“What’s that about?” he asked, gesturing to the tangle of bright colors.
“That’s the Wishing Tree,” I explained, following his gaze. “Everyone in town ties a ribbon for something they hope for—love, luck, healing. Some have been there for years; others are new today.”
Adrian reached out, not touching but close, as if the ribbons might burn if he did. “It’s beautiful,” he murmured, and for a long moment we both stood there, letting the wishes whisper in the cold air before moving on toward the hall. “Did you tie one?”
“I did.”
“What did you wish for?”
I could have evaded the question, but my wish had come true the moment Hunter said he was staying in Wishing Tree. “Love,” I said.
Adrian sighed. “If only it were that easy,” he murmured, and then pulled his shoulders back. “Let’s do this book thing.”
We headed around the back, where the energy of the day hit us all at once. The hall doors were propped open, music spilling out, and even from outside we could hear the low thrum of voices. Inside, Brooke was everywhere at once, clipboard in hand, directing volunteers as if she were orchestrating an army of people towards this event’s success. Tables of books were stacked and waiting, bright banners fluttered above them, and strings of fairy lights twined around the beams.
Hunter caught my eye from across the room, stationed behind the refreshments table with a grin that said he’d already been sweet-talked out of half the cookies. He lifted a hand in greeting, and I felt that familiar tug in my chest.
And Ru—true to his word—was near the doors, shepherding people into neat lines with a combination of polite smiles and firm gestures. For someone who claimed he had no idea what he was doing, he looked natural there, guiding readers, keeping order, and glancing back every so often to make sure we were okay.
The sight of all of it—the crowd, my brother, my best friend, my favorite author—made something swell inside me. This was Wishing Tree at its brightest, and for once, I was right in the middle of it.
Adrian gave a speech, answered some questions, and then the signing began slowly, and I was standing right behind Adrian, passing Post-it notes with names for him to sign. The first few readers stepped up to Adrian’s table with hesitant smiles and armfuls of books. His hands shook at first as he uncapped his pen, but then a young woman leaned in and whispered how Shadowveil had carried her through time in the hospital, and I watched something in him ease. His smile grew steadier, his voice warmer.
Brooke ushered families through with grace, Rukept the line moving with a mix of humor and calm, and Hunter passed out steaming cups of cocoa that filled the hall with the scent of cinnamon and chocolate. Every so often, Adrian glanced my way, as if to make sure he wasn’t drowning, and each time I gave him an encouraging nod. This was his moment, and it was beautiful witnessing how many people loved the books as much as I did.
The stack of extra books dwindled fast, signatures filling pages, and with each reader, Adrian seemed to shed a little more of his nerves. By the time a child in a Santa hat asked him who his favorite character was, he was laughing, leaning into the conversation, exactly where he belonged.
When the last book was signed and the line thinned, the hall grew quieter. Volunteers began packing away banners, Brooke closed her clipboard with a satisfiedsnap, and Hunter was left with only crumbs and empty cups at his station. Ru slipped out with a wave, leaving Adrian and me at the signing table.
“You survived,” I said, my cheeks still ached from smiling.
“Barely,” Adrian said, laughing under his breath. “They were lovely. Terrifying, but lovely.” He rubbed at the back of his neck. “Thank you for doing all this. I’m not sure I deserved it.”
“You did,” I said.
He flexed his hand, wincing with a rueful smile. “I think I signed my name more times today than in the last six months combined.”
“Worth it,” I said, still buzzing with pride. “You saw their faces. They love your stories, Adrian.”
He looked down, cheeks coloring again. “I don’t know about love. But maybe… maybe I can start to believe in myself, even if it’s just for today.”
I reached out, resting my hand on the table between us. “Not just today. You’ll see.”
“Thank you for doing this, Wes. When my publisher said I had to do a tour, she was throwing big book stores in New York at me, a couple in Toronto, and four weeks of traveling I didn’t want. This, though…” he waved at me and the hall. “Being here in a town that believes in wishes…This was perfect.” He cleared his throat, glanced at his bag. “I’ve been working on the new book again. The one we talked about. I was wondering if… maybe… I could send you a draft sometime. Not for notes or anything formal. Just someone who reads the way you do.”
I swallowed, heat climbing my neck. “I’d like that.”
“Good,” he said softly, shoulders easing. He smiled—a small, shy thing that made him look younger. “I’ll email you when I’m brave enough.”
I walked him to the door. Snow was falling again,settling on his coat, and he hugged me for a moment.
“Get home safe,” I said.
“Thank you, Wes,” he murmured, then hesitated, hand on the door. “Can I call you sometime? About books?” He glanced over my shoulder as Hunter hugged me from behind. “As a friend, I mean.”
I beamed at him. “Always.”
When he stepped out into the snow, I stood there for a moment in Hunter’s arms, watching until he turned the corner, then closed the door, and Hunter didn’t let go of me for a single moment.
