I leave my suitcase by the car. I leave my old life behind, and I walk toward him. He meets me halfway.
“I didn’t leave,” I say, then laugh because it sounds ridiculous. I never even made it into my rental. “I didn’t leave. I couldn’t. I couldn’t find my keys—thank God. Then I saw theChristmas lights, and I thought about Lucy, and I thought about you, and I just—” My voice breaks. “I couldn’t leave. I don’t want to leave.”
“Eliza.” He says my name like a prayer. Like a promise.
He closes the distance in two strides. His hands cup my face, calloused palms warm against my cold cheeks. He looks at me with those steady brown eyes—the ones that saw through me from the very first moment.
“I’m scared,” I tell him. “I’m so scared, Walker. I’ve never done this before. I don’t know how to let someone love me. But I want to learn. I want—” I take a shaky breath. “I want to stay. If you’ll still have me.”
“If I’ll still have you?” His voice is rough. “Sweetheart, I’ve been yours since you stepped out of that car. I was just waiting for you to catch up.”
Then he kisses me.
It’s not like our first kiss, all fire and desperation. This one is slow. It’s a homecoming and a promise all wrapped into one. I melt into him, my fingers fisting in his shirt, a sob breaking against his lips.
“I love you,” I gasp between kisses. “I love you, and it terrifies me, and I don’t care anymore. I’m done running. I just want to be yours.”
“You are mine.” He pulls back just enough to look at me, eyes wet. “You’ve always been mine. You just didn’t know it yet.”
From somewhere behind us, Lucy whoops loud enough to scare the chickens.
“Does this mean you’re staying for Christmas?” she calls. “Can we make cookies? Can you paint my nails again? Are you going to marry my dad?”
Walker laughs against my mouth. “One thing at a time, sweetheart.”
But he’s looking at me when he says it—and the promise in his eyes tells me everything I need to know.
This isn’t a fairy tale. It’s not perfect. The star on the tree is crooked, and the hero has calloused hands, and the heroine spent thirty-one years convinced love was a lie.
But maybe that’s what makes it real.
There are so many unknowns, but I choose Walker right now. And I’ll make that same choice every day for the rest of my life.
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boots and bitching podcast
Y’all, I promise to get back to the situation with the geese down at the living nativity… but that episode will have to wait. I’ve got an update for you straight from Kingridge, and it’s hotter than and it’s hotter than Santa’s thighs in a Texas chimney.
Pour yourself something strong and don’t cancel me yet, because today I’m reporting a happily ever after.
You know how I said this story usually ends one of two ways? Someone fights for what they want, or they both spend the rest of their lives wondering what could have been.
Turns out, Eliza Kingridge is a fighter. Y’all, we should’ve known. As they say, you can take the girl out of Texas, but you can’t take the Kingridge out of the girl.
Multiple sources… and by multiple, I mean basically everyone within eyeshot of the Kingridge Ranch parking lot this morning, spotted our California girl having a full breakdown next to her rental car. Tears. Mascara everywhere. The whole dramatic production. I hadn’t pegged her for the type.
And then Little Lucy Reed came running out in her pajamas. She got real close and said something that made Eliza cry evenharder. The next thing anyone knew, Walker was on his porch looking like he’d been hit by a tractor.
It wasn’t no Ford F-350 loaded down with feed bags. It was the good kind of truck. Maybe one filled with a delivery of everything you’ve ever wanted. They kissed right there in the parking lot. In front of God and everybody else. Lucy was cheering loud enough to wake the cattle.
The woman who makes her living tearing apart marriages just chose a man who’s spent ten years proving that love means staying. It all happened right there on her daddy’s ranch. I don’t know about y’all, but I’ve got goosebumps.
Christmas is three days away. The Kingridge family is gathering, and something tells me this is going to be a holiday to remember. Merry almost-Christmas, Sagebrush Creek. May your holidays be warm, your hearts be full, and your love stories have happy endings.
Lord knows this one did.
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