“She won’t.” Luke gripped his shoulder once more. “I gotta meet Holly at the hospital. I’m going to a holiday party as herplus one. Me, a recovering lawyer and surf shop owner, in a room filled with doctors. Should be a real hit with the eggnog crowd.”
Abe gave a half-smile. “I’m praying for you, bro.”
“Thanks, man. I need it.”
Luke walked away, his boots leaving imprints in the icy sidewalk.
Abe didn’t move. The wind stirred snowflakes across the street, the scent of cinnamon and chocolate drifting from the café next door. He shifted his hand into the pocket of his winter parka and touched the velvet box.
It wasn’t time to give it to her yet. But it would be soon.
He glanced back at the window. Daphne stood there, watching him now. Her gaze met his through the glass, and a smile lifted the corner of her mouth. Small, unsure, beautiful.
He exhaled, and the knot of tension in his chest loosened. Let the lawsuits fly. Let Isaiah and his brothers rage and claw at their sons and nephews. If Daphne said yes and stayed in Kingsmill with him, everything would work out.
He crossed the street and pushed open the door to the studio. The jingle of bells cut through the quiet, and he stepped into the warmth.
All the female heads turned toward the male intrusion.
“Hey, Garland Queen.” Abe inhaled the scent of rosin, peppermint, and sweat. “You ready to get snowed in with me?”
The girls squealed and threw themselves into Daphne’s arms for hugs and validation and promises of snow queens and nutcrackers.
When she met his gaze, her smile was mirrored in her blue gaze. “Yes.” Then she added with emphasis that sounded like a tired, desperate plea. “Please.”
CHAPTER 2
Daphne relaxed inthe front seat of Abe’s truck, wrapped her scarf tighter around her neck, and listened to the Christmas music playing over the radio.
“Are you cold?” Abe asked as he drove along the mountain road.
“I’m always cold lately.”
“Have some more hot cocoa.” He motioned toward the thermos in the center console and turned up the truck’s heat.
She poured more cocoa into her mug and sipped, enjoying the hot, sweet taste. Even in the dark, the mountains rose like ghosts out of the snow, softened by flurries that drifted across the windshield in slow, hypnotic waves.
Abe drove with one hand on the wheel and the other rested casually on the gearshift. His strong, steady fingers tapped to the rhythm of Nat King Cole singing The Christmas Song. The music barely covered the rattle of sleet disguised as snowflakes and the crunch of tires rolling across packed ice.
The mountains at night were bleak, wild, and beautiful.
She pressed her forehead against the cold side window, watching the landscape change as they climbed higher. White-dusted pines lined the narrow road. In the distance a stream had frozen mid-fall.
If it wasn’t for the half-full moon and the truck’s headlights, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to see anything.
“You sure this road isn’t going to swallow us whole?”
Abe chuckled. “It’s happened. Once. Maybe twice.”
She whipped her head toward him. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Mostly,” he said, eyes twinkling.
In jeans, parka, and knit hat, he looked relaxed behind the wheel. He was at home here. And that made sense. This was where he came from. Not just in the literal sense, but in the deeper way. The snow, the mountains, the woods, his uncle’s cabin they were headed to. It all appeared written into the shape of him.
“The roads aren’t bad yet,” he said. “If necessary, I’ll chain the tires before we head out again.”
“Could we get stuck?”
