Chapter 22
Harper
The town has never looked more like a postcard.
The big spruce in the square is lit from top to bottom, ribbons catching the light, ornaments shimmering as snow drifts slowly down.
Folding chairs are lined up in neat rows, filled with bundled-up townsfolk clutching thermoses and programs. There’s a small wooden platform set up at the base of the tree, draped in white fabric and twinkle lights.
And in the center of it all, there’s a simple arch wrapped in pine boughs and fairy lights.
The “wedding arch.”
I stand just off to the side with Ruby fussing over my hair and scarf like we’re moments away from a real ceremony. Ethan is across the platform talking quietly to Mayor Janice, hands in his coat pockets, shoulders broad. He looks… calm.
I, on the other hand, feel nervous and conflicted about this faux ceremony — especially when part of me wishes it was real.
“Deep breath,” Ruby whispers, tightening the knit scarf at my throat. “You look gorgeous.”
“I look like a walking Christmas cookie,” I mutter.
“That too,” she says cheerfully.
I smooth my hands down the front of my cream sweater dress, suddenly hyperaware that this is the closest I’ve ever come to standing in front of everyone in something remotely bridal.
It’s not a wedding dress — just a soft knit dress, fleece-lined tights, and boots.
But the way people are looking at me? It feels… big.
Ethan turns then, like he feels me staring. Our eyes meet across the stage. Something passes between us and I feel a little more grounded.
“You’ve got this,” Ruby says. “And if anything goes off the rails, I’ll distract Janice by ‘accidentally’ knocking something over.”
I laugh, a quick burst. “Please don’t actually do that.”
“No promises,” she says, kissing my cheek.
Janice claps her hands. “Alright, everyone! Let’s get our couple in place. It’s time for our One Magical Match finale!”
The crowd cheers as Ethan crosses to my side, offering me his arm without a word. I slip my hand through, fingers curling around his biceps. He’s warm under all the layers. It makes me want to curl up with him in front of a fire and forget all this right now.
“Hey,” he says quietly, just for me.
“Hey.”
“You okay?”
“No,” I admit honestly. “But I’m here.”
He gives a small nod that somehow says more than a whole speech. “We’ll get through it.”
We walk together under the arch, facing Janice as she stands before us with a binder that’s definitely more dramatic than this situation requires. The murmuring crowd settles into a hush.
I feel every single pair of eyes. Janice beams so brightly you could probably see her from space. “Citizens of Cady Springs,” she announces, “and visitors, and friends—we are gathered here today to celebrate the success of our One Magical Match Holiday Bride Experience!”
The crowd claps, whistles, cheers. Someone yells, “We love you, Harper!” and I have to bite back a watery smile.
“This week,” Janice continues, “we’ve watched Ethan and Harper participate in our beloved traditions … tree lighting, cocoa tasting, gingerbread chaos.”
“Accurate,” Ethan mutters under his breath.
“And through it all, they’ve represented the spirit of the season,” she goes on. “Community, generosity … and maybe even a little holiday romance.”
Her eyes twinkle. I want to sink through the stage.
“As is tradition,” she says, “our Holiday Bride couple will now exchange symbolic vows. Nothing legally binding,” she adds quickly, winking at the crowd, “but a fun way to mark the end of their week.”
The end. The words land like a stone in my stomach.
Janice turns to me first. “Harper, dear, I’ll have you go first. Repeat after me.”
My hands curl around the little snow globe I’m holding — our snow globe. The one we made together. Lodge staff cleaned the base and added a little plaque with our names.
I stare into it with its tiny cabin and trees. Glitter snow swirls inside. A little world we made.
“Ready?” Janice prompts gently.
I lift my gaze. Ethan is watching me, expression soft. That look helps.
“I’m ready,” I say.
Janice reads, and I repeat, voice shaking at first but growing steadier:
“I, Harper, promise to always bring extra cocoa, laugh at bad jokes, and never shake the snow globe too hard when things get messy.”
The crowd chuckles.
“I promise to remember that even grumpy mountain men have soft hearts,” I continue, my chest tightening, “and that sometimes, the best surprises come wrapped in flannel instead of gift paper.”
Laughter again. I swallow.
“And for this holiday season,” I finish, “I’m grateful for the memories we’ve made … and for the man who helped me make them.”
My voice wavers on the last line. Janice gives me an approving nod like I just passed some secret small-town test.
“Beautiful,” she says. “Now, Ethan.”
Ethan shifts beside me, taking a quiet breath. I can feel his nerves in the way his arm brushes mine, the way his fingers flex at his sides.
“Repeat after me,” Janice says.
“I, Ethan,” he begins, voice steady but rough, “promise not to steal all the paper napkins … at least not without asking.”
The crowd bursts into laughter. Ruby actually whoops.
“I promise,” he goes on, eyes flicking to mine, “to always make room for one more snow globe … even if my shelves are already full.”
Another ripple of amusement.
“And for this holiday season,” he says, the humor in his tone softening into something deeper, “I’m grateful for this town … for the land I get to keep … and for the woman who made being here feel like coming home.”
My throat tightens. He didn’t have to say that. Not in front of everyone. But he did.
Janice presses her hands together like she’s about to burst into confetti. “Wonderful. Now, as is our tradition, we ask our Holiday Bride couple to present their keepsake as a reminder of the week they shared with all of us.”
My fingers tighten around the snow globe.
Ethan nods at me. “You made it,” he murmurs. “You should do the honors.”
“We made it,” I correct softly.
But I step forward anyway, cheeks flushed, and hold up the globe for everyone to see.
