Chapter 6 – Scott
The first hints of dawn filter through the barn's weathered slats, painting stripes of pale gold across the hay-strewn floor.
Abigail sighs in her sleep, her face peaceful, one hand resting over my heart as if even unconscious, she seeks its rhythm. Her red curls spill across my chest, tangled from sleep. I reach out carefully, tucking a wayward strand behind her ear, marveling at its softness, at how natural this feels.
In the gentle light of morning, something fundamental has shifted inside me. The caution that's guided every decision, the walls I've built to protect myself and this town, don't feel necessary anymore.
For years, I've been so careful—measuring risks, calculating costs, guarding against the mistakes of the past. But looking at Abigail now, I don't want to be careful anymore. I want to keep her. To build something with her. To take the risk that comes with opening my heart fully.
The fire has burned down to glowing embers, offering just enough warmth to hold back the morning chill. The entire scene feels suspended in time, fragile and perfect, like a snow globe just before the flakes settle.
She stirs, eyelashes fluttering against her cheeks before opening slowly. For a moment, confusion clouds her expression, then recognition dawns, followed by a smile that makes my chest tighten.
"Hi," she whispers, voice husky with sleep.
"Hi yourself," I murmur, unable to stop my own smile.
"How long have you been awake?"
"A while." I don't tell her I've been memorizing the curve of her jaw, the pattern of freckles across her nose, the way her body feels against mine. It sounds too intense, too soon. Except nothing about this feels too soon anymore.
"The storm's over," she observes, noticing the beams of sunlight.
"Looks like it." I tuck another curl behind her ear, letting my fingers linger against her cheek. "We should probably head back to town. People might be looking for us."
She nods but makes no move to get up, instead snuggling closer into my side. "Five more minutes?"
I drop a kiss on the top of her head. "Five more minutes."
Those five minutes stretch into twenty as we exchange lazy kisses and whispered words.
Outside, the world glitters with impossible beauty.
The early snow has transformed Harvest Hollow into a wonderland where autumn and winter collide, with golden leaves dusted with crystalline white, pumpkins wearing caps of snow, morning sunlight catching every surface and turning it to diamonds.
Our breath clouds in the crisp air as we stand hand in hand, taking in the scene.
"It's magical," Abigail breathes, her eyes wide with wonder.
I squeeze her hand, watching her instead of the landscape. "It is."
The walk back to town follows the winding path through woods and fields. Snow crunches beneath our boots, interspersed with the crackle of fallen leaves.
"What are you thinking about?" she asks, catching me watching her again.
"How quickly everything's changed," I admit. "A week ago, I was determined to keep your festival proposal from passing the council vote."
She laughs, the sound bright in the quiet morning. "And now?"
"Now I'm wondering if we should add a winter carnival in February." I pull her close, pressing a kiss to her temple. "Since you seem determined to turn our quiet town upside down."
"Just wait until you see my ideas for Christmas," she teases, eyes sparkling. "Lights everywhere. Carolers. A living nativity scene with real animals."
I groan dramatically, but there's no real resistance in it. "You're going to be the death of my carefully ordered life, aren't you?"
"Absolutely." She stands on tiptoe to press a quick kiss to my lips. "But what a way to go."
As we near the edge of town, other people appear on the roads: neighbors checking on each other after the storm, workers clearing fallen branches, children already building snowmen in yards despite the thin dusting of snow.
Every person we pass does a double-take at the sight of us together, hands linked, my arm occasionally sliding around her waist. I can practically hear the gossip spreading through Whitetail Falls at the speed of light.
Strangely, I don't mind. The private, careful man I've always been would have hated being the subject of town talk. But with Abigail beside me, her cheeks pink from cold and happiness, I find I couldn't care less who sees us or what they think.
Acorn Circle comes into view, the historic heart of Whitetail Falls bustling with activity despite the early hour.
"Oh no," Abigail murmurs, her steps faltering as she takes in the damage. The framework for her lantern display has collapsed in one section, and several vendor booths have toppled. Nothing catastrophic, but enough to set back her careful timeline.
Before I can offer reassurance, we're spotted.
