Chapter 10
Ethan
The first thing I’m aware of in the morning is warmth.
Soft curving warmth on me. I pry open one eye.
Harper Fox is tucked against my side, her head on my arm, her hand resting lightly on my chest like she drifted there in her sleep without a single ounce of hesitation. My heart doesn’t just beat — it lunges.
She’s soft and warm, pressed up against me like she belongs there. I have no idea what to do with that thought. I didn’t move toward her. I swear I didn’t. But she … she definitely drifted.
Rule number one completely obliterated.
I lie very, very still, trying to figure out how to breathe without waking her. Her hair smells like something faint and sweet — no, don’t think about that — and her breath ghosts lightly over my neck. If I die here, they can bury me like this.
I close my eyes for one more stolen second. Then …
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!
A chipper voice barrels through the door. “Breakfast delivery for our Holiday Bride couple!”
Harper jolts. I jolt. We both shove away from each other like we’ve been caught doing something illegal. Her hair is wild, cheeks flushed, eyes wide and sleepy. Kill me now.
“Is that …?” she whispers.
Mayor Janice’s voice trills, “Hope you’re decent! We’re coming in!”
Decent? We are the opposite of decent. I scramble out of bed, nearly tripping over a throw pillow. Harper covers her face with both hands, making a noise that could be a groan or a prayer.
The door swings open and Janice sweeps in with two lodge staff members pushing a cart stacked with pastries, fruit, and enough coffee to caffeinate a moose.
“Good morning, newlyweds!” Janice announces.
“We’re not—” Harper squeaks.
I mutter, “Not even close.”
Janice doesn’t hear or doesn’t care. She makes a show of looking around the room like she expects to find rose petals on the ceiling.
“Oh wonderful! You two look so cozy!”
We look like two people who barely survived a tornado. Harper’s hair is sticking up at the crown. My shirt is twisted. The blankets are in disarray like we fought a bear.
Janice claps her hands. “Breakfast in bed seemed appropriate!”
Bed. Why would she say bed? Does she want me to die? Harper scrambles off the mattress, tugging down the hem of her sleep shirt. “We were just … waking up.”
I run a hand through my hair. Mistake. She stares at my arm for a second too long, then quickly looks at the pastries as though they hold all the answers to life.
The staff unloads the tray of cinnamon rolls, croissants, Danish, a tier of muffins, and a silver pot of coffee so fancy I don’t know how to use it.
Harper inhales. “Oh. My. God.”
She reaches for a cinnamon roll the size of my hand. I take the coffee pot and pour for her first. Janice sighs dramatically. “Already acting like a real couple!”
Harper turns twelve shades of pink. I nearly spill coffee on myself.
“We have a busy schedule today,” Janice continues, flipping through her binder. “Tree lighting ceremony at St. Nicholas Chapel at six! Couples’ photos! And the Christmas Market stroll before all of that.”
Harper nearly chokes on her cinnamon roll.
“Photos?” she squeaks.
Janice beams. “Of course! The town is buzzing about our new Holiday Bride couple.”
Harper looks at me in silent panic.
I nod once, steady. “We’ll manage.”
She exhales in relief. Janice, satisfied we haven’t run away screaming, finally leaves, the staff trailing behind her.
Finally, quiet. Harper lets out the breath.
“That woman is going to be the death of me.”
I grunt. “You and me both.”
She wraps her hands around her coffee cup. “We should probably get ready.”
Probably. But I’m still thinking about the way she felt pressed against me an hour ago. I shake the thought away and force myself toward the closet.
???
The holiday market is louder than it needs to be.
Speaker systems riot from every corner, warbling Christmas carols.
Kids scream and laugh as they chase each other around the legs of reluctant adults.
It’s like being dropped inside a Christmas snow globe some kid shook too damn hard.
Harper walks beside me, close enough that our sleeves brush now and then.
Every slight touch is its own small crisis.
She keeps pausing at stalls of ornaments, candles, knitted things.
Her eyes light up like she’s seeing magic each time.
I don’t understand half the stuff on these tables, but I understand that look.
She’s … something else. Too bright against all this noise.
We make it maybe ten feet before someone with a camera waves us over. “Holiday Bride couple! Over here!” Harper freezes. Not thinking, I put my hand at the small of her back, just to reassure her she’s not in this alone. She glances up at me, wide-eyed, but she doesn’t pull away.
The photographer positions us under a canopy of hanging snowflake lights and tells us to stand closer.
Harper moves a little. I move more. Her hip brushes mine, and for one split second, I don’t mind having my picture taken.
The flash pops. She flinches and the photographer grins like he just captured the cover of some winter romance magazine. “These are perfect,” he says.
We try to keep moving, but apparently cameras breed at holiday markets. Every turn, there’s another. By the cocoa cart. Beside a wreath stall. At one point, someone tries to get us under a damn mistletoe arch. I steer her around it so fast she laughs, light and surprised.
A baker offers peppermint bark samples. Harper tastes hers and actually moans softly, but not quiet enough. It shoots straight through me. I take mine just because she looks at me like she’s waiting for my verdict. “It’s good,” I say gruffly. Her smile could melt the snow off the damn rooftops.
Then, like a nightmare wearing a velvet coat, Mayor Janice materializes out of nowhere.
“Places, lovebirds! It’s almost six! Time for the tree lighting at the church!
” Harper lets out a huge exhale. I offer her my arm without thinking.
She stares at it, startled. Then she slips her hand into the bend of my elbow.
Somehow, I don’t mind being traipsed around like show ponies.
I’m beside her all the way, and I like it.
The town has gathered around the church square, the giant spruce towering above everyone, draped in ribbons ready for the lighting.
Children run around while adults sip steaming hot cocoa.
Bells ring softly. Harper walks beside me with her hand still holding onto my arm.
Her coat is a bold electric blue — matching her eyes.
She may not know it, but she looks so beautiful. Painfully beautiful.
“I always loved the tree lighting when I was little.”
I glance down. “You should enjoy it, then.”
“I’m trying,” she admits softly. “But people are staring.”
“They’re staring because you look so pretty.”
She blinks up at me, startled. I clear my throat, instantly regretting saying it aloud. Before she can reply, someone bumps into her hard — a distracted guy carrying a stack of wrapped boxes. Harper wobbles on the icy brick path. My body moves before my brain does.
I grip her waist firmly, pulling her against me. She gasps, hands flying to my chest. The guy mutters an apology and hurries off, but I barely notice. My hand is still on her waist. Her soft curves pressed into me. Her face tipped up, inches away.
“You okay?” I ask, voice low.
“I—I’m fine,” she breathes.
Neither of us moves. Not until someone calls out, “Smile for a photo, lovebirds!”
We spring apart like we’ve been set on fire. Harper covers her face. “Oh my gosh.”
I glare at the crowd. Janice waves frantically from the stage. “Places everyone! Time to light the tree!”
Harper lets out a tiny groan. “We’re not getting out of this, are we?”
“No,” I say. Then … softer, “But I’m in this with you.”
She looks at me again and I see something dreamy in her expression. We approach the spot where we’re designated to stand. And I know for sure that I really don’t want this week to end.