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“He told you?”

“He told me it’s been ten years. And he told me he’s been in love with you for a long time.” Nikko’s mouth pulls sideways. “So whatever this is, wherever he’s gone, it’s not because he doesn’t want you.”

The air comes out of me in a rush.

“Then where is he?”

“I don’t know. His car was at the house when I came over with Stone. Maybe he walked somewhere?”

“He walked? In this weather?”

Nikko shrugs helplessly.

Stone finally speaks up. “I know he likes walking to the lake. Maybe he went there?”

Nikko nods. “Yeah. That’s where he told me about Finn.”

“We should go look.”

“I agree,” Bastian says. “Nik, you and Stone take the truck and drive up the back road toward the lake. Taylen and I will take my truck around the other side. Finn⁠—”

“What time is it?”

Everyone looks at me.

“It’s, uh…” Nikko checks his phone. “Eleven forty.”

Wait.

I stare at them.

Because I know Fox, and every single night for the last month there’s only one place he’s been at this time.

“He’s at my apartment.”

Bastian frowns. “Are you sure?”

“No, but every night since Thanksgiving, at midnight, on the dot, he shows up at my door with a stupid piece of mistletoe he’s been carrying around like a lucky charm. Maybe—” I need to believe I’m right.

“You check your apartment,” Nikko says, “and we’ll check the other spots.”

I’m already moving. Running through the tents and the cables toward the parking area.

I get to my car, and my hands are shaking so badly it takes me two tries to get the key into the ignition.

The snow is coming down harder now, heavy, soft flakes that catch in the headlights. I get stuck in the traffic of people leaving the festival, but as soon as I’m on the main road, I gun it.

Come on. Come on. Come on.

I run every moment we’ve had together through my head.

Both Nikko and Noëlle said he loves me.

Fox has been showing it to me every single day we’ve spent together.

My Fox. The kind of man who drove for a week to stand at my door with a sprig of mistletoe.

I have spent weeks watching him do that and a week metaphorically pulling my hand back every time he reached for me. If he is at my door tonight, I am not pulling away.