“How well do I know you?”
He clears his throat. “Pretty well.”
“I get it, Aiden, or at least I get it to the best of my ability,” I murmur. “Losing your parents right around Christmas, when your entire livelihoodisChristmas…anyone would pull back. But you need this place to succeed, and people are going to expect a similar level of Christmas magic that your parents poured into this place.”
“They did.”
His expression tilts between impassive and annoyed. He looks down at his hands.
“That one Christmas I visited, it was absolutely magical.” I set my coffee on the table and lay a hand on his knee. “They wouldn’t want you to hide from it. Your mother would be devastated to know you’re keeping it all tucked away. I’m guessing it’s been that way since you lost them. Am I wrong?”
He shakes his head. “You’re spot on.”
“Plus, I’ve got a little girl who adores Christmas, and she got it from her mama…who, in part, picked up some of that from your mama.”
His eyes meet mine, and I have to stuff down the urge to pull him close. I want to kiss him. I want to pour my heart into his and soothe his hurts so badly I can’t stand it. But that’s going against everything I promised myself I wouldn’t do.
This isn’t real.
But even as the words pass through my mind, I know I’m lying to myself. Abby’s words shoulder their way into my mind again. There are very real feelings involved here. At least on my end.
I’ll just have to keep them under lock and key. I can do this.
“Let me help with the decorating,” I say, easing away from the tender part of the conversation. “I’m happy to do all of it. You won’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. That’s my last condition.”
“Owen and Evelyn have been stocking the store for weeks. Isn’t that enough?”
He’s been hiding from it since his parents died, and he can’t heal until he faces it. I know it’ll be hard, but if I can raise a child almost entirely by myself, I can help with this, too.
“And I’m sure you’re keeping décor to a bare minimum, right?”
His nose scrunches—that familiar “I’m-trying-to-stay-calm” face.
“It’s going to hurt, Aiden. But if you want this farm to succeed, you’re going to have to stop being so stubborn.”
He flinches, but he doesn’t stop me.
“It will need to look like Christmas exploded—tastefully, of course. You’re selling an experience here. And the best marketing you can get is word of mouth.”
“I know.” His knuckles go white, then loosen. “You’re right.”
“I have some ideas when you’re ready to talk about them. Ultimately, it’ll be up to you, but I want to help here, Aiden. We can save this farm with more than a piece of paper.”
He finally looks at me. “I kind of hoped you’d just say yes. But that wouldn’t be you, would it?” A smile sparks in his eyes. I let out a breath.
“You’re agreeing to all that?” I circle a finger. “Every condition?”
“I might not like them all, but you’re right. So yes.”
“So. We’re really doing this?” My heart gallops—half in fear, half elation.
“I guess we are.”
“How do we tell Phoebe? I don’t want to lie to her, but I?—”
“You want to protect her.” He flips his hand, then threads our fingers together. It’s not the first time he’s done it, but it feels so natural. Especially when we’re sitting here, making life-altering future plans.
It’s strange to discuss parenting with anyone but my parents. I’ve never had a partner who holds Phoebe in mind, too.
