“You’re welcome!” she announces, hands on hips. “I made this happen.”
“Oh my God,” I whisper into my hands, trying not to die from embarrassment.
Holly bounces up the steps and grabs my hand. “Did he kiss good? I think he kisses good.”
Ash chokes. “Holly!”
“What?” she shrugs. “Aunt Maggie says Uncle Ash looks like he kisses good. And now I KNOW.”
I look at Ash. He’s red. Flustered. Completely undone. I’ve never seen him like this, and it’s… adorable.
Holly squeezes my hand. “Miss Lucy?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you gonna be my—” She pauses, thinking hard. “—my Christmas? Uncle Ash says people can be Christmas.”
Ash and I stare at each other. The world goes quiet. The snow falls softly around us. Warm lights glow from inside both cabins.
I crouch to Holly’s height and brush her hair back. “Sweetheart, I’m… really happy to be your Christmas.”
She beams and throws her arms around me. I hug her back, tears stinging the corners of my eyes. Ash watches us, expression soft, full, almost reverent.
“This is the best Christmas ever,” Holly declares, stepping back and putting her hands on her hips confidently. “Now come on! We have presents!”
She grabs my hand and tugs. Ash steps closer and murmurs quietly, only for me to hear, “She may think she orchestrated this…”
His fingers slide gently along my jaw, thumb brushing my cheek again.
“…but I’ve been falling for you on my own.”
My breath catches. He leans in and kisses my forehead—soft, gentle, devastating in a totally different way. Then Holly yanks him toward the house, scolding him for “walking too slow.”
He shoots me a look over his shoulder as he goes—dark, hungry, full of promise. Christmas lights flicker behind him. Snow falls in glittering sheets. My lips still tingle. And for the first time in years…I don’t feel like I’m celebrating alone. I feel like I’m exactly where I’m meant to be.
With him. With them. With this new beginning bursting open under a snowy Devil’s Peak sky.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Ash
The firehouse is already buzzing when I pull into the lot, Holly bouncing in the back seat, Lucy sitting beside her with a travel mug between her hands and a smile she’s trying—and failing—to hide.
It’s the annual Christmas charity breakfast. Pancakes, turnout gear, kids climbing all over engines, and about sixty people in the first hour. Normally I brace for it, mentally prep for the chaos. But today?
Today I feel like I’m carrying a secret under my skin.
A warm, bright, infuriatingly pretty secret wrapped in a red dress from last night and a kiss on a snowy porch that I’ve replayed at least forty times since sunrise.
Lucy.
She’s quiet now, watching the firehouse doors with a soft curiosity in her eyes. Holly is chattering nonstop about Santa, reindeer, and how pancakes “taste better in a firehouse because the walls are magic.”
Lucy laughs, turning in the seat. “Magic walls, huh?”
Holly nods with firm conviction. “Uncle Ash says the walls keep the heat in. So that’s magic.”
I groan. “Not like that, kid.”
