And despite it all, those wordshadhealed something. Christmas didn’t ache the way it had. The season she loved wasn’t tainted anymore.
Maybe tonight could heal too.
He squeezed her hand, and warmth spread up her arm, blooming in her chest like something stubbornly alive.
Tom opened her door, his thumb brushing over her knuckles before he let go.
Maybe healing didn’t need grand gestures. Sometimes it came in the quiet weight of a hand you still knew by heart.
The tires crunchedover packed snow as the car slowed to a stop.
The church.
Their church. The place where she’d walked toward him with shaking hands and a heart so full she’d thought it might burst.
The parking lot was empty, but a section of the snow had been freshly cleared—a clean, perfect rectangle under the soft wash of the headlights.
Tom got out and came around to her side. He opened her door, and the night air swept in—sharp, metallic, full of ice and winter damp. Her breath misted in front of her like a fleeting ghost.
“Come here,” he said gently, holding out his hand.
She stared at it for half a beat, her heart tripping over itself. His hand was steady. Familiar. Dangerous.
Before she could overthink it, she placed her palm in his. Warm, rough, grounding.
When she stepped out, the world went quiet—the deep, holy quiet that only comes with snow. Like the air itself was holding its breath.
Tom leaned past her into the car and then music spilled out into the night.
Her breath caught.
The opening notes to their song—soft, slow, inevitable.
The song that played when they’d danced for the first time as husband and wife.
Her heart stumbled. “Tom…”
He didn’t answer. He just extended his hand again.
She went to him slowly, every step a battle between sense and want. Her heart ached with it.
His arm slid around her waist. His other hand found hers, and the familiarity of it hit her so hard she had to exhale carefully just to stay upright.
They began to move to the familiar, devastating lyrics. Elvis confessing that he couldn’t help falling in love. Lauren understood that feeling all too well.
Snow crunched beneath their boots, a soft percussion beneath the music. Her breath unfurled in white wisps between them. His coat brushed hers with each turn, each step.
She could feel his heartbeat through all the layers of fabric—steady, confusing, infuriating.
She closed her eyes for a moment, letting her forehead rest near his collarbone. Soap. Cold air. Him. The smell hit her like memory turned physical—like being twenty-six again and believing forever was something solid.
When she looked up, his gaze was already on her. Wide open. Unguarded.
“I remember our wedding,” Tom said softly. “I remember standing up there thinking, ‘How did I get this lucky?’”
Something inside her went tight and molten.
He swallowed. “I wanted to give you everything.”
