I didn't tell Bart. Didn't want to give Drew any time, any space in what we were building. But the worry lived in the back of my mind—what if he actually showed up here? He was impulsive enough, ego-driven enough, especially if he was having regrets over breaking up with me.
I pushed the thought away and focused on the work. On Bart's sexy smiles. On wish lists getting checked off one by one.
LATE ON THE TWENTY-first, I set up my phone in the barn after the last volunteer had left. The space looked amazing—shelves packed with beautifully-wrapped items, everything organized and labeled, ready for Christmas Eve delivery.
I tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear and hit record.
"Hope Peak, you've shown up in the most incredible way." I gestured to the packages behind me. "We've raised over eighteen thousand dollars in community donations—and every penny has been matched by our benefactor. Christmas mornings will be filled with joy instead of disappointment because this community has heart."
I talked about the enthusiasm of the volunteers, the delivery routes being finalized, the holiday just days away. Let my genuine emotion show through without worrying about my image. The kind of content that actually meant something.
When I turned off the ring light, Bart was watching from his usual corner.
"What?"
"You're different when you film now—revealing your true self more. Not like those early videos."
I crossed the barn and dropped into his lap without asking. His arms came around me instinctively, and I pulled out my phone out of habit. "Five hundred ninety-six thousand. Up from four-eighty-seven when I got here."
"Over a hundred thousand in two weeks."
"Yeah." I stared at the number, oddly disconnected from it. "The weird thing is, I check less and less. Used to be every five minutes, obsessively refreshing. But this—" I gestured around the barn, at the myriad lists and boxes and supplies, "—this feels more important than any follower count ever did."
Bart's grip strengthened around me. "Thank you for all of this."
"Thanks to us." I turned to look at him. "We make a good team."
"Yeah. We really do."
Side by side in that peaceful quiet, space heaters humming, music playing softly from his speaker. The kind of silence that didn't need filling.
After a while he stirred. "Come on. Let's get you home."
Home. He'd said it so naturally, like his place had become mine without either of us deciding it.
Maybe it had.
THE FOLLOWING EVENINGafter another long day of final preparations, I couldn't hold the question in any longer.
We were on his couch, some action movie playing that neither of us was really watching, when I blurted: "Does the seventeen years bother you? Really?"
Bart tensed beneath me, then shifted so he could see my face. "What brought that on?"
"I keep thinking about it. You're forty-two. I'm twenty-five. That's—"
"A significant gap. Yeah." He cupped my face, thumb brushing my cheekbone. "I thought about it. Wondered if I was being selfish, if I was taking advantage even though you're clearly an adult who makes your own choices. But you're not some kid, Candi. You're a woman who knows what she wants."
"I want this." The words came out fierce, certain. "I want you. I'm falling so hard for you it terrifies me."
His expression shifted—vulnerable and heated together. "Me too. So damn hard."
"How hard are we talking?” I grinned, feeling brave and reckless.
His pupils dilated. "Bedroom. Now."
He chased me upstairs, both of us stripping off articles of clothing along the way.
"I can't get enough of you."
