Chapter 43
Chapter Forty-Three
Raya
The food, the family, the feelings—I can’t find the words to describe how each is more fulfilling than the next.
After we ate, Finn told his family he was taking me to town to “show me off.” In reality, he had to do almost all of his Christmas shopping, but the bonus was that I got to see the town he calls home.
Silverwood is a lot like Loveland—quaint and charming, all decked out for Christmas—with one distinct difference.
The mountains.
The mountains.
They take my breath away. How anyone ever gets used to a view like that I’ll never understand.
Our first stop was to see an old friend of Finn’s dad, a guy who makes custom signs. Finn said he needed to call in a favor for a last-minute Christmas gift for his parents, and while they talked, I called home to check in with my sisters, who’ve been texting for updates ever since I landed.
They tell me that my family moved their Christmas celebration to the day after Christmas so I could be there.
Even though I’d made my peace with missing it this year, the thought of showing up with a real, live, not-hired plus-one to spend the holiday with the people I love most in the world warms me from the inside out.
Finn held my hand as he led me from shop to shop, picking out gifts for his nieces, his parents, and his brother Hudson, whose name he drew for Secret Santa.
Even though he was cramming all of this shopping into the span of a single day, he was thoughtful about what he bought for each person, which didn’t surprise me at all. Turns out he’s a great gift giver.
Twice, he pulled me off the main sidewalk, stealing kisses.
As if I wouldn’t have given them freely.
We went back home and watched How the Grinch Stole Christmas with his nieces while Finn ate a plateful of frosted sugar cookies.
That night, we all went to the community center to help with the big Christmas party.
When he showed me around the building and explained the plans to expand, he did it with so much excitement that I could see his purpose goes far beyond hockey.
And part of me wondered if he was starting to see it too.
It’s rare to find a person so intent on putting other people first, but Finn does this like it’s second nature. It’s inspiring me to do the same.
He told me about Eileen and how he was still wrestling with forgiving her.
It’s obvious he’s beating himself up over that, but I agreed that his plan to tackle it in small bits at a time sounded smart.
And maybe it was silly, but I told him I was proud of him.
Because he did something hard that he really did not want to do.
I think the words landed.
After we leave the community center, his entire family piles into pickup trucks and takes me to my first torchlight parade, a Silverwood Christmas Eve tradition where skiers and snowboarders zigzag down the mountainside, carrying torches that paint swaths of light across the cool, dark air.
I watch in complete silence, captivated by the beauty of the tradition and overcome with gratitude that I was finally able to let go of my own rules and allow myself to love, want, and need someone else.
As we watch, Finn wraps an arm around me and whispers, “I still can’t believe you’re here.”
I nestle in the space under his chin, leaning into him and thinking how thankful I am that none of my previous relationships ever worked out. Because I would’ve missed out on this. On Finn.
After the torchlight parade, we drive out to a big, open spot on the Holbrook land, right in the middle of the field, where Finn’s dad has built a huge bonfire.
We sing Christmas carols, and the brothers take turns telling loud, rambunctious stories, mostly about Finn, which I love hearing.
Later, they play a rousing game of hockey on the homemade ice rink I’d only seen in photos.
No one can agree on what counts as a penalty.
More than once, Hunter’s name comes up, and even though it’s clear that they all miss their brother, it’s also clear that they love telling stories about him, something I think Finn has avoided up until now. As they reminisce, he seems to get more comfortable with the idea of talking about him.
And while those stories are tinged with sadness, they are also full of joy, making it feel like a gift to everyone.
One thing is certain—Finn’s family lives out loud. In living color.
They don’t hold back in their love for each other, the ranch, or simply for being alive. And as I sit and watch them, I think about how many years I’ve held myself back from everything and everyone.
Even my own sisters.
I’ve kept a part of myself from them because I thought I needed to live up to certain expectations I’d placed on myself.
I don’t want to do that anymore.
Finn’s sisters, Rowena and Hattie, want to know what I see in their goofy brother, and I have to stop myself from gushing. Now that the revelation has come, I keep thinking of more things I love about him.
His brothers argue with about ninety percent of what I say, claiming that “I don’t know him like they know him,” and that he “cries at movies” and “farts in his sleep.”
