She nodded, wiping her eyes, taking a sip of water. “It’s been quite the emotional day.” She looked up at me, soft and steady, even after everything. No bitterness. Only the quiet rhythm of being what her child needed most.
“You know, you could call your mom,” I said. “You don’t have to wait for her to call you.”
“I know. And I probably should. Just… not yet. I need to handle this on my own first.”
I didn’t know the whole story between her and her mother, but I knew enough. And I knew if mine were still alive, she’d be there—lifting Magnolia and me up even when the ground gave way.
“Hey,” I said, catching her hand before she walked off. “You’re doing this your own way. But you’re doing it. You’re not hiding, you’re not looking for an exit. You’re living, every day, for both of you. You should be proud of that.”
She moved back toward the fountain. Hoyt was watching Charlotte the way I’d just been watching Tally—like nothing else in the park mattered. I understood that look.
Tally raised her camera as Charlotte and Hoyt cut the cake, Pastor Donnelly grinning beside them. She glanced over her shoulder at me, a smile tugging at her mouth but not quite reaching her eyes. Her lips shaped the words I already knew.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
My body didn’t get the memo that we were playing it cool. I stayed put, because if I moved, I wasn’t stopping at holding her hand.
Chapter Seventeen
TALLY
Thedreamwasgood.Which, in my world, usually meant real life was about to deliver a deeply humiliating plot twist.
Lately, my dreams had been circling one man in particular. Charlie Pruitt. Uninvited. Unavoidable. Showing up night after night as if my brain had conveniently forgotten we were supposed to be keeping things light. Sometimes Lee wandered in too, because even my subconscious knew a hot, guitar-carrying man in tight jeans deserved some mental screen time. And once—deeply, painfully—there was Hoyt, the doorman, wearingnothing but a tool belt and carrying a tray of hot, salty fries with the solemnity of a priest offering communion.
But this morning, it was only Charlie.
His hands found my waist, steady, like he’d always known exactly where they belonged—the sheets bunched around my knees, warm from sleep and the heat of his skin. The weight of him settled beside me, the quiet press of his body close to mine.
The room smelled like him—sawdust, cedar, and earthy undertone that had worked its way into the walls and, apparently, into me.
His voice came low at my ear, lips brushing close, the words blurred but thick with want. A murmur about staying right here, not rushing. Not moving.
His breath coasted down my neck. Desire clenched low in my ribs.
And then he kissed me. Not desperate, not heated—just careful, deliberate. A slow press of his mouth to my forehead that sent everything in me into freefall. My body curled tighter into the dream, clinging to the last trace of him before morning pulled it all away.
I was about to lean into the heat of it, to let my subconscious fully betray me—
“Tally Tater Tot Aden, you better scoot the hell over and make room because your Christmas miracle has ARRIVED!”
I bolted upright with a yelp, half convinced I was still dreaming. But no, there he was. Dig. Wearing a red velvet robe over God knows what, grinning like the lunatic best friend he was, and climbing directly into bed with me like this was any other normal, Wednesday morning.
“Dig?” I blinked, still not convinced he was real. “What? How? What the hell are you doing here?”
“I missed you,” he said simply, flopping down beside me and throwing an arm across my middle like I was a damn bodypillow. “Also, the weird little mermaid play I’m in—Siren’d Duty—got canceled for the weekend because half the cast came down with what we think is food poisoning, but might just be a collective existential crisis over our shared failure to make it under the bright lights of the big city. Either way, I’m here. Surprise!”
Nancy, insulted by being displaced, leapt to the foot of the bed and began tap dancing in protest. Dig scratched her behind the ears, unfazed.
A sound somewhere between a sob and a laugh bubbled up in my throat. I hadn’t realized how much I needed him until he was here.
“I was dreaming,” I muttered, collapsing back into my pillow. “It was delicious.”
“Was it the big guy?” he waggled his eyebrows. “Savannah’s resident grump? Tall, bearded, brooding? Name starts with aCharlieand ends withmakes you feral in your dreams?”
I groaned and dragged a pillow over my face.
Dig gasped. “It was. Oh my God, you want to kiss him under the mistletoe and name your baby after him, don’t you?”
