Chapter Twelve
Jo
The bells kept ringing. A steady, rhythmic jingle that shimmered through the night like laughter caught in the snow.
The sound wrapped around us as Thunder and Lightning pulled the sleigh deeper into the glowing corridor of White Pines.
Each tree was strung with golden lights that blinked like sleepy stars, their branches heavy with sugar-white snow that glittered as we passed.
I didn’t believe in magic. Not really. But somewhere between the scent of pine and the hush of falling flakes, disbelief began to melt like snow on my tongue.
The blanket Martin had given us was thick, heavy, and deliciously warm, but it was Nate’s nearness that truly banished the cold.
His thigh pressed against mine, steady and solid.
His breath ghosted against the air, warm where it met my cheek.
The scent of pine, horse, and clean air was invigorating.
“This is insane,” I murmured, watching the lights blur into streaks of color. Reds and golds painting the snow like spilled wishes.
Nate’s chuckle was low, a vibration that hummed through the space beneath the blanket.
“It sure is. Why would Silas . . .” He paused, the words caught somewhere between memory and loss.
“I was ten when I came to spend the summer with him,” he said finally.
“My parents were getting a divorce and wanted me out of the way while they sorted themselves out. I thought my dad and I were visiting for a week, but he left. And I stayed. I remember asking Silas if I’d still be here when school started again .
. . if I’d be here for Christmas too. He told me if I was, he’d make sure it was a magical one.
When he asked what that would look like, I’m pretty sure I described this. ”
“He loved you,” I said softly, my words barely louder than the jingle of the reins.
“Not enough to stay in contact after I left.”
That was hard for me to reconcile with the Silas who’d reached out to me when I needed help most. “He must have had his reasons.”
The sleigh hit a small bump, and I tipped into him. His arm went around me without hesitation. Firm, protective. I felt the strength in it, the quiet certainty that if I fell, he’d catch me.
“Either way, it was a long time ago,” he said. “And he’s no longer here to ask.”
“I’m sorry.”
He turned toward me sharply, caught off guard. “Me, too.”
The sleigh slowed. The bells softened to a murmur. Snowflakes drifted down like they’d been choreographed. One landing on the curve of his glove, melting instantly.
I told myself I didn’t need to know more about this man. Distance was safer. But the words came anyway. “Are you close to your father?”
“Yes and no. We talk often, and we’re a lot alike.”
“How would you describe him?”
“Impatient. Ruthless. Successful. Focused on winning.” His mouth pressed into a thin line.
“Is that how you see yourself?”
Nate exhaled, fog clouding briefly between us. “It’s how others see me. And how I used to see myself.”
“Used to?” I prompted gently.
“I don’t know. I’ve surpassed my father’s achievements. Not out of spite. Just purpose. I wanted to take what I was born with and build it into something bigger. Something that would last.”
“So, your idea of success is to accumulate resources for yourself and your bloodline?”
“Put like that, it sounds horrible.” His brow furrowed. “Providing for your family isn’t villain-level behavior.”
“I guess that depends on how you accumulate it,” I murmured, thinking of those who’d crushed brilliance for profit. My father’s enemies wore the same tailored smiles as I imagined Nate’s father might.
The sleigh curved through a wider trail, and suddenly the trees opened into a meadow alive with light.
Every pine shimmered with color. Blue, silver, gold.
Reflecting across the snow like spilled constellations.
It took my breath away. Maybe I’d brought up heavy topics as a defense, a way to ignore the way my pulse was syncing with his.
Nate was just as still. “There’s nothing here my father would find value in.”
“Mine neither,” I said quietly.
“Every part of this,” he continued. “The time it took, the generosity, the lack of profit. He’d see it all as a waste.”
The sleigh drifted into another clearing where strings of white bulbs hung between trees. Like fireflies frozen mid-dance. Their glow shimmered across his face, softening him.
“Tell me about your father,” he said.
“He’s also successful, driven, and impatient,” I admitted. “Not interested in money, but just as obsessed with achievement. The idea of a sleigh ride through the snow would seem frivolous. Like wasting time on nothing of importance.”
Nate’s lips curved. “Wait. We may have the same father.”
I laughed, the sound spilling out with the steam of my breath. “Outside of the fact that my family’s bank account has often hit zero, yes.”
“How do you think your father describes you?”
“Aloof. Intelligent. Innovative. Determined. Obsessed with project completion.” I smiled faintly. “All the things my mother left my father for being.”
He nodded. “Same. My mother chose a nine-to-five man and started a new family. I still see her now and then. She’s happy. Content.”
I breathed in cold air until it stung, then let the warmth of him erase it. “I don’t hear from my mother, but I hope she’s happy too. I understand why she wanted a different life. One that didn’t involve late-night experiments or half-lived promises.”
The parallels between us shimmered in the air. Two people raised by men who built worlds and forgot how to live in them.
“She might have stayed if we’d been the priority,” I said, tracing the edge of my glove. “But when my father is working on a project, how anyone else feels . . . is collateral damage.”
The sleigh slowed, the bells fading to silence as Martin guided the horses onto a narrow trail. Snow brushed against my cheek like a sigh.
“Imagine a life full of this,” I whispered. “Does anyone actually deserve this level of magical and pure?”
“I certainly don’t.”
“Me neither.” The truth hung between us, naked and weightless.
“Silas didn’t make this for me,” Nate said. “But I think I understand now why my aunt wanted me to see it. This whole place. It’s a message. Not to me, but to anyone willing to stop long enough to feel it.”
“To whom?”
“Maybe Libby,” he said softly. “Or maybe anyone who stopped believing this kind of place is possible.”
His arm tightened beneath the blanket, pulling me closer. Heat replaced chill. Heartbeat filled silence. The rest of the world blurred into the glow.
I didn’t resist. I couldn’t. His nearness felt like something inevitable. A tether pulling me back from everything cold and complicated. I rested my head on his shoulder, letting the rhythm of his breath find mine.
The lights pulsed faintly across the snow, flickering brighter, dimmer, as if the whole forest were breathing with us.
And in that quiet, I realized something: maybe this was what magic was supposed to feel like. Not something I needed to understand but rather allow myself to experience.
A yearning rose so sharp it ached behind my ribs. I blinked hard, refusing tears. This place, this night, this man. It would all melt away like snow come morning. But I knew I’d carry its warmth long after the sleigh stopped moving.