Chapter 6
Chapter Six
LIAM
The whole town turns out for the tree lighting. Kids dart between bundled-up legs with candy canes, teenagers cluster near the gazebo pretending not to care, and the air smells like cinnamon and cider. The square glows with strings of white lights, but the spruce at the center stands dark, waiting.
Ava’s beside me, her breath puffing in little clouds, hands shoved deep in her coat pockets. She looks like she’s trying not to smile…and failing.
“You’re enjoying this,” I murmur.
“I am not.” She tilts her chin up, defiant.
“You are. Admit it. You love a small-town Christmas.”
She rolls her eyes, but there’s a spark in them. “It’s tolerable. That’s all you’re getting.”
I laugh, and something in my chest loosens.
It hits me then, sharp and undeniable—I’ve missed this.
Missed her. Being here with her feels like slipping back into a rhythm I didn’t know I’d been missing until now.
Not just the way she looks now, older and somehow softer, but the way it always felt so easy with her, like we spoke a language no one else understood.
My mind flickers back to summers when we were kids, sprawled out on the dock with our feet in the lake, daring each other to jump in first. She’d always win, jumping in first before I dove in after her.
I remember the sound of her laughter echoing across the water, the way it wrapped around me and stayed long after the ripples settled.
That same girl is here now, in front of me, and it feels like coming home.
I’m knocked out of the memory when the mayor makes a little speech that no one listens to, then the countdown begins.
“Ten, nine, eight—” The crowd joins in, voices lifting with the falling snow.
On “one,” the lights blaze to life. The spruce bursts into color, strung with popcorn garlands, cranberries, and silver ornaments that catch the glow like fire.
A cheer goes up. Ava exhales, soft and awed, and without thinking, I slide my hand over hers where it’s buried in her pocket. She doesn’t pull away.
For one long, suspended second, the world shrinks to this: her hand under mine, warm and small, her shoulder brushing mine, the tree blazing above us.
Then a voice cuts through. “Under the mistletoe!”
We look up. Sure enough, someone strung a sprig right over the gazebo steps, and half the town has already noticed we’re standing beneath it.
“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” The chant ripples through the crowd, laughter bubbling around us.
Ava’s eyes go wide. “Absolutely not,” she whispers so only I can hear her. “You know I hate attention.”
I grin, leaning close enough that my breath brushes her ear. “Relax. I’ll behave.”
Before she can argue, I press a quick kiss to her cheek only millimetres from her mouth. The crowd erupts anyway, whistling and clapping like we just sealed an engagement.
Her skin is warm under my lips. When I pull back, her face is pink—whether from the cold or me, I can’t tell.
“Happy now?” she mutters.
“Ecstatic,” I say, and it’s the truth.
As the crowd disperses, I catch sight of a figure near the edge of the square. Tall, familiar, eyes fixed on Ava.
Derek.
He doesn’t approach, but the look is enough to twist something sharp in my chest.
I shove the feeling down and turn back to her, forcing a smile. “Come on. Let’s grab cider before the line disappears.”
She nods, but there’s a crease between her brows, like she saw him there too.