"Well then," Emma says briskly. "I should get back to my booth. Harper's probably given away half my inventory by now." She nods to Trent. "I'll pick you up at seven. You staying at the Inn?"
"Yes, thank you. I'll be waiting."
She turns and walks away, her stride purposeful, not looking back.
Trent watches her go.
"Your sister," he says to Jake, "is quite something."
"She certainly is."
Trent huffs a quiet laugh, then excuses himself to explore more of the festival. He shakes Jake's hand, compliments my sticky buns one more time, and disappears into the crowd.
The moment he's out of earshot, Jake turns to me.
"What was that about?"
"What was what about?"
"The kicking. The thing we supposedly have tomorrow. The sudden matchmaking."
I shrug innocently. "Did you see the way they looked at each other?"
"I saw two people making polite conversation."
"Jake." I take his hands. "There was nothing polite about it. There was... tension. The good kind."
He considers this. "You think Emma's interested in him?"
"I think Emma doesn't know what she's feeling yet. But yes. There was something there. On both sides."
Jake looks in the direction his sister disappeared, his expression thoughtful. "She hasn't dated anyone seriously since—" He stops. "It's been a while."
"Then maybe this is good timing. A handsome stranger, a remote mountain property, a whole day alone together..."
"You're enjoying this entirely too much."
"I really am."
He laughs and pulls me close. Around us, the festival continues—children laughing, music playing, the smell of cinnamon and apple and woodsmoke drifting on the cold breeze. Overhead, the clouds are thickening, promising the first real snow of the season.
"Speaking of tomorrow," I say, "what are we actually doing?"
"Funny you should ask." His voice changes slightly. Softer. More serious. "I actually did have something planned."
"Oh?"
"Walk with me?"
He takes my hand and leads me through the crowd, past the booths and the hay bales and the children playing in fallen leaves. We walk until the noise of the festival fades, until we'restanding at the edge of town where the pavement gives way to a dirt path lined with aspens.
The trees are gold and orange, their leaves catching the late afternoon light like flames. In the distance, the mountains rise against a sky thick with clouds, and the first snowflakes have started to fall, drifting down like whispered secrets.
"Jake?" I ask. "What are we doing out here?"
He stops walking. Turns to face me. His expression is soft in a way I've never seen before, and there's something in his eyes that makes my heart stutter.
"Six months ago," he says, "you drove into my life during a snowstorm."
