Chapter 21 #2
“I mean it, Nat,” I said, sliding my hand over hers, holding it tight. “You’re mine. You always were. But now? Now you know it, too. And I’m not letting you forget it.”
She didn’t speak for a second. Just looked down at our joined hands like she was memorizing the shape of us.
Finally, she snorted. “You sound like a caveman who got hit in the head with a Hallmark movie.”
“Only for you,” I said, dead serious.
And it wasn’t a line. It was a vow.
As the soft lights of the rehearsal dinner got closer, I glanced at Natalie again, suddenly unable to look away. Her face was flushed with cold, eyes sparkling in the moonlight. Snowflakes clung to her hair, and when she smiled softly, I felt something inside me shift completely.
I couldn’t help but stare—she was beautiful. Breathtakingly, infuriatingly beautiful.
The kind of beautiful that made you forget where you were. Who you were.
“Easton?” she asked, her voice soft and amused, an eyebrow lifting in that signature Natalie way that always told me she knew exactly what I was thinking. “Eyes on the road, Hollywood.”
“Technically, there’s no road,” I replied, dazed and very much not paying attention. I was too busy memorizing every line of her face. Like I could look at her a thousand times and still find something new to want.
“Easton,” she said again, more urgently now. “I think?—”
That was the exact moment the right runner of the sleigh caught the edge of a hidden snowdrift. Everything that happened next seemed to unfold in slow-motion chaos.
The sleigh tipped sideways, the horse let out a startled snort, and Natalie gave a surprised squeal as we both toppled over the edge.
Snow exploded upward around us in a cold, glittering cloud.
One second I was warm and romantic and deeply philosophical…
the next, I was lying flat on my back, buried in a drift, staring up at the winter sky.
“Natalie?” I asked frantically, pushing myself upright, heart hammering in panic. “Fuck. Nat! Are you okay?”
I heard her laugh before I saw her.
Sharp, surprised, and absolutely not the sound of someone mortally wounded.
Still, my heart slammed against my ribs as I scrambled through the snow, slipping once like an idiot before I spotted her—flat on her back in a snowbank, laughing so hard her whole body shook.
“Nat?” I blurted, half panicked, half confused.
She sat up slowly, hair tousled and face dusted in white like some unhinged snow nymph, and the second she caught sight of my face—apparently frozen somewhere between I think I killed you and Should I call an ambulance —she absolutely lost it.
Tears streamed down her cheeks as she doubled over laughing, wheezing like she’d just witnessed the single funniest thing in recorded history.
I gaped at her, half relieved, half mortified. “Are you laughing right now? I thought I killed you!”
“You should—see your face!” she wheezed between giggles, brushing snowflakes from her eyes. “You look like you’d single-handedly destroyed Christmas.”
“Not funny,” I grumbled, even as my lips twitched.
“Extremely funny,” she gasped, still breathless. “You crashed a sleigh because I was too pretty. That’s, like, top-tier flattery. I’m putting it on my résumé.”
I shook my head, slowly starting to grin myself as I helped her sit up. “You realize you look like a yeti, right?”
She gasped dramatically, then pointed at my own snow-covered hair. “And you look like Frosty’s long-lost cousin. ”
“Touché.” I chuckled softly, finally relaxing enough to laugh fully. “You sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine,” she assured me, her eyes warm and dancing. “But your driving privileges are permanently revoked.”
“I can’t even argue with you on that,” I said sheepishly, brushing snow off my coat. “Okay, full disclosure—there may have been a professional driver just off-camera during that sleigh commercial. I mostly just held the reins and looked emotionally available.”
“I knew it,” she said, her eyes gleaming. “I knew you’d been trained in brooding, not in basic sleigh logistics.”
“Some of us are multitalented,” I offered, deadpan. “Just…not in ways that involve steering heavy holiday machinery.”
She shook her head fondly, still giggling softly as I stood and carefully helped her up, brushing snow off her coat.
“I really am sorry, though,” I murmured. “For almost killing you.”
She smiled warmly up at me, cheeks flushed. “Well, as far as near-death experiences go, this one wasn’t so bad.”
“High praise,” I said, unable to keep from grinning. “You’re giving me a lot of that tonight.”
As we continued trying to get the snow off our clothes and tried to rescue the blankets and sleigh, laughter still lingered between us. She shot me a mock-serious look as I tried to steady the sleigh.
