"Come by the ranch early, before the council gets there," I say as we gather our things. "I strung lights in the loft last night. They're crooked. Could use your eye."
She tilts her head, a smile playing at her lips. "You strung Christmas lights."
I look away so she doesn't see me smile like an idiot. "Figured the kids would like them. For the sleigh rides."
"The kids," she repeats, amused and soft. "Right."
Outside, the December air is sharp and clean, Christmas decorations glittering in the afternoon sun. Emmy slips on a patch of ice and I catch her by the elbow, my hand staying there longer than necessary.
She steps closer, tucking her chin into the collar of my coat like she wants the warmth for a second. Her voice goes quiet. "I'll be there. And Wyatt? The lights don't have to be perfect. Nothing does."
She's talking about more than Christmas decorations, and we both know it.
I watch her cross to her truck, keys swinging against her chest, and when she looks back once, I raise my hand in a wave. It feels strange and good to do it. She grins and climbs in, and I stand there like a fool until her taillights disappear around the corner.
The drive home passes in a blur of snow-covered fields and the memory of Emmy's mouth under mine. When I reach the ranch, I park by the barn and sit for a moment, staring at thebuilding that's become the center of something I'm not sure I'm ready for.
Inside, the space glows with the Christmas lights I spent half the night hanging. They're crooked as hell, strung haphazardly between the beams, but they cast everything in warm gold that makes the renovated space feel magical.
My phone buzzes again. Another text from Remy:
Remy
Whatever's got you decorating for Christmas, don't let it go. Sarah would want you to be happy.
This time, I don't delete the message. Instead, I think about Emmy's smile, the way she looked at the lights yesterday like they were the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen. Maybe Remy's right. Maybe it's time to stop punishing myself for surviving when Sarah didn't.
The council arrives exactly on time, three cars crunching through the snow. Levi climbs out first, followed by Mayor Patterson and Mrs. Parker from the historical society. They're bundled in winter coats and official expressions, clipboards in hand.
"Wyatt," Levi nods. "Where's Dr. Sinclair?"
"On her way."
As if summoned, Emmy's truck appears on the ridge, heading down the ranch road with plumes of snow kicked up behind the tires. She parks beside the council's cars and climbs out, looking professional in dark jeans and a wool peacoat, that lanyard with my keys visible at her throat.
"Sorry I'm late," she says, joining our group. "Last-minute emergency at the clinic."
"No problem," Mayor Patterson says. "Shall we take a look?"
I lead them into the barn, acutely aware of Emmy walking beside me, the subtle scent of her perfume mixing with hay and sawdust. The space looks good, I have to admit. Professional. Safe. The kind of place families would trust with their children.
"Impressive work," Mrs. Parker says, making notes on her clipboard. "The renovation exceeds our safety requirements."
"Dr. Sinclair provided excellent guidance on the layout," I say, catching Emmy's surprised look. "Her input was invaluable."
We walk through the space, the council asking questions about capacity and emergency exits and insurance coverage. Emmy answers most of them, her professional knowledge filling the gaps in my own understanding. Watching her work, seeing the respect in the council members' faces, makes something proud and protective swell in my chest.
"The lights are a nice touch," Levi observes, looking up at my crooked handiwork.
"Emmy's idea," I say, which isn't entirely true but feels right.
She bumps my shoulder gently, and the brief contact sends warmth shooting through me.
"I think we've seen enough," Mayor Patterson declares. "This exceeds our expectations, Wyatt. The Christmas Eve sleigh rides are approved."
After they leave, Emmy and I stand alone in the decorated barn, both breathing hard like we've just run a marathon.
"That went well," she says.
