One by one, the lights flicker on. Somewhere in the background, music plays, and chills race up and down my arms.
A light sparks across the way where they strung the lights over the street.
I inhale the crisp air, the promise of snow now a reality as its cool touch wets my face. Lark’s hand slips into mine as we watch the town light up.
It’s hard to describe beauty, to put a second so profound that it rocks the very foundation that I’ve lived upon until that moment into words.
As the music plays and the tree illuminates, tears fill my eyes and I press a hand to my lips. It’s as though I’m in the middle of Santa’s workshop, where lights twinkle above and all around me. The building fronts light up with scenes of elves baking or tossing pizza, cherub-like children reading books, and an elf stuck in a truck—Arlo’s garage.
The music increases, as do the voices of the townsfolk.
“You’re right.” I turn to Arlo as Lark darts off with her friends.
“Why am I right?” He pulls me closer, staring down at me with an emotion so sweet that I willingly fall into his gaze.
“Wonderland isn’t something you can describe.” My smile softens as I continue. “It’s a feeling.”
“I have a gift for you.” He pulls back and reaches into his pocket. For a moment, his face tenses as the twinkle lights sparkle in his eyes.
“I love gifts.” I eye his hand stuck in his pocket.
Arlo raises a brow, not buying it. “Close your eyes.”
Trusting him, I close my eyes, allowing the drifting of snowflakes to rest on my lashes. He grabs my hands and presses something cool into them.
“Okay, open them.” His warm lips kiss my temple before he pulls away.
Opening my eyes, I find my keys in my hands, cool and foreign. “Arlo?”
“I figured out why it wouldn’t start yesterday.” He pauses as I look up at him. “Now you aren’t stranded here anymore. You have the freedom to go wherever you wish.” Nerves make his voice shake.
“Where would I go?”
“To find home,” he whispers.
“What if…” I lick my lips, pressing my keys back into his palm. “I’ve found home?”
Hope surges in his eyes as they dance between mine. “Where?”
“You, Arlo. You and Lark are my home. Where you go, I go.” I blow out a nervous breath. “I love you, Arlo Larson.”
“I hoped you’d say that, Birdie. I love you too.” His lips crash onto mine, stealing my breath in a devastating kiss.
As we stand together in the snow with lights surrounding us, my heart soars.
I’m home.
ONE MONTH LATER
“Happy birthday, dear Lark. Happy birthday to you!”
“And many more,” Robin drawls out in a low tenor.
Lark blows out her thirteen candles, wearing a smile on her lips and a flush on her face. All around us, friends and family cheer and clap.
In the span of two months, we not only gained priceless friendships, but a family. Lark has three women she considers aunts who spoil her not just with gifts, but with their time and endless love.
She has a woman who my gram would have adored to pieces, and dare I suggest be very good friends with. I can imagine them walking through the graveyard, restoring every single headstone and making up their stories—who they were, what kind of lives they lived, and who they loved, scandals and all.
