I glanced over, debating if I should switch the Christmas carols back to his preferred classical music, but he looked relaxed now. Happy, even. So, I left it for now.
“Did you grow up here?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he admitted. “It’s a small town, but it was home. My dad said they wanted to raise us somewhere outside the city… somewhere I’d learn right from wrong. It was quiet but I had my brother and North.”
“Do you miss it?” I asked.
“Sometimes,” he said. “I like the convenience of the city, but there are things about this place that will always mean something to me. I miss my family the most.”
“Oh my god,” I gasped, interrupting him as white flurries drifted around us. They weren’t thick enough to block our view, but just enough to make the moment feel magical.
When I looked over at Cole he was smiling at me, not the snow. Something stirred in my chest and I tried to bite back a smile of my own, but I was unable to stop it.
“Snow out here is different. It doesn’t instantly churn into a gray sludge,” he said, actually sharing in the excitement of the moment.
“I always thought there was something special about the first snow of the season,” I said. “Maybe not the first one that’s fallen butyourfirst snow.”
“Definitely magical,” he agreed, humoring me. “I have a feeling I’m going to see this town in a new light with you along, chaos.”
I let out a laugh at the nickname that most would find strange, and gaped as Pine Ridge truly came into view. Vintage lampposts lined the streets. Garland and Christmas lights were wrapped from post to post, connecting everything in a warm festive glow.
Every storefront on Main Street had Christmas window displays like they were competing with each other, each one more elaborate than the next.
In the center of the town square stood a giant Christmas tree that could rival the ones in the city. It was covered in ornaments and multicolored lights that sparkled merrily.
“This town is gorgeous,” I breathed. “It’s like something out of a holiday movie.”
“Just wait until the weekend,” he said. “They go all out with the Christmas Market. There’s hot cocoa that I literally dream about every year.”
“Sounds like we’ll be busy,” I smiled. “But in a healthy way. And no work.” I threw him a side eye to prove that I meant it.
“I’ll try my best,” he said solemnly. It felt like he meant the words so I let it go for now.
“Oh my gosh, is that real?” I gasped, spotting a sign. “ThePine Ridge Gazette? That’s a local paper.”
“That’s where I fell in love with writing,” he admitted, his voice almost wistful now. “The alpha who runs it was one of the coolest old men I ever met. He’d tell me stories until my mom had to come drag me home. I soaked up every word and even wrote a few articles about them. He let me intern there in high school.”
“That’s incredible,” I said. “I would’ve killed for something like that.”
“Did you ever want to work the other sides of journalism,” he asked, “or just writing?”
“I thought about being an editor, but writing is where my passion is. I want to travel sometimes, but I want a home base to come back to. The interviews and being on the street where events are happening, that’s where the heart of journalism is. Not just bad, but the good. It’s a balance that I find beauty in.”
“I think you’re one of a kind, Aspen,” he said. “Not many people care that much.”
“Isn’t that the point of writing?” I countered. “Tomakepeople care?”
He considered that.
“You’re right. That’s why I started the magazine,” he admitted. “Some people think it’s just houses and influencers. And yeah, that’s part of it now. But, we also showcase small businesses, new designers, restaurants, recipes, chefs… It’s about showing the diversity of pack life. We have omega-centered nesting designs and we have up-and-coming designers tell us about what led them down this path. We wanted to show the people behind every section, not just the material things, but the heart. ”
“Those who understand, get it,” I said gently, my hand reaching for him on instinct. Touching him was dangerous, it made my omega stir in a way no one ever had. “Your magazinedoestouch lives, Cole.”
“You don’t have to reassure me,” he said, shaking his head. He didn’t know me well enough to realize I never said things I didn’t truly believe, so I wouldn’t hold it against him.
“Don’t doubt what you’ve built,” I said firmly. “It won’t be for everyone. Writing, like art, is subjective.”
“It is,” he agreed. “I take pride in the magazine and everything we’ve built. I created it to be a balance of all aspects of pack life. A place for packs to see and read about people like them and see how they found peace in everyday life. Packs for younger packs to look up to.”