"Scott! Abigail!" Meredith calls, waving from near the ancient oak tree. "Thank goodness you're all right! We were worried when no one could reach you after the storm hit."
In moments, we're surrounded by council members, volunteers, and curious onlookers. Questions fly from all directions asking where we took shelter, if we're okay, what happened at Harvest Hollow.
Through it all, I keep Abigail's hand firmly in mine, a fact that doesn't go unnoticed. I see Mabel and June exchange knowing glances, and Walt Bramble's eyebrows raise nearly to his hairline.
"The festival setup took quite a hit," Meredith says, gesturing to the scattered decorations. "We're trying to assess if we can still make the timeline work."
I feel Abigail tense beside me, her enthusiasm dimming as she surveys the setback. The practical, cautious part of me should be relieved. Here's the perfect excuse to scale back her ambitious plans, to revert to the safer, familiar festival format we've always used.
Instead, I find myself stepping forward, my voice carrying across the square.
"Martin Construction will donate the labor and materials to get everything back on track," I announce. "My crew can be here within the hour. We'll have the structures rebuilt by nightfall."
A collective gasp ripples through the gathered crowd. No one seems more shocked than Abigail, whose wide eyes turn to me with disbelief and dawning joy.
"Scott," she begins, but I squeeze her hand, silencing her protest.
"The Fall Festival is important to this town," I continue, my eyes never leaving hers. "And so is the woman who envisioned it."
Murmurs spread through the crowd, followed by scattered applause that quickly grows into cheers.
Meredith's face splits into a knowing grin, and I spot Walt giving me a thumbs-up from the edge of the gathering.
But none of that matters compared to the look on Abigail's face, a radiance that outshines even the morning sun glinting off fresh snow.
"You don't have to do this," she whispers when the crowd begins to disperse, organizing into work parties based on Meredith's direction.
I tuck a finger under her chin, tilting her face up to mine. "I want to. Not just for the town. For you."
"But yesterday you were still worried about all the risks, the cost—"
"Some things are worth the risk," I interrupt softly. "You taught me that."
Her eyes shine with unshed tears, but her smile is bright enough to warm the coldest day. "When did Scott Martin become such a romantic?"
"About the time a stubborn, beautiful event planner from Portland decided to turn my town upside down." I pull her closer, our bodies fitting together perfectly despite the layers of winter clothing. "You've talked me into the most reckless, wonderful idea I've ever had."
"The festival?" she asks, her hands sliding up my chest to rest on my shoulders.
"No." I brush my thumb across her lower lip, marveling at its softness. "Falling in love with you."
The words slip out naturally, without the fear or hesitation I might have expected. Because it's true, sometime between arguing across the council table and waking up with her in my arms, I've fallen completely, irrevocably in love with Abigail Robinson.
Her breath catches, eyes widening. "Scott..."
"Too soon?" I ask, suddenly uncertain.
She shakes her head, a tear spilling over to track down her cheek. "No. Not too soon. Just unexpected. In the best possible way." Her fingers curl into the fabric of my jacket. "I love you too. I think I have since you stood in Harvest Hollow asking about fire codes and insurance."
I laugh, the sound echoing across the square. "Nothing says romance like safety regulations."
"It does when you're the one enforcing them." She rises on tiptoe, bringing her lips closer to mine. "You care so deeply about this place, about the people here. How could I not fall for that?"
Around us, Acorn Circle hums with activity, ladders being set up, decorations salvaged, plans remade.
The ancient oak tree spreads its branches overhead, a few stubborn golden leaves still clinging to its limbs despite the storm.
Lanterns sway gently in the morning breeze, catching sunlight and scattering it like stars even in daylight.
I capture her lips with mine, pouring everything I feel into the kiss. Her arms wind around my neck as she melts against me, returning the kiss with equal fervor. When we finally part, breathless and grinning, I rest my forehead against hers.
"Welcome home, Abigail Robinson," I murmur.
Her smile is all the answer I need. Whatever storms come next, we'll weather them together, in this town that's somehow become big enough for both her dreams and mine.
Under the ancient oak, with lanterns glinting overhead and the pulse of Whitetail Falls beating around us, I've never been more certain of anything in my life.