“I’m not going to do that. Whatever you call me, I’ll answer to.”
She purses her lips, chewing on my words.
“What if I call you… Yoda?”
“I’ll answer—and ask if you’re a friend of the Jedi.”
Her head tips back in a belly laugh.
“What about… Woody?”
“I’ll answer—and ask if you’d like to be my deputy.”
“I like this game,” she grins. “I really can call you whatever I want?”
“Whatever you want,” I say with a nod. “Your rules.”
“You’re really cool.”
I shrug, palms up. “I appreciate the compliment, Phoebe. You mind if I go marry your mom now?”
She smiles widely. “Abby says we get cake when you get back.”
“It’s a date,” I tell her and stand.
Chloe’s eyes meet mine again, glassy and green. The rules we agreed on—this being a business deal, cushioning all of this for Phoebe—flash across her face.
And because I’m me—because I’m a disaster—my brain supplies a very unhelpful thought:I’m going to put a ring on that hand today.
* * *
“We’ll have to be careful coming back,” I say, noting the uptick in snowfall. “It’s really coming down.”
“For the record, I had nothing to do with this. I got a time, a place, and this dress appeared. If it’s over the top when we get there, remember that.”
“You think it’ll get that bad?” I ease us down the lane in reverse.
“No, notbad. Harper does beautiful work. I’ve worked with her, so I know what she’s capable of. I just don’t know what Abby convinced her to do.”
“That, I can believe.” I smile. “So what did you tell Phoebe?”
“A variation of the truth,” she says, fingertips twisting her necklace nervously. “I left out the why—she doesn’t need that part. I told her we were together once, a long time ago, we ran into each other, sparks flew, and we knew we needed to be together. Second chances don’t come around often. When you know, you know.” Her voice is careful, weighted with hope.
Funny that she’s echoing exactly what Owen said to me.
Maybe this marriage gives us a lane to figure out how we feel now, work through the past, and fix things. Sure, we’re doing it out of order, but time isn’t our friend.
I’ve got a farm to save, and she needs the funds to float her business until we can piece it back together.
She hasn’t said anything, but I caught a peek at her notebook in the office, and she’s having to refund more than she expected.
“Well, she seems okay with it. That’s what matters.”
“Honestly, I’m not sure how much of it stuck. She loves the tree farm and is convinced Evie’s actually Elsa. The only way I top this is moving her into Cinderella’s castle.”
Salt hisses under the tires, a strange duet with the Christmas song on the radio.
“She thinks Evie is Elsa?” I bark out a laugh. “Fair comparison, I guess. She’s pretty icy.”
