Chapter Nine | Sam #2
The soft golden glow from the heat lamps cast everything in a gentle blanket of warmth.
The maple branches I'd collected from the orchard framed the space, their leaves rustling in the light breeze.
The air carried woodsmoke and cinnamon from the party, mixed with the sharp scent of pine from the surrounding mountains and that particular earthiness of fallen leaves.
Gus pulled me close, one hand finding the small of my back while the other cradled mine against his chest. We moved together easily, naturally, like we'd been doing this for years instead of days.
His hand burned warm through the thin fabric of my costume, and I could feel his heartbeat under my palm, steady and sure.
"You were amazing today," he murmured against my hair. "The way you turned everything around, got everyone working together—you're an absolute wonder."
"I had help. You especially."
"We make a good team." His hand tightened on my waist, and I knew he was thinking about more than just party planning. About mornings in the kitchen, afternoons at the pumpkin patch, late nights decorating wedding cakes.
The song shifted to something slower, sweeter.
Van Morrison's "Into the Mystic" floated across the terrace.
This was the moment to tell him about Diana's offer, to be honest about the opportunity that had just landed in my lap.
But his arms felt so right around me, and the night wrapped around us like a cocoon, and I didn't want to shatter this bubble we'd found ourselves in.
"Sam?" He pulled back slightly to look at me, always able to read my moods. "What's wrong?"
Of course he could tell. In less than a week, he'd learned to see past every professional mask, every carefully constructed wall.
The DJ's voice boomed across the terrace: "For those who want to know, the clock just struck midnight—it's officially the Witching Hour! Make your Halloween wishes, folks!"
Now or never.
I leaned forward, my lips nearly touching his ear, feeling his breath catch. "Diana offered me a job."
His whole body stiffened but he didn't let go. I pulled back to see his face, watched him process the information, saw the exact moment he understood what it meant. His jaw tightened, then deliberately relaxed.
"That's..." His voice came out rough before he cleared his throat. "That's amazing, Sam. You deserve that kind of recognition."
But his eyes told a different story. They were already saying goodbye even as his arms still held me close.
"It's in LA," I added unnecessarily. "Triple the salary. Heading up her entire event team."
"Of course it is." He managed a smile that was more grimace than joy. "The big leagues. Everything you've worked for. Your chance to show the world what you can do."
"Gus—"
"I should—" He stepped back, his hands falling away from me like cut strings. "The crew needs help with cleanup. We've got the kitchen to close down, final inventory, and I should really check that Jake properly stored the—"
"Please don't go."
"I'm happy for you." The words came out forced, each one clearly costing him. "Really. This is what you wanted. What you've been building toward your whole career."
He turned and walked back toward the inn before I could form a response. I stood alone on the stone pavers, surrounded by romantic lighting and the last gasp of our magical night, feeling like I'd lost something I'd barely had time to find.
"Rough conversation?" Rory appeared beside me, still glowing with the success of the evening but her eyes concerned.
"The party was truly special," I answered numbly.
"That's not what I meant." She studied me with those perceptive innkeeper eyes that missed nothing. "Diana made you an offer."
It wasn't a question. "How did you—"
"Small town. Word travels faster than you'd think." She smiled softly. "Also, she was bragging to anyone who'd listen about stealing you away to Hollywood."
"It's an extraordinary opportunity. Career-defining."
"It is." Rory was quiet for a moment, watching Gus's retreating figure through the French doors. Then her face shifted entirely, joy replacing concern. "Speaking of life-changing—Cass proposed!"
She held out her left hand where a simple but elegant ring caught the light—vintage-looking with a center sapphire surrounded by small diamonds.
"Oh, Rory! It's beautiful! When did he—"
"We snuck off to the gazebo for a few minutes during the party—he said he had something important to ask me and couldn’t wait another minute." Her eyes were bright with tears. "Which brings me to my question—do you have room in your calendar next year for a real Wintervale wedding?"
My heart clenched. Next year. When I'd be in LA, planning glitzy entertainment industry events, living in some soulless condominium complex with a gym I'd never use and neighbors I'd never meet.
"One that will definitely go off as planned," Cass added, appearing behind Rory and wrapping his arms around her waist, his chin resting on her shoulder. "Even if I have to tie this one down with my bare hands to keep her from overthinking every detail."
"That won't be necessary," Rory laughed, leaning back against him. "But it does sound fun."
They were so easy together, so clearly meant to be. The kind of love that made everything else fade into background noise. The kind I'd been planning for other people while keeping myself safely isolated from the risk of it.
"Sam?" Rory prompted gently. "Will you do it? Plan our wedding? I know you'll probably be busy with your new Hollywood life, but maybe—"
I opened my mouth to explain about LA, about the opportunity, about how I couldn't commit to something so far in the future when I'd be building a new life on the west coast. But then I glanced toward the kitchen and saw Gus through the doorway.
