Chapter 22
Eve
The town square looks like something straight out of a snow globe—twinkling lights still strung up from the festival, wreaths hanging from every lamppost, the scent of cinnamon and hot cocoa lingering in the air.
The only thing out of place is the massive cluster of Holly Ridge citizens crammed shoulder-to-shoulder beneath the gazebo.
And of course Luke’s eight reindeer are still attached to my father’s Santa sleigh.
“Alright,” I say, my voice carrying thanks to the microphone someone shoved in my hands earlier. “Is everybody ready? We all know the plan, right?”
A cheer erupts, loud enough to rattle the icicles dangling from the roofline.
Dad lifts his crutch in the air like it’s a sword. He’s pale, sure, but standing, alive, stubbornly grinning through his bruises like nothing short of a blizzard could keep him away. Mom stands next to him, practically glowing with pride, holding Cringle’s leash.
“We’re ready, sweetheart,” she calls, her voice warm and certain.
My chest tightens. This is it. The moment.
I reach into my coat pocket and pull out my phone, my hands shaking a little as I tap the screen. A ripple of anticipation goes through the crowd, like we’re about to livestream the Super Bowl.
Kelly’s face pops up on screen, her sleek bob and designer blouse a jarring contrast to the snow-dusted small-town chaos behind me. She squints at the camera, frowning.
“Eve. What on earth—why are there so many people behind you? Is this a parade? I thought we were supposed to be having a meeting?”
“No parade,” I say quickly. “Just Holly Ridge. My hometown that inspired this new show. They all wanted to be here.”
The entire crowd surges closer, faces stacking and overlapping as everyone tries to wedge themselves into the frame. “Hi, Kelly!” a dozen voices call at once. “Merry Christmas!” Someone blows a kiss. Someone else holds up a thermos of cider like it’s a flute of champagne.
Kelly blinks, taken aback. “Um, okay. Hello...” She waves awkwardly at everyone then whispers to me. “Eve, we really need an answer today. Are you taking the job or not?” Her voice sharpens into the no-nonsense edge I know so well from conference calls.
“Yes,” I say, my stomach flipping. “I’m accepting the job. But…”
I take a breath, the weight of the whole town behind me. “With one caveat. A rather big one, actually…”
Eve’s brows snap together. “What kind of caveat? Do you want the job or not?”
“I want it,” I say quickly, my heart rate pounding so hard, I fear she might hear it through my phone’s speaker. “But I want to do the job here. In Holly Ridge. Not back in Los Angeles.”
My words hang in the frosty air for a beat. Then two beats. After three seconds of silence, I start to worry that maybe we lost connection with her entirely. But just as I’m about to ask Kelly if she’s still there, her voice cuts through.
“You want me to move an entire production, crew and all, to some tiny town in the middle of nowhere?”
“Not the middle of nowhere,” I correct her. “The Christmas capital of the country.” I had no idea if that was a factual statement or not, but we are certainly in the running if such a title existed. “Holly Ridge was, after all, the inspiration for the show, right?”
“It was,” she says carefully.
“Well then what is a better place to work on a production about holidays in small towns than the small town that inspired it?”
Mayor Shelby elbows his way to the front, practically yanking the phone out of my hand before I can stop him.
“Ma’am,” he says, puffing up like he’s about to negotiate world peace.
“This town can offer you tax incentives like you’ve never dreamed of.
We’ll write it into the books—heck, we’ll call a meeting and vote on it today even though it’s a holiday.
That’s how much Holly Ridge wants this partnership. ”
Kelly blinks, startled, clearly not used to mayors inserting themselves into contract negotiations over FaceTime. “That’s… generous.”
Mom gently nudges Dad, who is leaning heavily on his crutches, but somehow looks every bit the innkeeper king on his snow-dusted throne.
“And,” Mom cuts in, peeking around Mayor Shelby to wave at the camera, “my husband and I would be happy to provide lodging for the cast and crew. Discounted, of course. With the exclusivity of being the official host of Holly Ridge productions.”
