Chapter 16
Ethan
The arts pavilion smells like paint and hot glue. Tables are lined with plastic domes instead of glass like Harper uses in her creations. There’s lots of glitter, miniature trees, tiny figurines, and enough craft supplies to make a grown man sweat.
Harper stands beside me, eyes wide with excitement. She looks like someone just dropped her in a candy store. I look like someone dropped me in a craft-based interrogation chamber.
“Ready?” she asks softly.
No. Not even remotely. But her hand brushes mine, warm and gentle. It’s calming in a strange way.
“Sure,” I say. “How hard can it be?”
Her eyes twinkle. “Famous last words.”
We find our assigned station — two stools, a clean work mat, and a sign that says:
HOLIDAY brIDE COUPLE — HARPER & ETHAN with way too many hearts drawn around it.
“Janice needs a hobby.”
“Snow globes are a hobby,” Harper says, then quickly adds, “for some people.”
Her voice dips shyly at the end. Cute. She pulls a tray toward us. “Okay. First step is choosing the scene you want inside.”
I stare at the options:
Tiny snow-dusted cabin
Little wooden bridge
Evergreen trees
Miniature figurines of couples holding hands
A tiny deer
A sled
A church
“This is a lot,” I say.
“It’s not,” she says gently. “You’re telling a story. A memory. Something that matters.”
Her eyes lock on mine when she says that, and I feel it — the weight under her words. Memories matter to her more than she wants people to know.
She picks up the cabin figurine and runs her thumb along the snowy roof. “I used to make these when my mom was sick,” she murmurs. “I couldn’t fix anything that was happening … but I could make something beautiful and pretend everything was okay inside the glass.”
That tugs at me. I should have asked about her family before now. What was I thinking?
I pick up the same figurine slowly. “This one, then.”
“Okay,” she whispers.
She shows me how to glue the cabin to the base. I try to follow the instructions, but her hand brushes mine, steadying me, guiding me — and suddenly my entire focus shifts to her fingers wrapped around mine, the warmth of her skin, the quiet confidence in her movements.
“You’re good at this,” she says.
“No,” I answer honestly, “I’m good at following you.”
She drops her gaze quickly and reaches for the tiny trees. “We should add these. To make it more woodsy.”
Woodsy. I could laugh. My entire life is woodsy.
“Fine,” I say. “But only if we add one big tree. There’s a big one by my cabin.”
“Is it your favorite?”
I almost say yes without thinking.
“I never noticed or thought about it until now,” I admit.
She looks at me like she understands everything I’m not saying. We place the trees together. She pauses halfway, fingers brushing mine again — not by accident this time. A spark runs through me, warm and immediate.
Her voice drops. “You’re … careful, Ethan.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.”
The way she says it — soft but certain — seems like she’s seeing pieces of me I didn’t know were visible.
Harper adds a sprinkle of glitter. I add more, but it’s too much.
She laughs. “That’s a blizzard.”
“Good,” I say. “We live in the mountains.”
She laughs again and we seal the globe together, twisting the base in unison. When we flip it, snow swirls around the cabin. Harper leans closer, shoulder brushing mine, voice barely above a whisper.
“Beautiful.”
But she’s not looking at the snow globe. She’s looking at me. I feel that same magnetic pull that existed last night, softer now but no less powerful. I reach out and brush a stray bit of glitter from her cheek.
“Ethan…”
I’m focused on her lips … her eyes. The tiny tremble in her voice. I want to kiss her again. Here and now — in front of a room full of people. And I almost do. But she exhales shakily and places a hand on my chest, gentle but firm.
“Not here,” she whispers.
The disappointment is sharp. She rubs her thumb absently against my shirt, soft circles that could have me rock hard in under a minute.
“Later,” she adds quietly. “Okay?”
“Okay,” I answer. “But, we are supposed to be married.” I catch her smile, and it’s sly now, shimmering with private mischief. The sight of it unties something in my groin.
“We are,” she says. “But even fake wives have boundaries.”
I nod. “Yeah, and I can’t wait to test them.” I let my thumb linger on her cheek. She doesn’t move away.
Just as Harper and I finish packing up our snow globe, something red and glitter-covered comes barreling toward our table like a holiday missile.
Mayor Janice, of course. She appears out of nowhere.
“Oh, WONDERFUL!” she crows, grabbing the snow globe straight out of Harper’s hands before either of us can stop her. “A perfect representation of your blossoming marital synergy!”
She tilts it too far. Way too far. Harper gasps. I lunge, catching the base just before the entire thing slips from her hands and explodes into a thousand tiny heartbreaks.
“Careful,” I grit out.
Janice waves dismissively. “Teamwork! See? That right there is marital harmony. You two are practically glowing.”
I stare at her. I am absolutely not glowing. I am one poorly-timed comment away from walking into the woods with Harper and never returning.
Janice pats my arm like I’m a child who just learned to tie his shoes. “Don’t forget — cocoa tasting in fifteen minutes! We can’t have our Holiday Bride couple keeping the town waiting!”
She breezes off in a swirl of peppermint perfume and administrative purpose. Harper laughs under her breath. I tighten my grip on the snow globe so I don’t tighten it around the nearest object.
“I might actually barricade the door tonight,” I mutter.
Harper smiles up at me. We pick up the globe, walking toward the exit with the little piece of us held between both our hands.
That’s when it hits me — painfully and irrevocably. I don’t want this week to end. Not at all.