Page 109

Gabe turns wide eyes on me, and I blink up at him.

“We have to get back to Dasher Valley,” he says. “Your tour of Nashburg can wait.”

I nod and check the time. “It’s almost noon. Can I leave my car here? Should we try to get on a quick flight?”

A slow smile spreads across Gabe’s face. “Actually, I have a better plan.”

I tip my head. “I’m listening.”

“Do you trust me?” he asks, linking our fingers again and pulling me out of his dressing room.

I can answer without hesitation. It’s one of the other realizations I had in the past twenty-four hours. I trust Gabe. He’s not my dad. He might mess up, sure. Don’t we all? But he’s honest and loyal—he calls Felipe weekly; he stayed to help his mom when she hurt herself; he took care of me; he stepped up to plan the Dash . . . the list goes on. I trust him with my heart. I trust him with my future.

“I do.”

He grins at me. “That’s my girl. Let’s go.”

“Beth. Hey, Bethy. Wake up for me, sweetheart.”

I smile, my eyes still closed. “Sweetheart, huh? That’s new.”

“I was trying it out.”

I can hear the grin in Gabe’s voice as he says it.

“Come on, rise and shine. We made it to our first stop.”

I blink and sit up from where Gabe made me a little bed in the passenger seat of my car. I rub my eyes, checking the time on the dashboard. “I slept for two hours?”

He nods and hands me a to-go cup. “How do you feel?”

I greedily grab for the drink and take a long sip of what tastes like a peppermint mocha, sighing in contentment as I swallow. “Better now.”

I glance over to find him watching me with such tenderness, I almost look away. I don’t, though. It’s okay to have good things—to feel like I belong with him. Right? Right.

“Where are we?” I ask when I finally look out the window, furrowing my brow. “A thrift store?”

“Heck yeah. It’s time to get our ugly Christmas sweaters for the remainder of the Dash.”

Gabe slides out of the driver seat and crosses in front of my car, coming around to open my door.

I stare up at him. “You got me a coffee,” I say slowly, realization dawning. “And now we’re getting ugly Christmas sweaters.”

He nods. “Couldn’t have the co-chairs of the first annual Dasher Valley Christmas Dash not take part, now could we? I thought we could pick each other’s outfits.”

I squeal and hop out of the car, launching myself at him and planting a kiss square on his mouth. This is the most thoughtful, fun idea, and I can’t wait to spend the day with Gabe, doing our own version of the Dash.

“You’re the best!” I tell him after a few more rounds of kisses.

He gets a wicked gleam in his eye. “We’ll see if you still think so after I pick out a Christmas sweater for you.”

I laugh. “Do your worst, McKenzie.”

Twenty minutes and two very loud, matching cherry-red-and-lime-green-striped Christmas sweaters later, Gabe and I tumble back into my car. He cues up a Christmas playlist, and we sing and talk as we continue on our road trip back to Dasher Valley.

“What’s your new year like?” I ask. “Busy?”

“Not too busy, no. I’ll mostly be writing, working on the album I’m hoping to release next summer. I’ll be flexible.”