Chapter 21
BECCA
The boys canceled the snowmobile races for Sunday.
Something about road conditions, and Bear just said the weather was getting bad.
Margie and Caroline and I were disappointed, but I didn’t push.
He said he’d try to see me early this week.
I felt uneasy but we did go in fast and deep in a short amount of time.
Then the phone rang.
The voice on the other end was firm and elegant—one of the town’s matriarchs, asking if I could represent the community center at a black-tie charity gala in Charlotte Thursday night.
A fundraiser for pediatric cancer. This year a young boy from Pigeon Forge was being honored.
The gym at the center was built in memory of Grady Pearson, a local nine-year-old little leaguer who never made it to ten.
“Of course,” I said. “Can I bring a plus one?”
“Absolutely.”
I texted Bear. Thursday. Charlotte. I have to go to an event for work… Can you come?
He replied a few minutes later: Busy Thursday. Club business.
Caroline, who had plans to head back to Charlotte soon, overheard my muttered disappointment, looked up from her mug. “Need a hot plus one?”
I laughed. “You volunteering?”
She winked. “I clean up well. And hey—I haven’t been to a good gala since college.”
“Done,” I said, already picturing Bear in a tux and trying not to pout.
But he said he couldn’t.
And I couldn’t help but wonder why that stung more than it should’ve.
Wednesday, and finally, the roads were clear. I was knee-deep in prepping the gym for the Nutcracker “Toddler” Version when the door opened and in walked Bear—gruff, quiet, and holding a holiday latte and a sugar cookie shaped like a tree.
"Thought you might need caffeine," he said.
His voice was low, almost unsure. His eyes didn’t meet mine for too long. Something about him felt… off. Not distant, exactly. Just like he wasn’t all here.
"Thanks," I said, taking the cup, our fingers brushing.
He asked if I could take lunch. I said yes.
We drove in silence most of the way, the latte warming my hands but not my stomach. At the café, we sat in a corner booth, and he asked about my work. About Caroline. About the weather.
All safe. All surface.
My gut churned. Something was wrong. Maybe Jess was right. Maybe I was just a holiday fling and he was already phasing out.
But then—outside, as I was unlocking my door—he grabbed me.
Pressed me fast and hard against the brick wall.
His mouth crashed into mine, his hands sliding up under my sweater, cold fingers burning against my skin.
"I miss you, baby," he murmured between kisses. "Please stay with me, baby. I’m sorry."
My breath caught. I wanted to believe it. Every word. Every touch.
"Then spend Christmas with me," I whispered. "My mom’s coming. Stanley, too. If this isn’t some fling, prove it."
He froze.
Pulled back.
"I’ll think about it."
That? That gutted me.
He kissed me again, but it wasn’t the same. And when I pelted him with a snowball before he got in his truck, hoping to lighten the mood—there was no playfight.
No chase.
No kiss in a snowbank.
Just cold air, swirling snow, and a goodbye that felt like heartbreak on the edge of a long winter night.
It was Gala Night in Charlotte, and thanks to Caroline—who had practically body-snatched me with a curling iron and a makeup bag—I looked like I belonged on the red carpet.
The dark green cocktail dress hugged my body in all the right places, its shimmer catching every bit of light in the ballroom.
Caroline had insisted I use part of my unemployment check for a professional blowout and makeup session, and I hated to admit it, but she was right.
My brown hair gleamed under the chandeliers, my lips the perfect shade of soft red. Classy. Festive. Confident.
I was here representing the Community Center at a black-tie fundraiser for pediatric cancer.
The gym we all used, hosted winter events in, even taught toddler tumbling classes in—it had been built with funds donated in memory of Grady Pearson, a 9-year-old little league player who never saw ten.
His parents were here, quietly proud, and I felt honored to be asked to stand in for the Center’s director.
Caroline was already mingling, drink in hand, scanning the crowd like a cat in a birdhouse. I was making my way around the silent auction tables, smiling politely, keeping my posture straight and my nerves buried, when the lights suddenly dimmed.
A woman stepped onto the stage, microphone in hand.
“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for joining us for the annual Grady Pearson Foundation Gala. Tonight, we honor not only Grady’s memory, but the generosity of those who keep his legacy alive.
Please give a warm welcome to our largest donor of the evening—Calden Boone. ”
Polite applause broke out around me.
Then I saw him.
Bear.
Or… not Bear.
Calden Boone.
My stomach dropped. My champagne glass nearly slipped from my hand.
There he was—on stage, under the lights, wearing a black tuxedo like he was born in one. His dark hair slicked back. Beard neatly trimmed. Jaw clenched in that familiar, unreadable way.
He looked… stunning. Commanding. Like he owned the room. And maybe he did.
