"Seriously?"
"Seriously. Those Instagram stories you posted?" He pulls out his phone, shows me the numbers. "Fifteen hundred views. Hardware store hasn't seen this kind of traffic since the Fourth of July sale."
Pride sparks in my chest. This is mine—my work, my strategy. "Told you video content performs better than static posts."
"You were right. As usual." He pockets his phone, and there's something careful in the way he looks at me now. Different from before. "You're really good at this, you know that? Like, genuinely talented."
My face heats. "It's just social media."
"It's not 'just' anything. You're building a brand." He shifts his weight, and I can feel the unspoken thing between us. The confession. The way he sent me home early after telling me he was attracted to me, giving us both space. "Been thinking—after the holidays, maybe we should talk about making this official? I know you said part-time while you figure things out, but I'd love to keep working with you. On your terms."
The offer catches me off guard. Not because it's pushy—River's never pushy. Even after admitting his feelings, he's kept things professional. But because he means it. Because he's offering me exactly what Terrance never did—respect for my work, space to build something, partnership instead of possession.
"Yeah," I manage. "I'd like that."
His smile widens—genuine, reaching his eyes, and for a second that careful distance drops. "Good. That's—that's really good, Bea."
Someone yells his name from the booth. He glances back, grimaces. "Duty calls. But hey—save me a dance later?"
"What?"
"The caroling. There's always dancing." He's already backing away, that confident grin breaking through. "Come find me, okay?"
He jogs off before I can respond, and I'm left standing there with my heart doing stupid things. The way he moves through the crowd—confident but not cocky, stopping to help a mom wrangle her toddler, high-fiving some kid wearing reindeer antlers. River Brooks makes everything look effortless, and I'm over here struggling to remember how to breathe around him.
Ever since he told me he was attracted to me, everything feels different. Charged. Like we're both trying to pretend there isn't this thing between us while also being hyperaware of every look, every accidental touch at the hardware store.
The hot chocolate line's wrapped around the booth. I join it, trying not to think about patrol cars and dark conversations and almost-kisses interrupted by emergency calls?—
"Hey."
Seth. Right beside me. When did he get here?
"Shit!" I jump, nearly dropping my phone.
"Sorry." He's right there, steadying hand hovering near my elbow. His ears are bright red. "Didn't mean to—I keep doing that. Startling you."
Our eyes meet, and there it is—that electric spark. That clean rain-and-cedar scent. The memory of sitting in the dark at that overlook, his confession about first kisses, the moment before the emergency call when we almost?—
"Thanks," I manage.
He straightens, shoving his hands in his pockets. Won't quite look at me. "So. Um. Busy night."
"Yeah."
Silence. But it's not comfortable anymore. It's loaded. Heavy with everything we didn't say, everything we didn't do when that emergency call came through.
"Seth—"
"I've been thinking?—"
We both stop. He finally looks at me, and those warm brown eyes are so earnest it hurts.
"You first," I say.
"I just—" He clears his throat. "About the other night. In the car. I didn't mean to make things weird, telling you about—you know. The kiss thing." His voice drops. "Your kiss. Our kiss. The first?—"
"You didn't make it weird."
