“I’ve never danced on frozen water before,” he says.
I snuggle closer to him as we move, burying my face in the crook of his neck. His phantom purr vibrates through his chest, and I melt into a limp, cozy body in his arms.
The world narrows to us—the whisper of ice beneath our feet, the glow of distant cottages strung with colored lights, the faint hum of the lake shifting below. Stars stretch across the sky, leaving me feeling small—like Finian and I are specks in the cosmos. My reflection skates along with us, but his is nowhere to be seen.
"I don’t need a reflection to be seen when I’m with you,"he says, his purr filling the silence around us.
By the time we get back to the shore, I’m breathless but filled with love and happiness.
“There’s something waiting for you on the tree,” he says.
I cock my head at him. I notice he didn’t sayunderthe tree, butonit.
A gust of wind rises off the lake, carrying the faint scent of snow and baked bread. My hair whips into my eyes, and when I brush it away, he’s gone.
I make my way quickly back up the stairs. The warmth of the house sinks into my bones. The Christmas tree lights are on—though they certainly weren’t before. I approach the glow, scanning for anything amiss.
It becomes clear what I’m looking for when something gleaming catches my eye near the middle of the tree. It's right next to an ornament with a naked gingerbread alpha from Dandy Stuff. The absurdity of the ornament always makes me smile.
A ribbon holds it, dangling from a branch: a ring. At its center is a dazzling, deep blue sapphire surrounded by a halo of diamonds.
I carefully take the ring from the branch.
I feel him before I see Finian—a breadth of hard chest behind me, then cold, ghostly fingers taking the ring and my hand, slipping it onto my finger.
“I always meant for this to go to my mate,” he whispers into my ear, planting a soft kiss on my cheek that feels like frost and starlight. “I was just waiting for the right time to give it to you.”
I turn in his arms, and he holds me. The fire crackles softly in the hearth, and for a heartbeat, he feels almost alive.
“Merry Christmas, darlin’,” he says, and I smile into his shoulder.
“Merry Christmas,” I say and outside it begins to snow.
Winnie
I flip my front sign fromOpentoClosedwith a sigh of relief. The idea that Black Friday is the biggest shopping day of the year is such a joke. Christmas Eve, in my opinion, is when the real shopping happens. Husbands doing last-minute shopping for wives, daughters for mothers, nephews for uncles—somebody always leaves it to the last minute, and ordering won’t bring anything fast enough, so they come to Dandy Stuff.
A faint rapping at said door has me rolling my eyes. Closed means closed, even on Christmas Eve. Still, I can’t suppress the worry that someone might really need something. And the guilt that I may have turned anyone away wins out, as always.
So, I turn the lock and crack open the door to find the Sheriff standing on my stoop. He wears a sheepish smile, his cheeks rosy from the cold air. One jagged scar chases down the right side of his face, and his short, salt-and-pepper hair catches in the wind. His beard frames a strong square jaw and the deep lines on his face enhance rather than detract from his gruff sheriff vibe.
“Hey, I saw the light was on, so I thought I’d drop in,” he explains.
I can’t suppress the smile that breaks across my face. Sheriff Corbin somehow does that to me. I cannot keep a neutral expression when he’s around. He smiles back brighter than before. It sends a thrill through me. I gesture for him to come in, and he does, wiping his snow-encrusted boots on the entry rug with obscene little gingerbread alphas on it—one of the many novelties we sell in the shop. Those little guys have been very popular this year. One of Rose’s new alphas even came in and got a matching pajama set for the whole pack earlier in the month.
It isn’t until I shut the door that I realize Sheriff Corbin has something in his hands.
“Well, I was going to ask if you forgot to buy a present for someone, but it looks like you came with one. Do you need an exchange?” I tease.
The gift is one of those classic, small Christmas boxes—about the size of a baseball, perfectly square, wrapped in shiny red paper and secured with a golden ribbon topped with a big gold bow. His eyes flick to the floor and he shifts on his feet before they come back up to meet mine. The ocean blue of them looks almost bruised, like he’s been carrying a weight no one else can see.
“This is for you, actually,” he says, and my heart trips over itself. I feel the blood rushing to my cheeks.
“Oh, w-wait here,” I stammer. I hadn’t planned on doing this. I’d planned to just leave my gift for him at the station and hope he got it before it died. But since he’s here, it would be really silly not to just give it to him.
I dig under my packed bags until I find it tucked in the corner and return. Sheriff Corbin eyes the medium-sized plant in my hands. It has a big Christmas tag that reads “To the new sheriff, from your Winnie.”
I wince. The “your” is too much. It felt flirty when I wrote it—now it just feels bold. Or desperate.