“Maybe next time we stick to safer traditions,” she said, snorting when she realized there was still snow in her hair.
“Like what?” I asked. “Gingerbread houses and passive-aggressive ornament placement?”
She grinned. “You say that like it isn’t a full-contact sport in my family.”
“Remind me to bring a helmet next year,” I said, nudging her gently. “And maybe body armor. Something festive, though. With bells.”
“Obviously,” she deadpanned. “We’re not animals. ”
Her laugh spilled out—light, bright, and totally unbothered by the near-death sleigh-riding experience—and it hit me like it always did. Right in the chest.
And in my dick.
We managed to right the sleigh, with some teamwork and one very offended horse, clinging to what dignity we had left, and finally made it to the rehearsal dinner. We were windblown, half frozen, and trailed a generous helping of snow through the front door.
No one asked. Not a single person commented on our disheveled entrance. Not when Natalie looked like that—rosy-cheeked, scarf askew, her smile still tugging at the corners of her mouth like she hadn’t quite come down from the high of laughing at me.
When I grabbed her hand, she didn’t let go.
Not when people looked. Not when a few heads turned and eyebrows lifted. Not even when MeMaw gave us a knowing, smug little smirk.
Natalie stayed right there beside me, steady and sure.
And for the first time, I didn’t feel like I was waiting for her to come back.
It felt like…she already had.
NATALIE
The rehearsal dinner looked like Joanna Gaines and an elf got drunk and decided to cohost a holiday special.
Fairy lights draped from every beam, glinting off garlands and place cards with too-perfect calligraphy.
It should’ve been over-the-top. Somehow, it wasn’t.
It was just cozy enough to feel warm, not forced.
Candles flickered down the long wooden table, casting soft glows over pine boughs and wine glasses filled a little too full.
The whole place smelled like cinnamon and cedar—and probably vanilla, thanks to the dessert Paige insisted on adding last-minute because she “didn’t think the menu had enough sugar to induce a coma. ”
Laughter curled up toward the rafters, warm and lazy, the kind that made you feel like maybe, just maybe, life could be good and soft and easy for a minute.
I tried to focus on it—on Paige in her cream sweater dress, glowing with that sort of smug, sparkly joy only brides-to-be get away with; on the way Levi beamed at her mid-story, even though he’d told the same story about their first date approximately eight hundred and sixty-seven times in the past week.
Across the table, my parents sat shoulder to shoulder, their hands brushing as they reached for their glasses.
My mom said something that made my dad laugh—really laugh—the kind that lit up his whole face.
She smiled like she’d just scored a win, then slid her fingers over his knuckles like she wanted to hold the moment in place.
It was all very sweet.
And I was trying really hard to care.
Really.
But Easton was sitting right next to me.
And Easton Maddox in a suit was…a problem.
His thigh brushed mine every time he shifted, which, for the record, was a lot. Like he was doing it on purpose. Like he knew exactly what it was doing to me. Which—judging by the smug curve of his mouth every time it happened—he absolutely did.
His shoulder bumped mine. Once. Twice. A little whisper of contact that felt more like a dare.
The navy blazer he wore should’ve made him look stiff.
Corporate. But no, of course not. It hugged him like it had fallen in love and was never letting go.
And don’t even get me started on the scruff.
Or the snow-mussed hair. Or the fact that his scent was making me go feral.
Our knees brushed under the table. Blink-and-you’ll-miss-it. Then again. A little longer. A little bolder. The third time, his knee didn’t leave mine.
It stayed.
And not just stayed…it pressed . Firm. Deliberate. Like he was staking a claim.
And it wasn’t just a hey , I’m next to you kind of touch. No. It was a Hey , I remember what you sound like when I curl my finger inside you just right , and I’m not done yet kind of press.
My stomach did a full-on backflip. My breath caught somewhere around my collarbone. And I just sat there, pretending I was still following Levi’s story about Paige and the tragic poinsettia incident at his parents’ house.
Just in case you were wondering…I wasn’t.
Easton reached for his wine, and the edge of his sleeve brushed mine—silk gliding against wool, slow and unbothered, like he wasn’t setting off tiny explosions along the length of my arm.
I stared at my plate like it might ground me. But all it offered was a Jackson Pollock of roasted vegetables and high-end salad regret.
My brain had fully left the building.