Bart's hand found mine. "Hard to forget. Also hard to believe that was only a year ago."
"Right? It feels like a lifetime." I squeezed his fingers. "A really good lifetime."
We pulled up to Mountainside Bistro—the nicest restaurant in Hope Peak, though calling it fancy was generous. The converted historic building had exposed brick walls, a stone fireplace crackling with warmth, and white Christmas lights twinkling along the old timber rafters. The scent of pine and woodsmoke mixed with something delicious from the kitchen. Ideal for us.
Inside, the hostess—Maggie, who'd volunteered for Christmas Wishes both years—greeted us with a warm smile. "Mr. Kane, Ms. Reed! Your table's ready. We have the private corner set up just like you requested."
Bart had requested a specific table? That was new.
He guided me through the restaurant with his hand on my lower back, and I caught familiar faces waving hello. Gerald and Laurel Thompson from Peak Provisions. Felicia Townsend, who managed my old cottage rental. Pastor Marty Williams and his wife. People who'd become friends over the past year.
Our table was tucked in a corner near the fireplace, intimate and romantic. White tablecloth, candles, a single red rose in a vase. Very un-Bart-like, this level of planning.
"What's the occasion?" I asked as he pulled out my chair. "Besides Christmas Eve?"
"Do I need an occasion to take my girlfriend to a nice dinner?"
"No, but you usually let me plan these things." I studied him as he settled across from me. "You're up to something."
"Maybe I'm just celebrating how amazing this year has been." But there was something in his eyes—nervous energy beneath his usual confidence.
The waiter appeared with champagne—Dom Pérignon, which definitely wasn't on the regular menu. Bart must have arranged this in advance.
"Champagne?" I raised an eyebrow. "Definitely up to something."
"Can't I spoil you a little?"
"You spoil me every day." But I accepted the glass, watching bubbles rise to the surface. "Though I'm not complaining about champagne."
Bart lifted his glass. "To us. To this year. To everything we've built together."
"To us," I echoed, and we clinked glasses.
I took a sip, savoring the crisp, expensive taste. This was really good champagne. Like, really good. Bart definitely had something planned.
"So," I said, setting my glass down. "Are you going to tell me what this is really about, or are you going to keep being mysterious?"
"Tell me about your day first. How did the final donation numbers come in?"
I couldn't help grinning. "Extraordinary. We raised forty-three thousand dollars in community donations this year—"
"Which I matched."
"Which you matched, bringing the total to eighty-six thousand for Christmas Wishes." I shook my head, awed by the numbers. "Bart, we helped ninety-two families this year. Ninety-two. That's almost double from last year."
"Because you built a remarkable team. The marketing campaign you ran, the volunteer coordination, the family outreach—all you."
"All us," I corrected. "I couldn't do any of it without your support. And your furniture commissions are funding the new after-school tutoring program."
"Which was your idea."
"But your woodworking pays for it." I reached across the table for his hand. "We make a good team, Kane Holdings."
"The best team." His thumb traced circles on my palm. "Tell me about the photo exhibition next month."
My face heated. "It's just a small showing at the community center—"
"Candi. You sold three prints last week. To actual strangers who wanted to pay actual money for your work."
