Holden was quiet for a moment. “You don't have to go inside. I can handle the delivery myself.”
“No.” I shook my head. “I want to help. I want to be here with you.” I turned to look at him, at the way the morning light caught his profile. “Besides, I'm not letting Landon Hawkins ruin one more thing for me. Not even by association.”
Holden's mouth curved. “That's my sunshine.”
“Shut up.”
He parked the van near the service entrance, and we climbed out into the crisp mountain air. The lodge rose above us, all dark timber and river rock, windows reflecting clouds and sky. Through the glass, I could see the great room, the massive stone fireplace at its center, flames already burning, leather furniture arranged in clusters around it. To the right, the restaurant where the reception would be held. To the left, the hallway that led to the hotel rooms.
The scale of it still got to me. Not because it was impressive, though it was. Because Landon had grown up here, had taken forgranted the kind of wealth that could build something like this, and I'd spent two years feeling small beside it.
Holden came around the van and stood next to me, looking up at the building. In his work boots and flannel, sawdust still clinging to his cuffs, he looked exactly like himself. Unbothered by the grandeur. Unimpressed by the name on the building.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Yeah.” I grabbed the first box from the back. “Let's make this wedding beautiful.”
We spotted Jolie, the event coordinator, who led us through the staff corridors to the great room, where the ceremony would take place.
The space was being transformed as we watched. Workers arranged chairs in rows facing the fireplace, the flames casting warm light against the stone. White ribbon draped from ceiling beams. An arch stood waiting, bare wood that would soon be covered in Holden's greenery and roses.
“The bridal bouquet and bridesmaids' flowers go in the small room off the hallway,” Jolie said, already moving. “There's a cooler in there. Centerpieces go to the restaurant for the reception, the caterers are setting up tables now. Boutonnieres stay with me.”
We unloaded in three trips. The restaurant was chaos—tables being arranged, chairs unstacked, someone arguing about the proper placement of the guest book. Through the archway to the great room, I caught glimpses of more preparation: people rushing from room to room, the chairs realigned, the arch waiting for flowers.
“The arch arrangements are in the last box,” Holden told Jolie. “Greenery and white roses, like she wanted. They'll need to go up about an hour before the ceremony.”
“I'll make sure of it.” She squeezed his arm. “Your grandmother would be proud, you know. Margaret always said you had the gift.”
Holden's jaw went tight. His shoulders pulled back, and for a moment I saw the grief flash across his face—there and gone, tucked away before anyone else could notice. He nodded, once, the gesture carrying more weight than words would have.
“Tell Emma congratulations from me,” he said.
We walked back through the great room on our way out. The morning light streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, catching dust motes, making the white ribbons glow. Someone had set out programs on a table near the entrance—Emma & David, February 15, 2026. Through the glass, I could see the ski lifts carrying their first passengers up the mountain, tiny figures gliding down the slopes in the distance.
I stopped without meaning to.
Holden stopped beside me. His hand settled on my lower back, warm through my jacket.
“You okay?”
“Yeah.” I looked at the arch, the empty chairs, the fireplace where two people would stand in a few hours and say yes to each other, promising forever. The flames danced in the hearth, and something fluttered in my chest; not anxiety, not sadness. Something that felt almost like hope. “Just thinking.”
“About?”
I thought about how I'd imagined my own wedding, once. Back when I was with Landon, back when I thought we'd last. I'd pictured something small, intimate. Not in a place like this, nothing this grand. Just somewhere that felt like us.
I'd stopped imagining it when we fell apart. Had convinced myself I didn't want it, didn't need it, was better off alone.
But standing here, in this space that was about to witness someone else's beginning, with Holden's hand steady on myback and his warmth beside me, I let myself imagine it again. Just for a second. Just enough to notice that the picture had changed. The person had changed.
“Nothing specific,” I said, pushing the thought aside before it could take root. Too soon for that. Too new. “Just—this is nice. The flowers look good.”
“They look adequate.”
I snorted. “They look beautiful and you know it.”
His mouth curved. “Maybe.”
