“Sounds right,” Stetson said. “And you, Sid?”
“I should’ve told you, too,” she said. “I didn’t because the second I said it out loud, it would be real. And real would mean a real mess.” She took a breath and glanced over at me. “But it’s real, and I’m not sorry.”
Stetson’s mouth flattened, then eased. “You’re both terrible at timing.”
“I won’t argue that,” I said.
He shook his head. “Alaska.”
“I’m going.” Though I didn’t want to leave Sidney, especially right after we’d finally found each other again, I wouldn’t break my word. “I already signed a contract, but it’s short term. I’ll be back.”
He stared at me hard. “You’re asking me to trust that.”
“I’m not asking,” I said. “I’m doing you the courtesy of telling you what I’m doing.”
A muscle jumped in Stetson’s jaw. “You’re saying you’re with my sister. For real.”
“Yes,” I said. “For real.”
Stetson’s eyes locked on Sidney, sharp and searching, like he was stripping away every layer she’d built—the polish, the clipboard armor, the way she filled silence with lists and orders. His voice was low, even, but I felt the punch of it anyway. “You sure, Sid?”
“Yes.” Her voice held steady.
“I hate this.” Stetson let out a long breath that turned to mist in the cold air. He rubbed a hand over his face, then surprised the hell out of me by adding, “I don’t hate it as much as I thought I would.”
He turned on me, and the weight of that look was heavier than any weapon I’d ever carried. “You break her, and I won’t be your friend anymore. I won’t be anything.”
I met it head-on. “I know. You won’t need to be.” The truth was easier than I expected.
He stepped in close enough that his words left no room for misinterpretation. “Don’t give me a reason to prove I meant that.”
“I won’t.” My voice was rough, but I held strong.
For a second I thought he might take a swing, just to clear the air. But then the corner of his mouth twitched like it wanted to soften, then thought better of it. He stepped back, conceding an inch. “Fine. Prove it with actions. Not speeches.”
“I will,” I said.
His gaze slid back to Sidney. “Are you telling Dad, or do I?”
“I will,” she said. “After the holidays.”
“Good,” Stetson muttered. “I don’t want to be on the receiving end of that phone call on Christmas.”
We turned back toward the lodge, the three of us falling into step. Sidney counted her breaths, Stetson scuffed ice with his boot, I scanned the path like it was second nature. It felt almost normal, like the three of us had done this a hundred times before, except everything had changed.
Halfway back, Stetson slowed. “Sid?”
“Yeah?”
“You did good. With the wedding.”
Her voice cracked around the thanks she gave him, and her shoulders dropped an inch, just enough to let some of the pressure slide off. Stetson grunted, embarrassed by his own slip of affection, and strode ahead so we wouldn’t have to talk about it.
Inside, the lodge was alive again with firelight, laughter, and champagne glasses clinking. Harper caught Sidney’s eye from across the cocoa station. Sid gave her a shaky hand wiggle, halfway between disaster and survival. Harper fanned herselfdramatically and flashed a thumbs-up. That’s what best friends were for—keeping your backbone stiff when it wanted to fold.
Stetson clapped Rand on the shoulder hard enough to rattle the windows, and their laughter rang out, deep and relieved. My chest eased a notch.
“Breathe,” I said to Sidney, low enough for only her.
