"Thanks to you." I step closer, drawn by the flush in her cheeks and the way the Christmas lights catch in her hair. "Couldn't have done it without you."
"You could have. You just didn't have to."
The distinction matters, and she knows it. This partnership we've built, this thing growing between us, it's not about need ordesperation. It's about choice. About wanting to build something together.
"Emmy," I start, then stop, not sure how to put the feeling into words.
She solves the problem by stepping into my arms, going up on her toes to kiss me softly. It's different from our heated encounters, gentler but no less intense. A promise instead of a question.
"Christmas Eve," she murmurs against my lips. "Think you'll be ready?"
For the sleigh rides, she means. But looking into her eyes, seeing the trust and hope and something that might be love, I know she's asking about more than just a community event.
"Yeah," I say, meaning it. "I think I will."
For the first time in five years, Christmas doesn't feel like a wall I have to climb. It feels like a door that might open if I keep my hand on the knob and turn it slow.
And Emmy Sinclair might just be the key.
Chapter 10
Emmy
The barn doesn't look like the same place.
Garlands twine along the beams, white lights shimmer in loops across the rafters, and Matty's crew built a makeshift stage near the back wall where the Hope Peak Community Choir arranges their sheet music. Tables groan under the weight of roast pork, apple pies, and steaming cider. Children dart between the decorated stalls, laughing as volunteers hand out sugar cookies shaped like stars and candy canes.
I stand by the loft railing, watching the whole town of Hope Peak fill Dry Creek Ranch with sound and light, and for the first time in months, I feel like I'm exactly where I belong.
This place isn't just his anymore. It's become something bigger. Something that belongs to all of us.
Below, Wyatt moves through the crowd with surprising ease, shaking hands and accepting compliments on the renovation. He's wearing a crisp white button-down with the sleeves rolled to his forearms, dark jeans, and boots polished to a shine. His hair is still damp from a shower, and when his eyes find me across the crowd, my stomach does that familiar flip.
But it's more than attraction now. It's recognition. Like my heart calling to its match.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Mayor Patterson announces from the small stage, his voice carrying over the conversations. "Before our carolers begin, I'd like to ask Wyatt Callahan to say a few words."
Wyatt's shoulders tense, and I see him glance toward the exit like he's considering bolting. But then his gaze finds mine again, and something in his expression settles. He walks to the stage with that confident stride I've come to love, accepting the microphone with a nod.
"I'll keep this short," he begins, his deep voice carrying easily through the barn. "Five years ago, I thought Dry Creek Ranch was just land. Fences and cattle and buildings that needed constant repair."
Laughter ripples through the crowd, warm and knowing.
"But I was wrong," he continues, and now his eyes are locked on mine. "A ranch isn't just land. It's a community. It's the people who show up when you need them most, who see potential where you only see problems. It's family, whether you're born into it or choose it."
My throat tightens with emotion as murmurs of agreement echo around the barn.
"Tonight, we're opening our doors not just for Christmas, but for all the Christmases to come. Because Dry Creek isn't mine alone anymore. It belongs to all of us."
The applause that follows is thunderous, but all I can hear is the blood rushing in my ears. He's talking about more than just tonight, more than just the community. He's talking about us, about the life we could build together.
When he steps down from the stage, people surge forward to congratulate him. But his eyes never leave mine as he works his way through the crowd, accepting handshakes and back slaps with grace I didn't know he possessed.
"Dr. Sinclair!" Mrs. Parker appears at my elbow, beaming. "What a transformation. You must be so proud of what you've accomplished here."
"Wyatt did all the work," I say, though I can't take my eyes off him.
"Oh, I don't think so," she replies with a knowing smile. "A man doesn't change this much without the right woman's influence. He looks at you like you hung the moon, dear."
