“I really am sorry, Ford. I… never want to hurt you.”
“I’m tougher than I look. Just don’t make a habit out of it.”
I feel a twinge of disappointment when she releases my hand, the winter air immediately stealing the warmth we’d created together. But then she tugs off her red wool mittens, the ones with tiny snowflakes stitched along the cuff, and pulls mine off too.
When she reaches for my hand again, her slender fingers slide between mine, skin against skin, her palm surprisingly warm despite the cold. She shifts her weight on the wooden porchstep, the snow crunching beneath her as she slides closer until our shoulders touch, her floral perfume mingling with the crisp winter air around us.
“Being back home after everything feels surreal. I was supposed to be here, putting the final touches on my own wedding—getting married on Christmas Eve like I always dreamed. Now, I’m planning my sister’s wedding instead and dodging Kenzie’s events.”
“The woman who stole everything from you.”
She chuckles dryly. “Yeah, I guess she did.”
That thought makes me bristle, like ice water trickling down my spine. The muscles in my jaw tighten, and I taste something metallic. It feels like she’s still hung up on Asher—his ghost hovering between us on this snow-dusted porch.
The last thing I want is to be a rebound for someone like him, a temporary bandage over the wound he left. There’s still a chance he could come to his senses and try to win Harper back, showing up at her door with that practiced smile and some grand gesture.
The mere idea devastates me enough to contemplate escaping to a remote cabin in the mountains, surrounded by nothing but pine trees and silence, never to speak to another soul again, my only companions the occasional deer and my own bitter thoughts.
“Did you know I’ve dreamed of getting married on Christmas Eve since I was a little girl?”
This sounds like Harper. Whether she wants to admit it or not, she’s always been a dreamer.
“No, I didn’t.”
“It’s my favorite day of the year. Christmas is wonderful, but there’s something magical about the anticipation that builds on Christmas Eve.”
“I suppose there is.”
“I want to get married in the evening, stepping out to a car surrounded by Christmas lights. In my perfect scenario, it would be snowing as I kiss my husband, enveloped by the glow of twinkling lights. And no, this has nothing to do with Asher. This dream existed long before him.”
For some reason, this gives me hope. “Who did you envision when you dreamed this?”
“Well, first, it was Justin Timberlake or Nick Lachey.”
“Boy bands?”
She laughs, gently nudging my shoulder with her free hand. “Be nice. I was six or seven when these fantasies took shape. And they were hot! Who was your celebrity crush when you were younger?”
“Okay, this is totally weird.”
“Tell me. Please?”
Moving closer, she wraps herself around my arm, our joined hands resting between her thighs. I let out a sigh. “Lisa Bonet from The Cosby Show. The reruns played while I ate cereal in the mornings before school. Those were some of the only quiet moments I had before we moved here.”
She’s the only one who knows the truth about my past. Mom did a decent job hiding it, and I don’t share much with anyone. Not even Asher knows what my father and first two stepfathers did to us. But I told Harper.
“She is attractive.”
Not as attractive as Harper, though I can’t say that without sounding cheesy.
“What hurts the most is that Asher took my dream and gave it to someone else. Someone who apparently always wanted my life.”
“I’m sorry, Harper.”
She shrugs, resting her head against my bicep. “If they want it that badly, they can have it. It just feels like a stab to the chest.”
“Are you sure the pain is from losing your dream or losing Asher?”