I felt the blood drain from my face.
“What the hell?” Caroline whispered beside me. “That’s your Bear?”
I couldn’t speak. I could barely breathe.
He hadn’t told me.
He’d never told me his real name. Always dodging when I asked about the credit card. Shrugging off my concerns when he insisted on paying. And now he was here, announced as the top donor of the entire gala, and I didn’t even know his name was Calden.
I felt heat crawl up my neck—shame, confusion, embarrassment.
“You okay?” Caroline asked, placing a hand on my back.
No.
I wasn’t okay.
Because all I could think about were the dinners where I’d fretted over splitting the check, worried about his finances, trying to protect his pride.
All I could remember was how he’d let me believe he was just scraping by.
The North Face fleece he said he bought on clearance.
The Escalade he “borrowed.”
The restaurant where he’d claimed the cook’s uncle was a partner.
The bouquet he gave to Margie that “just happened” to be her favorite.
It was all a lie. A pretty lie, wrapped in flannel and leather, delivered with warm hands and perfect kisses. And I fell for it. Hard.
I felt like a fool.
Worse, I felt played.
I wasn’t sure if the room was spinning or if it was just my pride unraveling, thread by thread. Everyone around me clapped, unaware, smiling in admiration as he gave a short, gracious speech. I couldn’t hear it. Not a word. It was like glass ringing in my ears.
Caroline leaned in. “What do you want to do?”
I blinked hard, forcing the tears back, my throat tight.
“I don’t know,” I whispered. “I really don’t know.”
I didn’t wait for the applause to end.
I didn’t wait for him to look at me.
I just… turned.
Out of the ballroom. Through the double doors. Into the marble-floored hallway where everything suddenly felt too loud, too bright, too fake.
The truth slammed into me like a freight train.
Calden Boone.
Not Bear. Not my rugged, gruff mountain man with grease under his nails and a body that made me lose every coherent thought. Not the guy who fixed my flat tire in a snowstorm, who held me against a cabin wall and made me believe something good could grow out of brokenness.
I had fallen in love with a man who didn’t even give me his real name.
My fingers shook as I snatched a champagne flute off a passing tray, tossed it back like a shot. The waiter gave me a wide-eyed look. I didn’t care. I took another. Gone in one gulp. And another.
The bubbles hissed in my throat like fire.
I fumbled for my phone, ignoring the texts that had already started coming in from Caroline:
Are you okay?
Where did you go?
I’m gonna kick him in the balls for you.
I ducked behind a column and opened Safari.
Calden Boone. Appalachia.
Search.
“The elusive recluse of the Smokies”
“Billionaire heir to Boone Timber and Land—rumored to own thousands of acres under dozens of shell corporations.”
“Only seen a few times a year—usually for charity events or local disaster response.”
“Unmarried. No known family. No public statements.”
“No interviews. No press.”
“Most locals just call him a ghost.”
My stomach dropped.
The man who slow-danced with me under Christmas lights, who brought me coffee in a chipped mug, who made me believe I wasn’t broken beyond repair—that man was him?
He had let me believe he was poor. Modest. Just a rugged MC guy with a haunted past.
Meanwhile, he was Appalachia’s own Batman—reclusive, loaded, layered in secrets so deep I probably hadn’t even scratched the surface.
He never lied outright.
No. That would’ve been too obvious.
Instead, he let me fill in the blanks. Let me make assumptions. Let me play house in his cabin while he kept entire pieces of himself locked away.
And the worst part?
I loved him anyway.
My chest cracked open under the weight of that realization. I couldn’t breathe.
But I could act.
If he wanted to hide, fine. If he wanted to treat me like some flannel fling tucked into a holiday fantasy, fine.
But I wasn’t going to let him see me crumble.
Not here. Not tonight.
Not in this dress.
I smoothed the satin across my hips, reapplied my lipstick in a silver-plated mirror on the wall, and squared my shoulders.
I would play his game now.
Except I’d play it better.
I scanned the room, zeroing in on the first man who looked remotely handsome and not emotionally unavailable. He was tall, probably in finance, wearing an expensive suit and smiling like he owned the damn room. His champagne glass was still full, and he had no wedding ring.
Perfect.
I walked straight up to him, heels clicking like war drums on marble.
“Hi,” I said sweetly, tilting my head just enough to let the light catch on my earrings. “You look like someone who knows how to dance.”
He blinked, surprised. Then smiled. “I do, in fact. And you look like someone who shouldn’t be alone for even a second tonight.”
He offered his arm. I took it.
As we walked back toward the dance floor, I didn’t look for Bear.
No. Not Bear.
Calden.
But I hoped—prayed—that he saw me.
That it burned.