“Because you needed someone like that in your life?”
She looks up at me again, laughter escaping her lips. “Can you imagine their relationship? It must be a constant game of who can manipulate the other better.”
“Yeah, probably,” I chuckle. “It sounds exhausting.”
“I bet it’s a stalemate most days. Neither wants to give in.”
I offer her my arm, and she takes it. “They deserve each other, but I pity any kids they might have—or even their friends. Bad habits tend to get passed down.”
“I don’t even want to think about it.” I shudder as we draw closer to the crowd. The idea of Asher and Kenzie having kids is genuinely frightening. Those children would undoubtedly be used as pawns for attention, and knowing Kenzie, she’d likely resent any child that drew more focus than she ever did.
“Oh no. We’re late. We’re going to be at the back,” Harper exclaims.
I reach for her hand. “I’ve got it covered.”
Her fingers curl into mine, and I tug her gently through the crowd. Even through two layers of wool, her palm radiates heat that shoots up past my wrist, makes my heartbeat stutter. The path ahead blurs as I focus on the pressure of her thumb against mine, the slight squeeze she gives when someone bumps her shoulder.
I spot Joel ahead, arms crossed, legs planted wide beside the steaming cocoa stand. He’s saved our spots right up front. I let my fingers slip from hers, immediately missing the weight of her hand.
“Oh, Joel. Bless him for that,” Harper says gratefully.
As we pass, I hear whispers of our names mingling in conversation, but if it bothers her, she doesn’t show it. Instead, she smirks at a few comments, meeting the eyes of the gossiping townsfolk. Maybe there’s a chance. Maybe she’ll be mine.
I learned long ago that the rumor mill never truly stops with Harper or her family. She’s cherished, yet there’s always something to discuss. I don’t want to add fuel to the fire, but I can’t help but enjoy hearing my name paired with hers.
“I can only stand so wide,” Joel says with a playful wink.
“That’s okay. Harper can stand in front of me. I’m taller than she is,” I respond.
“Not if I stand on my tiptoes,” she quips, playfully positioning herself in front of me to block my view.
I reach out and tickle her sides through her jacket. Her laugh vibrates against my chest as she stumbles back into me. My hands find her hips, steadying her. She doesn’t step away. Instead, she settles her weight against me, her hair brushing my chin as we watch the dark tree waiting to come alive with light.
My thumbs trace small circles just above her hipbones. Her breathing changes—a slight catch, then deeper. I slide my hands forward, around her middle, my palms flat against the wool of her coat. She tilts her head back until it rests in the hollow of my shoulder, her temple against my jaw. Her fingers interlace with mine.
The scent of her shampoo—something like wild flowers—fills my lungs. My heart pounds against her spine. I imagine us standing exactly like this next December, and the one after that. Joel catches my eye across the crowd, gives me a warning look. I loosen my grip slightly, though every muscle wants to pull her closer.
Only a couple more weeks before she leaves for Pittsburgh. A couple of weeks to find the right words. I picture her suitcases by the door, then picture them unpacked, her clothes back in drawers. Here. Home.
Chapter 18
Asher
Rumors swirl around Ford and Harper like leaves in the wind. Every time I turn, there’s someone whispering about another sighting of them together—Ford helping her with something or spending time with her family. It makes my stomach churn.
Now, I spot them arriving at the tree lighting side by side. They pause on the street, exchanging words I can’t catch over Kenzie’s incessant chatter. Then, he takes her hand, guiding her through the crowd, and I finally get a clear view of them next to Joel. Harper leans against Ford, who has his arms wrapped protectively around her, his hand resting on her belly.
“Do you think they’re sleeping together?” I blurt out.
Kenzie frowns, following my gaze. “Who? Harper and Ford?”
“Yeah.”
“Who cares?”
“I do. She’s my best friend.”
She nudges my arm, forcing me to meet her eyes. “I was her best friend, remember?”
