But footsteps pound up the ladder, heavy and urgent. We spring apart just as Matty's head appears, his face flushed with exertion.
"Boss, we got a problem with the foundation on the south wall," he says, apparently oblivious to the charged atmosphere he's interrupted. "Gonna need you to take a look."
Wyatt steps back, running a hand over his face. "Be right there."
Matty disappears again, and silence stretches between us. I pocket the keys with trembling fingers, hyper-aware of how my entire body still hums from his touch.
"I should get back to town," I say, proud that my voice doesn't shake.
He nods, but doesn't move away. "The sleigh rides. When do they start?"
"Christmas Eve. Seven o'clock. The whole town comes out for it."
"And you'll be there?"
The question catches me off guard. "Of course. I help organize the hay rides every year."
Something flickers across his face, too quick to read. "Right. Course you do."
I want to ask what he's thinking, whether he might consider coming, but more footsteps on the ladder announce Matty's return. The moment dissolves, leaving only the awkward reality of two people who can't seem to stay away from each other despite all the reasons they should.
I head for the ladder, acutely aware of Wyatt's eyes on me as I climb down. The keys feel heavy in my pocket, weighted with possibility and promise and the dangerous hope that maybe this thing between us could become something real.
The drive back to town passes in a blur of snow-covered fields and Christmas decorations. By the time I reach the clinic, my mind is spinning with plans for the barn space and memories of Wyatt's touch on my cheek.
Inside, patients wait with their owners, and I throw myself into work to distract myself from the ache of wanting something I'm not sure I can have. But every time I close my eyes, I see his face in that moment before Matty interrupted. The way he looked at me like I was something precious, something worth protecting.
And for the first time since arriving in Hope Peak, I let myself imagine what it might be like to build a life here. Not just a practice, but a real life. With someone who makes my heart race and my knees weak and who just gave me the keys to his barn like he was giving me the keys to his heart.
The thought terrifies and thrills me in equal measure.
Christmas Eve is two weeks away. Two weeks to figure out if what's building between us is real, or just the product of too much holiday magic and not enough common sense.
Either way, I have a feeling those two weeks are going to change everything.
Chapter 7
Wyatt
The phone rings at six in the morning, cutting through the pre-dawn quiet like a buzzsaw. I roll over in bed, squinting at the caller ID, and seriously consider letting it go to voicemail when I see Remy's name flashing on the screen.
But my cousin doesn't call this early unless something's wrong.
"What's the emergency?" I answer, voice rough with sleep.
"Merry Christmas to you too, sunshine," Remy drawls, and I can hear laughter in the background, the chaos of what sounds like kids tearing through wrapping paper. "No emergency. Just wanted to catch you before you disappeared into that hermit cave of yours for the day."
I sit up, running a hand through my hair. "It's December twenty-second, Remy. Christmas is in three days."
"Exactly my point. Aunt May's been calling you for weeks. When's the last time you answered?"
The guilt hits before I can stop it. "I've been busy."
"You're always busy. That's not the same thing as being alive."
I get up, padding to the kitchen to start coffee, phone pressed to my ear. Outside, snow continues to fall, covering the ranchin pristine white that makes everything look clean and new. Through the window, I can see the barn where Emmy will be working today, setting up equipment for her satellite clinic.
"Look," I say, measuring coffee grounds with more force than necessary, "I appreciate the concern, but I'm doing fine."
