"That's my job."
"Not anymore." He tugs my hat down over my ears. "From now on, that’s my job."
The reindeer barn is warm, smelling of hay and barn animals. I move from stall to stall, checking water buckets and feed bins, murmuring greetings to each reindeer by name. When I heard about this job, the animals were what attracted me to it first. It’s not my job to take care of them normally, but whenever an extra shift pops up, I jump on it. During my breaks, I’m often at the barn. The animals have become my friends.
Justin watches me pet Cupid from the doorway, leaning against the frame.
"You really do love this place," he says.
"Of course. It's magic." I finish with the last stall, move to where he's standing. "You built something special here. Something that matters."
"We built it. My grandfather started it, I expanded it, but people like you—" He touches my cheek. "—you make it come alive. Believing in the magic of Christmas, letting yourself suspend disbelief and enjoying it. You make it all worth it."
"That's one of the nicest things you've ever said to me."
"I plan to say nicer things regularly."
I grin. "You already warned me about that."
We walk back through the park slowly, taking in the decorations, walking by the chapel and the ornament shop. Everything looks different today, knowing tomorrow it will be open to the public again. Knowing it’s not just ours anymore makes it feel less magical, more mechanical. But somehow that makes the little time we have left here alone more precious.
"I'll miss this," I admit. "Just the two of us. No crowds, no schedule, no interruptions."
"We'll make time," Justin promises. "Private mornings before the park opens. Late nights after it closes. When it’s off season and we are closed during the week. We'll find ways to be just us."
"That sounds like a lot of sneaking around."
"That sounds like dating someone who works the same schedule you do." He pulls me close, kisses my temple. "We'll figure it out."
Back at the lodge, we pack up what little we brought, tidy the kitchen, bank the fire. Each task feels weighted with significance, like it’s the end of something precious, the beginning of something real. I wonder if this is what the women on those reality dating shows feel like. When the show ends and reality begins. I might not have been going on elaborate expensive dates in another country, but I feel the weight of having to return to a normal schedule. To paying bills and taking care of responsibilities. To not being together in a sheltered environment but having to face the real world head on.
My phone rings. My mom.
"I should take this," I say.
"Go ahead."
I step into the bedroom. "Hey, Mom."
"Holly! I've been trying to reach you since yesterday. All your text said was that you were safe. Are you okay?”
"I'm fine. I got stuck at the park, but I texted you to let you know I’m safe."
"At the park? By yourself?"
I hesitate. "Not exactly."
"Holly Noelle White. Who were you stuck with?"
"My boss."
The silence on the other end is deafening.
"Mom—"
"Was he nice to you?"
"Very." There’s a pause. She knows me, almost better than I know myself. I have no doubt she’s reading between the lines.
