, small and strong against the cold.
The rest of the afternoon blurred into laughter and falling snow. We hauled the trees, took turns on the sleigh, and watched the sun dip low behind the ridge. Gwen passed around anotherround of cocoa and a small flask she claimed was for “warming purposes only.” Phil ended up racing Cooper and Parker on sleds down the hill until Nora scolded him for nearly wiping out the cookie table.
Twilight painted the sky soft pink and gold. The snow glittered beneath the last light, turning every track into silver lines. We tied the final tree to our truck, the branches brushing the tailgate, and said our goodbyes.
“Don’t wait until next Christmas to come back,” Gwen said, hugging us both.
“We won’t,” Kristin promised.
Wes grinned, shaking my hand. “And Linc, take care of Mrs. Felder. She’s the best thing that ever happened to you.”
“Don’t I know it,” I said, smiling back.
The drive home was quiet, the convoy ahead full of sleeping kids and tired laughter. The heater hummed low, Christmas music drifting through the cab. Kristin leaned against me, her head on my shoulder, humming softly along with the song.
“Today was good,” she said.
“It was,” I agreed. “Real good.”
She smiled, half-asleep, and I brushed my thumb across her knuckles, the faint rhythm of her breath syncing with mine.
Then I saw it.
A dark shape parked just beyond the treeline as we turned off the main road. Too far to make out, but the angle was wrong. Headlights off. Engine silent. Just there. Watching.
My stomach tightened.
“Everything alright?” Kristin murmured, eyes still closed.
“Yeah,” I said softly. “Just thinking about where we’re gonna put the tree.”
She smiled, content, and drifted back toward sleep.
I kept my eyes on the mirror all the way home. The truck behind us turned onto Kipp’s lane. The one in the trees didn’t move.
Not until I pulled through our gate. Then, for just a second, its lights flared—two sharp beams cutting through the dark—before it turned and disappeared down the road.
I didn’t say a word. Not tonight.
The house was waiting, the tree needed lights, and the woman beside me was still humming a tune that sounded a lot like peace.
But out beyond the fences, something unseen had started to move.
And the quiet that followed carried a promise I could feel in my bones.
