Snow falls in slow, lazy flakes, drifting through the glow of the streetlamps as I step out of the firehouse and pull my collar higher against the cold. Mistletoe Bay is quiet tonight. The short shift I picked up at the last minute to cover for a guy on B shift was uneventful.
Emmy’s waiting for me by the curb. Her long red coat and matching scarf is bundled tightly around her. Her hair is pulled back and hidden under the knit winter cap on her head.
She spots me instantly. And that smile? It knocks the wind out of my lungs every single time.
“Hi, firefighter,” she teases, walking straight into me and tucking her gloved hands beneath my jacket.
I wrap my arms around her, lifting her onto her toes so our foreheads meet.
She smells like coffee, peppermint and my body wash.
“How was your shift?” she asks softly.
“Perfect, now that it’s over.”
“You hungry?” she asks. “Mom made extra lasagna. Evie stole half for herself already.”
“I’m not hungry for lasagna,” I say, brushing my nose against hers.
“Oh?” She grins. “What are you hungry for?”
“You.”
She blushes beautifully, pink blooming across her cheeks. It’s not lust that hits me hardest—it’s the way she looks at me with her bright eyes, trusting and vulnerable. Like she’s holding out the match and asking me to strike it.
“Walk with me?” I ask.
She nods, lacing her fingers with mine. I lead her down the quiet street. Snow crunches beneath our boots as we turn onto Main Street.
“This place never gets old,” I tell her, squeezing her hand.
“No, it really doesn’t.”
“I love how it still looks like the inside of a snow globe this time of year.”
“Mostly one that someone keeps shaking.” She lifts her head up to the sky and catches a snowflake on her tongue with a childlike laugh.
“Remember a few weeks ago when your mom basically proposed to me on your behalf?” I chuckle as Dockside Cafe comes into view.
“She’s unhinged.”
“She’s not wrong.”
She stops walking almost right outside the cafe doors. Her breath fogs the cold air as she studies me. “Hayes… are you okay? You’re being weirdly sentimental.”
“I’m allowed to be sentimental,” I playfully defend.
“Sure. But this is different. You’re up to something.”
She knows me too damn well.
I swallow hard, reach into my jacket, and drop to one knee before I can chicken out.
Her gasp is soft but immediate.
The snow falling around us, glitters in the streetlights like confetti.
“Emmy Alder,” I say, voice rough. “I’ve loved you for longer than I ever deserved to. Longer than you ever realized. You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me—and the only future I want.”
