Heat floods my cheeks, but before I can respond, the choir strikes the opening notes of "Silent Night." The barn fills with voices, beautiful and harmonious, and I slip away from the crowd, climbing to the loft where the lights glow softer and the music drifts up like a prayer.
I don't wait long. Wyatt's boots creak on the ladder rungs, and then he's there, silhouetted against the warm glow below, eyes finding mine in the gentle darkness.
"You disappeared," he says, crossing the loft to where I stand by the window.
"I knew you'd follow."
He stops just close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating from his body, smell his cologne mixed with sawdust and winter air. Below us, voices rise and fall in perfect harmony, but up here it's just us and the soft twinkle of Christmas lights.
"You meant what you said down there," I say. It's not a question.
"Every word." He reaches up to touch my face, thumb brushing across my cheek. "I used to think letting people in was a weakness. That caring too much would destroy everything I'd built."
"What changed your mind?"
"You." The simple word carries so much weight. "You walked into my world and made me remember what it felt like to hope for something more than just surviving."
My breath catches. "Wyatt..."
"I love you, Emmy." The words fall between us like a gift, precious and perfect. "I love your stubborn streak and your gentle hands and the way you make everything better just by being there. I love that you saw potential in this old barn, in this broken-down ranch. In me."
Tears blur my vision as I reach for him, my hands fisting in his shirt. "I love you too. I have since that first day in the clinic, when you looked at me like I was the answer to a question you'd been afraid to ask."
He kisses me then, soft and reverent, like I'm something precious he's afraid of breaking. When we break apart, we're both breathing hard, foreheads pressed together in the golden glow of Christmas lights.
"Stay with me," he whispers. "Not just tonight. Forever. Move in, make this place yours as much as mine. Build something real with me."
"The clinic in town..."
"Keep it. Run both. Hell, expand into the next county if you want. Just say you'll stay."
I look into his eyes, seeing my future reflected there. Mornings in this barn treating animals together. Evenings on the porch watching the sunset. Christmases are filled with community and laughter and love. Children running through these fields someday, building snowmen and learning to ride horses.
"Yes," I whisper, and the word feels like coming home. "Yes to all of it."
He spins me around, both of us laughing, and when he sets me down, I'm dizzy with happiness and possibility. Outside, snow begins to fall, dusting the window with white crystals that catch the light like stars.
"There's something else," he says, suddenly nervous. "My family's coming tomorrow. Aunt May and Remy and probably half of Texas. They've been trying to drag me back into the fold for years, and now..."
"Now you're ready?"
"With you, yeah. I think I am."
The vulnerability in his admission makes my heart ache in the best way. "I'd love to meet them."
"They'll adore you. Aunt May's going to try to feed you until you burst, and Remy will probably tell you embarrassing stories about when I was twelve."
"I can't wait."
Below us, the choir finishes "Silent Night" and transitions into "Joy to the World," voices soaring with celebration. The barn is packed now, families clustered around tables, children playing games, teenagers stealing kisses under the mistletoe Matty's wife hung by the door.
"Look at that," I murmur, watching an elderly couple dance slowly near the stage. "We did this. We brought the community together."
"You did this," he corrects. "I just provided the space."
"We make a good team."
"The best." He pulls me closer, and we stand there watching our neighbors celebrate in the space we've created together. "Next year, we'll have the whole winter ready. Maybe add sleigh rides every weekend in December."
