Caspian hesitates. “Are you sure? I don’t want to leave you alone…”
I lean in close, my lips brushing his ear. “Come on, baby. I want to show these old ladies they’re not the only ones who can shake things in public.”
His breath catches, and I feel him shiver slightly. “Well, when you put it that way…”
Marcus makes exaggerated gagging noises. “Go before you make me lose my appetite for local romance.”
I take Caspian’s hand and lead him toward the amphitheater, where Rae is testing the microphone. The crowd has already gathered, leaving just enough space for dancing. The fairy lights cast everything in a magical glow, and the excitement in the air is palpable.
“You know,” I say, pulling Caspian close as the first notes start to play, “this reminds me of New Year’s Eve.”
He loops his arms around my neck, smiling up at me. “When you asked me to dance that night at the club before buying me a drink?”
“When you stole my heart,” I correct him, swaying us gently to the music.
“Smooth talker,” he laughs, but a blush spreads across his cheeks.
“Only for you,” I murmur, leaning down to kiss him.
As the Rocktogenarians launch into their first song, I pull Caspian closer, savoring the way he fits perfectly against me. Around us, other couples are dancing, but I barely notice them. My world has narrowed to just this, Caspian in my arms, the music washing over us, the soft glow of lights above.
“Thank you,” Caspian says suddenly, his voice barely audible over the music.
“For what?”
“For everything.” He looks up at me, his dark eyes reflecting the twinkling lights. “For helping my brothers. For being patient. For loving me.”
My throat tightens with emotion. “Loving you is the easiest thing I’ve ever done.”
The music shifts to something slower, more romantic, and Caspian rests his head on my chest. I can feel his heart beating against mine, our rhythms syncing like they were meant to be this way all along.
Over his shoulder, I can see Marcus at the booth, expertly handling the dwindling crowd while sneaking glances at his phone.
Tate and Tristan are dancing with Indy and Ben nearby, their children perched on their shoulders. The Rocktogenarians are in their element, Rae’s powerful voice filling the night air with magic.
This is Maplewood at its finest. A community coming together, celebrating love in all its forms. And here I am, holding my whole world in my arms. As I dance with Caspian under the twinkling lights, my eyes drift to the Wishing Tree, where my own wish still hangs, sealed inside its glass ornament.
I have never been happier to let Addy push me to do something, but when I wroteI wish for a chance to show Caspian how much I love him and to make things right between uson that note now hanging from the tree, I truly wished for the tree’s magic to be real.
Now, with Caspian wrapped safely in my embrace, surrounded by our friends and his newfound family, watching Marcus charm the festival-goers at the coffee shop booth, I realize my wish has come true. Maplewood has always been my home, but with Caspian here, it feels complete. And Caspian isn’t just the man I fell in love with, he’s the sunshine that breaks through my solitary winter days, the laughter that fills my quiet spaces, the missing piece that makes my life whole.
“Hey,” I say softly, making Caspian look up at me again. “I love you.”
His smile could outshine all the festival lights combined. “I love you too.”
CHAPTER 37
CASPIAN
The Following New Year’s Eve
The Vermont winter air bites at my exposed thighs like tiny, vicious teeth, but I strut down Burlington’s streets like it’s a summer night in Phoenix. My fishnets might not be practical in this weather, but practical isn’t what I’m going for tonight. New Year’s Eve is for being noticed, and these legs were made for turning heads.
A gust of wind sends shivers rippling across my skin, making the spandex of my hot pants feel like ice against my ass. My breath clouds in front of my face, temporarily fogging the edges of my black masquerade mask. I adjust it with practiced fingers, ensuring the feathers still sweep dramatically above my right eyebrow. Mom would have loved this mask. She always said I had a flair for the theatrical.
The thought of her catches in my chest, a familiar ache that’s dulled over the past few months but never quite disappears. She’d also probably tell me I’m going to catch my death dressed like this, but then she’d help me arrange the mask just right and tell me to have fun. That was Mom. Practical advice wrapped in unconditional support.
I quicken my pace, my shoes crunching against the salt-crusted sidewalk. The sound echoes off old brick buildings, their windows glowing warm against the darkness. Burlington is nothing like Phoenix or Maplewood. It’s bigger than my adopted hometown but smaller than the sprawling desert city where I grew up.
