I blink, processing this new information.
"Wait, she does this on purpose? Like, deliberately stands in the road to mess with people?"
"Every single day," the man confirms cheerfully, like this is completely normal behavior. "Sometimes twice a day if she's feeling particularly ornery. We've tried everything to get her to stop. Signs. Barriers. Nothing works. She's stubborn as they come."
A moose with a vendetta against cars. That's the most Canadian thing I've ever heard.
I look at Nash. He's still holding me, though his grip has loosened slightly.
His expression suggests he's trying very hard not to laugh.
"Who are you?" Nash asks, finally setting me back on my feet but keeping one hand on my waist like he doesn't trust me not to bolt toward the moose again.
"Name's Harold Morrison," the man says, extending a hand. "One of the guides and longtime residents of Millbrook. Been living here for sixty-three years. Seen just about everything this town has to offer."
Nash shakes his hand, professional despite the ridiculous situation.
"Nash. And this is Reverie."
I wave, still holding my phone, which is—oh god—still broadcasting everything.
Harold's eyes twinkle with warmth and welcome. "You folks just passing through on your way somewhere else? Or actually looking to experience our little town properly?"
"We're here to check out all the Christmas festivities," I say, my natural excitement and enthusiasm bubbling up despite the chaos of the last five minutes. "And maybe do some shopping! I heard Millbrook has the cutest boutiques and the best Christmas market in the region!"
"Well!" Harold claps his hands together, looking genuinely delighted. "In that case, would you two like a proper tour? I know all the best spots—the hidden gems tourists usually miss because they stick to Main Street. Plus, I can make absolutely certain you don't accidentally try to pet any more of our wildlife."
He says that last part with a pointed, grandfatherly look directly at me.
I pout, clasping my hands together and looking up at Nash with my very best pleading expression. Wide eyes. Bottom lip pushed out slightly. The full arsenal of Omega charms that I'm not above using when I want something.
Nash looks down at me, his expression softening despite his best efforts to stay stern and Alpha-like.
I can see the exact moment he caves.
"Why not?" He sighs, but there's fondness in his voice. "We only had plans to do some shopping here anyway. A guided tour could be... interesting. Educational. Probably safer than letting you wander around unsupervised."
"Hey!" I protest, but I'm grinning too wide for it to be convincing.
I squeal and throw my arms around Nash in an impulsive hug without thinking, forgetting about the camera clutched in one hand, forgetting about the twelve hundred people watching our every move, just genuinely happy and excited about theprospect of exploring this adorable town with a sweet local guide who probably knows every story and secret Millbrook has to offer.
Then I remember.
The live stream. The camera. The audience.
I lift my phone with slow, dawning horror, looking at the screen with eyes that must be the size of dinner plates.
The viewer count has jumped to twelve hundred. Twelve HUNDRED. That's not just a new record—that's obliterating my old record and setting a bar so high I'll probably never reach it again.
The comments are an absolute mess of chaos and excitement and questions, and demands for more content. They're scrolling so fast I can barely read individual messages but I catch glimpses:
OMG DID HE JUST SPANK HER
THIS IS BETTER THAN ANY ROM-COM
i ship it i ship it i ship it
MOOSE CONTENT + ROMANCE = PERFECT
