Graham remains where he stood with hands tucked into his coat pockets, his expression unreadable at first as he watches the joyful pandemonium unfold. But when he sees me approaching, his posture shifts. He’s straighter, more alert, a vulnerability in his eyes that he likely doesn't realize he's revealing. The raw honesty of it draws me closer.
I stop right in front of him, my breath puffing in visible clouds against the cold air combined with the subtle scent of his cologne that stirs memories of our nights together.
"You did it," I say, my voice steady yet laced with emotion. I gesture toward the sleigh where a tiny girl clutches a plush polar bear against her chest as if it's the most precious thing in her world. His eyes flash with a mix of surprise and resignation as he asks what I mean. Again, I nod toward the sleigh with overflowing gifts. He inhales slowly.
“Does it matter who paid for it?”
“Yes, it matters to me,” my voice trembling slightly with the weight of what it reveals about him.
He studies me for a long moment and finally exhales. Something loosens as he admits, “Yeah, I did it, but I really don’t want people to know.”
The words land with a soft, powerful weight that resonates through me. When I ask why he didn’t tell anyone, he shrugs one shoulder with a casual grace, his gaze drifting briefly to the sleigh before returning to me.
“What is the point? Why did you do it?”
“Because this town matters to me, and you matter to me.” His voice low and resonant, sends a shiver down my spine that has nothing to do with the cold.
My breath stutters at the depth of his words, and he steps closer, not quite touching but near enough that the heat radiating from his body cuts through the chill, enveloping me in a cocoon of warmth as he continues.
“I grew up around people who viewed holidays as mere optics, another tool to impress clients or seal deals. It always felt hollow and empty. But here, nodding toward the chaos of happy children, this is real.”
I swallow hard against the burn in my eyes as he lifts a hand, his fingertips brushing my cheek lightly with a touch that sends sparks skittering across my skin.
“I don’t want to be a man who takes memories away from people. I want to be a man that quietly makes memories happen for everyone I can, including you, Willow.”
"You never really were," I whisper, my words catching on the emotion swelling within me, "you just didn’t know how to build new ones."
His hand cups my jaw more firmly then, his thumb stroking once against my skin with a gentle pressure that ignites a slow heat in my core.
“I never want to lose you, Willow. I don’t want you to lose your memories and heritage of this town or Heathstone Lodge.”
Tears prick my eyes as I hold his gaze, refusing to look away, but I can’t speak.
“I want a future with you and this town. I want to see that lodge standing strong again.”
Emotion wells so fiercely in my throat that I have to laugh softly to keep from crying outright. I tease Graham now. “You’re really bad at staying a villain, you know that?”
This draws a quiet, disbelieving huff of laughter from him.
“Hey, I guess I just wasn’t committed to the role.”
The band transitions to a softer carol in the background, the crowd's noise blurring into a warm backdrop as snow continues to fall around us. I step closer until my chest presses against his, the solid warmth of him grounding me.
“Graham …” I whisper.
“Yeah?”
“I’m all in … with you, with this, with everything we’re about to build. I don’t know exactly what it will look like yet, but I want it only with you.”
His eyes close for one brief, overwhelmed second, lashes fanning against his cheeks. When they open, they shine with a depth that mirrors my own. His hands cradle my face and hekisses me -- slow, deep, and certain -- right there in the middle of Main Street.
No one gasps or boos. Somewhere in the distance, someone actually cheers, a sound that blends into the festivities. But the only thing I truly feel is him -- the velvet pressure of his lips, the heat of his breath mingling with mine, and the way his body aligns perfectly against me in a promise of more to come. I’m not afraid of what we might lose. I’m not thinking that way anymore. Instead, I'm exhilarated by what we’ll create … together.
Chapter 18
Willow
The parade slowly dissolves into milling groups of families saying Merry Christmas. Volunteers take down barriers. Children clutch their newly gifted toys with triumph. For me, everything else has faded into a warm blur around the man standing at my side.