Dad grins, raising his finger to add, “Free hot cocoa in every room.”
The crowd chuckles. Kelly blinks again, her lips twitching like she might actually be amused despite herself.
Before I can say a word, another voice pipes up. “I’ve got warehouse space!”
I turn to see Mr. Jennings, the town’s grumpiest landlord, shuffling forward with his thick plaid coat and a face as red as Santa’s suit.
“Used to rent it to a lumber distributor, but it’s just sitting there now.
You want soundstages? Green screens? Whatever the kids are using these days?
Dirt cheap compared to anything you’d rent out in Hollywood. Consider it yours.”
Kelly narrows her eyes at the camera. “And what about accessibility? Aren’t you in the middle of the mountains? The nearest city is hours away, isn’t it?”
Her question just shows how little she knows about the mountain states.
Luke steps forward before I can answer. He’s dusted in snow, rugged and solid, and when he opens his mouth, the entire town quiets like the mountains themselves are listening.
“An International airport is just twenty minutes down the highway,” he says simply. “Easy in, easy out. I bet it takes longer to get to LAX even when you live in Los Angeles.”
Kelly tilts her head, studying him. “And you are?”
“Luke Dawson,” he says. No hesitation, no grandstanding. Just steady, certain Luke. “Reindeer farmer.”
Kelly stares, and then—unexpectedly—smiles. “Of course you are.”
“If you have any reindeer needs, I’m your man. Or if you’re filming elsewhere on location, I can help you scout an ethically sourced reindeer farmer wherever you’re going. We’re a small network of people.”
The crowd bursts into more chatter, and before I know it, voices are overlapping everywhere:
“We’ve got carpenters for set design!”
“My cousin’s a caterer!”
“The local college kids could intern for school credit!”
The energy snowballs so fast I can hardly keep up, a tidal wave of charm and enthusiasm sweeping Kelly through the screen whether she likes it or not.
I watch her face carefully. She started out skeptical, arms crossed and lips thin. But now—her eyes are softening, her posture loosening, her lips quirking at the edges like she’s trying not to smile.
For the first time, I think this might actually work. She might actually be considering it.
The laughter dies down, and I can tell Kelly’s wheels are turning. She’s not the type to be swept away easily, but she’s not immune either. Her gaze lingers—not on me, not on the mayor or my parents, but on Luke.
He hasn’t moved, hasn’t said another word. Just stands there in his flannel and snow-dusted boots, solid as the Rockies behind him.
“Mr. Dawson,” Kelly says slowly, like she’s trying out the name. “You said you’re a reindeer farmer?”
Luke shifts, uncomfortable with the spotlight, but he nods. “That’s right.”
Kelly leans forward, her screen filling with the sharp angles of her face. “Have you ever considered being in front of the camera?”
Luke blinks. “Excuse me?”
“You have… presence,” she says, tapping a finger against her chin. “It’s not just the look—it’s the way you hold yourself. Steady. Grounded. The kind of thing you can’t manufacture in an acting class.”
The town collectively gasps. Even the kids stop fidgeting and I think someone actually drops their cocoa.
My stomach does a weird somersault. Of course she noticed. Of course. Anyone with eyes could see what I saw the first time Luke strode out of his barn in that flannel, snow swirling around him like some kind of grumpy lumberjack deity.
But hearing it out loud—hearing her say it—sends a jolt of protectiveness straight through me.
Luke, for his part, looks like he’d rather be thrown into a pit of rabid raccoons. “No, ma’am,” he says firmly. “That’s not for me.”
Kelly arches a brow. “Almost everyone says that at first.”
“Maybe. But I mean it.” His voice is low, absolute.
Kelly doesn’t back down, her gaze narrowing like she’s putting pieces together.
“What if I told you,” she says slowly, “we’ve been developing a holiday spin on one of our shows.
Think Kitchen Nightmares meets Fixer Upper—but for farmers.
We’d send in an expert to help small farms on the verge of collapse.
Other reindeer farmers. Christmas tree farms. Apple orchards.