Finn gently tells me to “wait one second” and launches himself, tackling Boone.
I can’t wait for my family to meet this family.
Eventually, his parents tuck their granddaughters into bed with promises of Santa Claus and reindeer and gifts and magic, but the rest of us stay huddled under blankets and coats, warming our hands by the fire until we’re all too cold to stay outside any longer.
It’s a Holbrook Christmas tradition for everyone to sleep at the ranch, so they drag mattresses out into the living room to sleep under the lights of the tree, which might’ve been awkward for me once upon a time, but not anymore.
This family has brought me in like I’m one of them, and it’s actually fun.
With a capital F. All of it. I can’t even try to pretend it isn’t.
The brothers and Finn argue about which Christmas movie they should watch—and which one’s the best—until they all turn to me for my opinion.
Without pausing, I tell them that it’s A Christmas Story, with little Ralphie and his Red Ryder BB gun, because that’s the one my sisters and I would watch every Christmas growing up.
They all agree, rent the movie, and just as Ralphie is getting pushed down the slide, I tell Finn I couldn’t remember when I’d ever had a better Christmas Eve, then quietly drift off to sleep.
Now, it’s Christmas morning, and I wake to the smell of toothpaste and Finn. He kisses my cheek and whispers, “Good morning.”
When I open my eyes, he smiles. “Get up. I want to show you something cool.”
I cover my face with my hands, embarrassed that when I agreed to sleep on the couch surrounded by Holbrooks, I didn’t think through the morning bedhead and bad breath.
“You have to hurry,” he whispers.
“Okay, but if I’m going anywhere with you, I’m brushing my teeth first,” I say, inching my way off the couch.
I see him grin, lit only by the light of the Christmas tree. “Definitely brush your teeth.”
“Ew, Finn, you’re gross,” one of his sisters says.
We both laugh, and I rush into the guest bathroom where I got ready for bed, brush my teeth, then find him in the kitchen, wearing his coat and boots, holding my coat, along with two stocking caps and mittens.
“What are we doing?” I ask.
“Do you trust me?”
“Yeah, I do.” I pull the coat on, shove my feet into my boots, then follow him outside and get in a pickup truck idling in the driveway.
It’s warm in the cab of the truck, and before we go anywhere, he stops and looks at me. “Morning.”
I smile. “Good morning, you weirdo. What are we doing out here before dawn?”
“I want to show you something cool.” He leans over and kisses me. “You’re pretty in the morning.”
I bite back a smile. “I look like roadkill, but thank you.”
He hands me a big, fuzzy blanket, and I move closer to him, spreading it over both of our laps. I loop a hand through his and savor the quiet, easy way it feels to be his.
The peace and calm my life so desperately needed is right here, and I’m more comfortable taking it now than I ever was before. I owe that to him, I think.
We drive through the darkness as the sun becomes a hint in the sky, and after several minutes, Finn slows down near a small, wooded lake at the back of the property.
“Hunter’s lake,” he says. “The best place to watch the sunrise.”
At first, I think that’s the actual name of the lake—but then I put two and two together that this place must’ve been special to his brother. And now it’s special to Finn.
By proxy, that means it’s special to me.
He shifts into park, pulls two more blankets from behind the seat, and leads me to the bed of the truck, where a big, open sky stretches above us. We’re surrounded on all sides by nature, and the peace of the quiet, magical, brisk Christmas morning seeps into my bones.
He spreads a blanket across the bed of the truck, then helps me up.
He sits with his back to the cab, and once I’m situated in front of him, he wraps his arms around me, and we tuck the other two blankets around our bodies.
We watch in silence as the sun breaks through the clouds, casting its golden, glorious light over the blue-tinged land in front of us, glimmering off the water.
I wonder what life on this ranch would be like.
It’s a strange thought, and not one I’ll entertain, but being here is a reminder that there’s beauty everywhere if you slow down long enough to see it.
I don’t want to rush anymore. I want to see it all.
“My favorite spot on the ranch,” Finn says quietly as the pink and orange meld together behind a few scattered winter clouds.
“This is the quiet place you told me about,” I say softly, only now remembering. “The place on the ranch even your brothers haven’t found.”
“You remember that?” He looks at me.
I keep my eyes on the sky. “I guess I paid attention more than I let on.”