Page 92

The fire is crackling, cinnamon French toast is warming on a tray beside the hearth, and there's fresh cinnamon coffee that smells like someone bottled December just for me.

But instead of feeling romantic, I'm standing at the window in Miles's flannel shirt, silently staring through the window, cradling my coffee while watching the snow bury the valley below.

I woke up like this. Deep in thought and somehow… numb.

Like someone has been standing on my whole body all night.

Offers like this don't come around twice.

I look across and see the contract still on the table, sitting between the French toast and the butter like it paid for breakfast and now feels entitled to have its say in my life. Miles has been awake for hours, and across the room, I can see he has barely slept too.

Ten days ago, I drove into a snowbank wearing a wedding dress worth more than my car.

That's the part I keep coming back to. Crashing into the fucking snowbank.

Because I remember sitting there with my hazards blinking and my hair frizzing into a blonde disaster, thinking my life was officially over.

Turns out it was just getting started.

I got a job. I got friends. I got a Christmas tree farm that I'm now somehow trying to save.

And best of all, I got a giant hockey player who looks at me like I'm the wildest thing that ever happened to him.

The problem is… I don't know what any of this looks like without Miles in it.

That's the truth I've been struggling with since that contract landed on the table. Chilmore without Miles is still Chilmore. The bakery still smells like brown butter, the farm still needs me, my whole ridiculous wonderful life is still here.

But he's stitched into every part of it.

Nobody picked any of this for me, nobody approved it, nobody even attached any conditions to it.

For the first time in years, my life actually fits who I am.

So why does it feel like it's about to come apart?

And if Miles signs that contract and gets on a plane to Ottawa, where does that leave me?

I don't know the answer.

And maybe that's what scares me.

But I know one thing about the new Audrey, the one who climbed out of that snowbank: she doesn't wait for men to decide her future while she smiles politely in the corner.

Not anymore.

“Okay.” I turn away from the window. “We need to talk about Ottawa. And us. Preferably before that contract eats my French toast.”

Miles looks up and groans deep in his chest. “Audrey—”

"No, hear me out. Teams have schedules, right? Home stands. Bye weeks. Don't forget that planes exist. I have a job here, the first farm tour launches today, and I'm not saying it's easy, but people do this."

"Do what exactly?"

"Long distance." I look at him like I just delivered life-changing news. "You being so far away isn't a death sentence, it's just... logistics. Right? And logistics happen to be my area of purpose."

Miles sets down his coffee. "And what exactly would we be doing logistics for?"

"What do you mean?"