We’re not looking for just band-aid solutions, but practical changes to give them a real chance at a future. ”
Her eyes settle on Luke. “We need someone with credibility. Someone who knows the land. Someone who won’t sugarcoat the truth, but will roll up their sleeves and help. You.”
Luke’s brow furrows, his instinct to refuse written all over his face, but I can see the subtle shift in him as he mutters, “I’m not an actor.”
“You wouldn’t have to be,” Kelly replies. “You’d be yourself. Gruff, stubborn, maddeningly honest—but also the guy who gets things done. You’d be helping real farmers, not playing pretend.”
I feel a flicker in my chest. This… this isn’t Hollywood trying to steal him away. This is them offering him something bigger, something meaningful. And potentially something here that our new production studio could produce.
Luke lets out a low laugh, shaking his head like the whole thing’s absurd. But I see it. The tiny flicker behind his eyes, the spark he’s trying so hard to smother.
Because this is exactly who he is. The man who rebuilt his farm from nothing. The man who dragged me out of my worst days and reminded me I was worth saving. The man who loves so fiercely he’d let me go if it meant I could chase my dream.
And now fate is dangling a dream in front of him.
My chest tightens, because I know what he’s going to do. He’s going to say no. Out of habit. Out of fear. Out of that quiet, deep belief that his job is to stand still so other people can move forward.
Luke glances at me, searching, almost disbelieving and I can see the hesitation in his eyes. The same man who was willing to step aside so I could chase my dream is standing here, torn between saying no and daring to imagine more.
I don’t want to hold him back.
“Luke,” I whisper, my throat tight. “This sounds perfect for you.”
His gaze shifts over my shoulder to where Aunt May is standing behind me.
“You’d still be here,” I add, my voice gaining strength. “This town, your reindeer—they’re part of you. But maybe this is part of you too. Helping people like you helped me. Like how you helped save The North Star Lodge today.”
For a heartbeat, the world holds still.
Then Luke exhales, long and slow, like something heavy is sliding off his shoulders. He doesn’t smile—he’s Luke, after all—but his jaw unclenches, and I know. I know.
He looks back at Kelly and gives a nod. “I’ll think about it.”
“That’s good enough for me… for now,” Kelly says.
Then her gaze on camera shifts back to me.
“Eve, send me the proposal for your plan. List every business that has signed on and what incentives are being offered. I’ll take it to the team.
Although, in my honest opinion, they’d be crazy to say no to such an offer. It’s a no-brainer.”
My grin splits even wider. “Thank you, Kelly! I’ll get it over to you before the end of the day today!”
Kelly huffs a sigh. “Girl, it’s Christmas Eve. Go be with your family and get it to me after the holiday.”
“Thank you. And Merry Christmas, Kelly.”
“Merry Christmas, Eve,” she says with a soft smile. “Go be with your family. And apparently… town.”
I’m still grinning after I end the video chat and the whole town erupts into cheers.
The crowd swirls around us—holiday music, twinkling lights, laughter.
We’re celebrating like it’s a done deal, and honestly, it feels like it might be.
But all I feel is Luke’s hand wrapped around mine. Solid. Steady. Like always.
“You really think I could do something like that?” he murmurs, still skeptical, still Luke.
I smile up at him, my heart so full I can barely breathe. “I don’t just think it. I know it. And if you can let me chase my dream, then you sure as hell better believe I’ll stand here and shove you toward yours.”
Something cracks in him then. Maybe it’s the armor he’s been carrying his whole life, maybe it’s the last wall between us—but it’s gone.
He tugs me against him, not caring that half the town is watching, and kisses me. Not the careful, restrained kind of kiss we’ve stolen in dark corners. This is raw, claiming, full of promise. It’s him saying yes to me, yes to us, yes to the future neither of us dared to dream until now.
When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests on mine, his breath ragged. “Guess that makes us a team.”
The Christmas lights blur around us, the whole town cheering, the air filled with warmth and cinnamon and possibility. For once, it doesn’t feel like the end of something.
It feels like the beginning.