Chapter Thirty-Nine #2
“Don’t tempt Martin,” Nate said. “He’ll do it.”
Two men I recognized from Cutting Day shuffled over, hats in hand, looking much younger than they were.
“Mr. Keat—uh, sir?” one said, addressing Ethan.
Ethan straightened instinctively, like he was about to be confronted. “Yes?”
“About last night,” the man said. “We, uh . . . wanted to apologize. That stuff we brought—”
Ethan’s expression softened, and he lifted a hand. “Son,” he said, voice dry but not unkind. “You have nothing to apologize for.”
The guy blinked.
“That was damn good moonshine,” Ethan added. “It tried to kill me, but it did it with commitment. I respect that.”
The second guy snorted. Milo turned away, laughing into a towel. Nate squeezed my hand.
“We can bring more at New Year’s?” the first guy asked hopefully.
“Absolutely not,” Claire said at the same time Ethan said, “Once was enough.”
Nate and I lost it.
Later—after soup and too-sweet hot chocolate, and several rounds of “please, call me Ethan”—the café fell into a quieter beat.
That’s when Libby and Bibi swept in, bringing cold air and armfuls of crochet and chaos.
“There they are!” Bibi sang. “Our little Christmas miracle family.”
I choked on my drink. Nate patted my back.
Libby smiled shyly, her gaze flicking to Ethan and back so fast I almost missed it.
“Ethan,” Bibi said breezily. “This is my sister, Libby. You met yesterday, but I doubt you were in shape to remember your own name.”
“Bibi,” Libby hissed.
Ethan stood, politeness kicking in. “Nice to see you again, Libby,” he said. And there it was—a softness, a warmth I hadn’t seen from him before. “I hope I wasn’t too undignified.”
Libby’s cheeks pinked. “Not at all. You were very human.”
“That bad?” he murmured.
“That good,” she said gently.
“Whoa!” Bibi leaned in, stage-whispering for the whole county to hear. “All this time I thought you didn’t say yes to Silas because you didn’t think you were good enough for him. But I had it wrong.”
“Oh, here we go,” Libby groaned.
“You kept turning him down because . . .” Bibi gestured between Libby and Ethan like unveiling a prize. “You were waiting for the right Keaton.”
“BIBI!” Libby squeaked.
Ethan turned the color of the Santa napkins.
Nate leaned in. “Is my father blushing?”
“Almost as much as Libby.”
“I didn’t know he was capable. We might need a doctor.”
Flustered, Libby fled to help Milo. Bibi sighed happily. “I love it,” she said. “Another Christmas miracle. I hope he’s good in bed.” When we all stared at her open-mouthed, she clarified, “For Libby. I have my man.”
Claire slid into the booth beside me, eyes shining. “These people are crazy,” she whispered.
I nodded.
“She seems nice,” Claire nodded toward Libby.
I followed her gaze. Libby paused to say something to Ethan, and he smiled—small, cautious, but real. “So does Ethan.”
For the first time, I didn’t see him as Nate’s intimidating father or a man carrying more grief than most people could bear. I saw someone who might finally have a chance to be happy.
The realization warmed my chest.
Martin showed up with his family. All of them. Wife. Kids. Grandkids. Ethan bought them dinner as a thank-you for the driving lesson. Libby seemed quietly, shyly impressed by the gesture. Not because of the money involved, but because Ethan seemed to genuinely like Martin.
Time passed quickly. When I looked around again Libby and Ethan were seated in a side booth chatting.
“Do you think he remembers everything from yesterday?” I asked Nate quietly.
Nate glanced at his father. “I think he remembers enough to know we’re okay,” Nate said. “That’s what matters.”
I looked at Nate—really looked. The man who’d walked into Silas’s farmhouse a stranger had somehow become the axis everything here turned on. “That’s a very loving perspective,” I said.
He bumped my shoulder. “I’m a very loving man, at least when it comes to you,” he added simply.
My heart flipped. I ducked my head toward my soup and pretended his last words hadn’t just sent my mind spinning.
He said he was loving.
Not in love.
As we drove back through town, we passed the strip of stores—the hardware store, the post office, and the pharmacy with its bell and hand-painted sign advertising cough drops, Christmas candy, and hair care.
“Pull over,” I said urgently.
Nate eased the truck to the curb. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah.” My throat tightened with how big this felt. “I just need to run in and grab something.”
“You want company?”
“No. It’ll take just a minute.”
“Words I’ll never say,” he murmured.
I rolled my eyes and hopped out.
Inside, the bell jingled lightly. The woman behind the counter greeted me in that small-town way that meant she already knew exactly who I was.
“Afternoon, Jo. What can I help you find?”
I hesitated a beat, then walked straight to hair care. My hand hovered, then wrapped around a box of brown dye—the shade closest to my real color. The woman glanced at it, then at my current not-brown hair, then back up with a knowing smile.
“Going home?” she asked.
Such a simple question for something that felt enormous.
I thought of my father. Of the battery. Of Raymean and all the danger still circling us.
I thought of Nate. Of Ethan and Claire, Martin, Bibi, Libby, Milo. Of Thunder and Lightning and the barn and the lights and the way my heart felt like it was finally free to love.
“Yes,” I said softly. “I am.”
Back in the truck, Nate glanced at the bag. “Got everything you needed?”
“More than I knew I did.”
I didn’t pull out the box. I didn’t need to. For now, it was enough to know it was there—a promise I’d made to myself.
I was done running.
Whatever came next—the takedown, the danger, the impossible science, the messy family stuff—this was my life.
This man.
This town.
This life we were building in the middle of all the chaos.
I reached over and laced my fingers through Nate’s on the gearshift.
He turned his hand so our palms met and smiled like everything would work out.
And I believed him.
Maybe I could have both: The hard and the beautiful. The fight and the Christmas lights. The mission . . . and the miracle.