“This is our little cabin,” I say, voice trembling. “Our trees. Our … blizzard.” A low chuckle runs through the crowd.
“We’ll keep it,” I add. “To remember this week. And everyone who made it special.”
The applause this time is gentler. Warmer. I step back to Ethan’s side.
Janice lifts her voice one last time. “Well then! By the power vested in me as mayor and chief holiday enthusiast, I now pronounce this Holiday Bride Experience officially complete!” She grins. “You may kiss your not-quite bride.”
The crowd laughs and cheers, waiting and expecting ‘the kiss’. Ethan looks at me, that almost-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You okay with this?” he asks under the noise.
I nod, barely trusting my voice. “Yeah.”
He leans in, cupping my cheek with a hand that’s both warm and slightly rough. The kiss he gives me isn’t showy or overly dramatic. It’s simple. Sure. Certain. And completely, utterly real.
The crowd roars. Someone whistles. Someone else shouts, “Get a room!” We pull apart slowly, both a little dazed.
“This concludes our ceremony!” Janice announces, turning toward the audience. “Let’s give them one more round of applause!”
The applause swells again.
I exhale, a strange mixture of relief and sadness swirling in my chest. This is it. This was the last official thing. After this, the lodge. Packing. Returning to my normal life with my shop, my snow globes, my …
“Actually,” Ethan says suddenly. The word cuts right through the noise. The applause stutters. People shift in their seats. Janice turns back, brows lifting. Ethan doesn’t look at her. He’s looking at me.
“Sorry,” he adds, voice carrying more than it has any right to. “I’m not quite done.”
He clears his throat, still holding my hand. His palm is warm and a little damp. Nerves. I’ve never seen him nervous like this.
“A week ago,” he says, loud enough for everyone to hear, “Janice came to my cabin and offered me a deal. I show up. I play the part. I pretend to be a good sport for a few holiday events …” He glances out at the crowd briefly, then back at me.
“And in exchange, I get to keep a piece of land that means a hell of a lot to me.”
The town murmurs softly. I hold my breath.
“I wasn’t thrilled,” he continues dryly. “I didn’t want to be in the spotlight. I didn’t want cameras in my face or cocoa shoved at me or … any of this.”
Another low ripple of laughter. His gaze finds mine again.
“And then you,” he says, “walked into all of it with me.”
My chest squeezes.
“You made the noise bearable,” he says. “You made the chaos fun.” A tiny smile tugs at his mouth. “You laughed at my napkins. You dragged me into markets. You turned a stupid craft into something that actually mattered.”
The snow globe suddenly feels heavier in my hands.
“You didn’t ask for any of this either,” he adds, voice softening. “But you showed up. You were kind. Brave. Honest. You let me in.”
My eyes sting.
“Somewhere in the middle of pretending,” he says quietly, “nothing about this felt pretend anymore.”
The crowd has gone completely silent. All I can hear is my own heartbeat. Ethan lets go of my hand, but only for a second. Just long enough to reach into his coat pocket.
My breath catches. No. No, surely not. He drops to one knee. Right there on the wooden platform, under the pine arch, in front of the entire town.
Someone gasps. Someone else says, “Oh my God.” Ruby is definitely squealing. I clap a hand over my mouth.
Ethan looks up at me, eyes unguarded, every wall I’ve ever seen in him lowered.
“Harper Fox,” he says, and my name in his mouth feels like its own kind of promise, “you’ve spent your life making memories in glass because real ones are scary and fragile.”
Tears blur my vision.
“You gave me a week I’ll never forget,” he continues. “You turned my mountain back into a home. You made me want more than seven days with you.”
He opens his hand. There, nestled in his palm, is a ring. Simple, elegant. A small round diamond framed by a delicate halo of tiny stones that sparkle like snow under the lights.
My knees wobble.
“I don’t want this to end when the decorations come down,” he says. “I don’t want to go back to pretending I’m fine on my own. I don’t want to just be your fake husband for a week.” His throat works. “I want to be the real one.”
A tear slips down my cheek.
“Harper,” he says softly, so only I might hear it if not for the utter silence in the square, “will you marry me? For real this time?”
The world narrows to him and this moment. To everything we’ve shared in such a short, impossible, perfect time.
I could overthink it. I could look around at the crowd. At Janice. At Ruby, who is absolutely silently screaming.
I could list all the reasons this is too fast, too wild, too much.
Instead, I see his cabin in our snow globe. The way he held my hand at the banquet. The way he kissed me like he’d known me a lifetime. The way he looked at me when he said he didn’t regret a thing.
“Ethan,” I whisper, lowering my hand from my mouth. “Yes.”
My voice wobbles, but the word is clear.
“Yes,” I say again, louder this time as the crowd collectively inhales. “I’ll marry you.”
The square explodes. Cheering. Applause. Whistles. Ruby shouting something vaguely obscene in excitement. Someone yelling, “We knew it!”
I barely hear any of it. Ethan exhales a breath that sounds like relief, joy and wonder all at once. His hands tremble just a little as he slides the ring onto my finger. It fits perfectly.
He stands, and I don’t care that we’re in front of the entire town. I throw my arms around his neck and kiss him. He kisses me back like I’m the only person in the world.
When we finally break apart, I’m laughing through my tears, and his forehead rests against mine, both of us breathless.
“Guess this week wasn’t just pretend after all,” I whisper.
“Not for me,” he says.
“Not for me either.”
And as the snow swirls softly around us and the town celebrates, I realize I don’t need to trap this memory under glass. I get to live it each day — with him.