He was wiping down counters with sharp movements, shoulders rigid with tension. As if he could feel my gaze, he looked up. Our eyes locked across the space—past the dancing couples, through the romantic lighting, beyond every logical reason we couldn't work.
In his expression, I saw everything he hadn't said. The invitation to stay. The promise of what we could create together. The fear that I was already gone, just another person he couldn’t trust passing through his life.
Something settled in my chest with startling clarity.
For years, I'd been chasing ideal moments, trying to orchestrate pictures of permanence for other people while keeping myself at a safe distance. I'd built my entire existence around controlling outcomes, never letting anyone close enough to risk opening my heart.
But this week had shattered that illusion of control. Wintervale had crept past my defenses without my permission. These people had embraced me not for my ability to organize a party or solve a crisis, but for who I was beneath the spreadsheets and color-coded files. And Gus—
Gus had seen me at my worst and wanted me anyway. Had pushed me to embrace chaos, to find joy in imperfection, to stop running from feelings just because they weren't part of my five-year plan.
"Yes," I heard myself say, the word coming from somewhere deeper than logic.
Rory blinked, confused. "Yes?"
"Yes, I'll plan your wedding." My voice grew stronger, more certain with each word.
"I'll need to relocate my business here, of course.
Or set up an independent branch. But I've been thinking—destination weddings in Montana could be a great niche.
The Evergreen Inn as a primary venue, seasonal packages that play to each season's strengths. .."
"You're staying?" Rory's voice rose with excitement. "You're actually staying? What about Diana's offer?"
I looked back at the kitchen where Gus had stopped pretending to clean, his full attention on our conversation even from across the room.
"I'm staying," I announced, loud enough for him to hear, loud enough for my own heart to believe it.
"LA isn't going anywhere. But this—" I gestured to the party, the inn, the town beyond with its lights and quiet streets.
"This doesn't come around twice. Some opportunities you have to grab even when Artificial Intelligence says they don't make sense. "
Rory squealed and pulled me into a hug that probably cracked ribs. Cass clapped me on the shoulder with a grin that said he understood exactly what I was choosing. But I only had eyes for Gus, who'd abandoned all pretense and was walking toward us with an expression of cautious hope.
He stopped in front of me, ignoring Rory and Cass entirely, ignoring the other couples on the terrace, ignoring everything but me.
"You're staying in Wintervale?" His voice was rough, uncertain, like he was afraid to believe what he'd heard. "What about the job? The money? Surely you can’t hope to make here what you would by joining the network in Hollywood.”
"I've worked for success," I told him, reaching up to straighten his ridiculous Superman shirt, my fingers lingering on the fabric. "But I never worked for happiness. Not my own at least. Never thought I deserved it, maybe. Or was too scared to want something I couldn't guarantee."
"And now?"
"Now I know the difference between a life that looks good on paper and one that feels right in reality.
" I met his eyes, let him see everything I'd been too careful to say before.
"I choose the messy one. The unexpected one. I choose this small town that adopted me when I wasn’t looking. I choose you."
He pulled me against him and kissed me right there in front of everyone, deep and claiming and full of promise. Applause erupted around us—apparently we'd drawn quite an audience—but I barely heard it over the roaring in my ears and the rush of certainty.
When we finally broke apart, both breathing hard, Gus rested his forehead against mine, his hands warm against my cheeks.
"You sure about this? About upending your entire carefully planned life for a town you've known for less than a week and a chef who drove you absolutely mad?"
"I've never been more sure of anything." I smiled. "You still drive me crazy, by the way. Leaving earbuds in while cooking? Who does that?"
"Good. Someone needs to keep you from organizing the entire universe into submission."
"And someone needs to keep you from hiding in your kitchen instead of actually living your life."
"Sounds like we're stuck with each other then."
"Sounds like exactly what we need."
Around us, the party was finally, truly ending.
Guests called goodbyes, vendors packed up the last of their equipment, the DJ announced the final dance with a flourish.
But in Gus's arms, with Wintervale's lights around us and the promise of a thousand imperfect, unplanned moments ahead, I felt like the real story was starting.
Diana would call me utterly mad for turning down her offer. Emma would demand a full psychiatric evaluation and possibly an intervention. My mother would list at least seventeen reasons why this was a terrible decision, complete with financial projections and risk assessments.
But as Gus spun me one more time under the stars in my pink fairy ballgown, laughing when I stepped on his foot, then pulling me closer like he never intended to let go, I knew I'd already found what I'd been searching for deep down all along.
Home. Love. A place where being myself—intense, vulnerable, imperfect me—was not just enough but exactly right.