Sylvie moves around her sons over to me, sliding her arm around my waist and pulling me into a warm hug that smells likecinnamon and a mother’s love. “How are you, sweetheart?” she asks quietly, though something in her tone suggests she means more than a simple greeting.
“Good,” I tell her honestly. “Really good.”
“And your parents?” she asks, though the twinkle in her eye suggests she already knows the answer. “Have they made it to the festival yet?” I laugh as I picture exactly where they probably are.
“Somewhere on your farm,” I confirm. “They said they wanted to visit the new calves first. As they say, you can take a Vermonter out of Vermont, but you can’t turn them into flatlanders.”
Henry’s laugh carries genuine amusement as he joins the conversation. “Smart people, your folks,” he says approvingly, pride clear in the way he discusses the recent additions to the herd. “Those calves are something special. Bastian did good work there.”
The praise makes something warm bloom in my chest as I watch color rise in Bastian’s cheeks. Because this is what we’re building, a life where his different talents receive equal appreciation, where farming skills matter as much as musical ability.
“Speaking of appreciation,” Finn says. “How amazing is it that the mayor is giving the band and Taylen an award for saving Winterberry’s Christmas? You can all thank me on my birthday with a nice gift.”
“It’s really not necessary,” Bastian protests. “We just did what needed doing. Anyone would have helped.”
“It’s time the town started rewarding its people,” Finn insists, passion clear in his voice despite his obvious fatigue. “People who step up when things look impossible, who put the community before personal gain.” His eyes find mine withan intensity that makes my skin prickle. “Both of you deserve recognition.”
Sylvie’s arm tightens around my waist. “We’re so proud of all of you,” she says, her voice filled with warmth. “Of everything you’ve built here.” Her eyes meet Henry’s across our circle, their love clear in the way they share a knowing smile. “Some partnerships just make sense, even if it takes time for everyone to see it.”
Joe chooses that moment to refill our mugs, so Sylvie gives me a peck on the cheek and goes to stand by her husband’s side.
“To family,” Henry says suddenly, raising his mug. “And for the grandchildren we can now start asking for.”
I cough when my cider goes down the wrong hole. Did he just…?
Bastian laughs. “How about we enjoy the honeymoon period first, Dad?”
Henry winks. “That’s the best time, son. You two enjoy it.”
I hide my face in Bastian’s coat while he and Finn collectively groan.
“Oh, you young people don’t know how to have fun these days,” Sylvie says. She pats Henry’s butt and pulls him away from the bar toward the stage area where a DJ is playing Christmas dance music.
“I hope my sleep, when it comes, resets my memory,” Finn says, shuddering.
Bastian whispers in my ear. “Do you think you’ll be touching my butt when we’re that old?”
I step away from him. “That’s it. I’m out.”
Bastian catches me, pulling me closer and stealing a kiss.
“Jeez, not you too. What’s in the water around here?” Finn puts his empty mug on the bar and walks away from us.
“I think he maybe had a fight with his whatever, whoever he is,” I say.
Bastian’s eyes go wide. “Excuse me? What do you know that I don’t? Couple rules state that all gossip that comes into the knowledge of one party must be shared with the significant other.”
I snort. “You’re my significant other now, are you?”
He lowers his face down to my level and whispers in my ear with that low, sexy voice I can’t resist. “You bet I am. No take-backs, baby. We’re it.”
To prove it, and to prove we’re on a date, Bastian drags me again to the ring toss booth. Thankfully, he doesn’t ask again about Finn’s…whatever it is…because I genuinely don’t know. I’m trying not to let it bother me. Finn will tell me when he’s ready.
“Watch and learn,” Bastian tells me as the guy from the booth gives him a suspicious look. “This is what we call professional expertise.”
“Pretty sure throwing plastic rings at bottles isn’t exactly like performing sold-out shows,” I observe dryly.
He lines up the first throw, the ring sailing through the air with perfect accuracy, landing around the bottle’s neck with a soft clink. Another perfect landing draws a few oohs from the audience that’s gathered to watch Sebastian Hall demonstrate unexpected carnival game prowess. His final throw completes the hat trick, the ring settling around the bottle like it was always meant to be there.
