Chapter 10
Hunter
Wesley wasn’t talking to me; he was maintaining a constant chatter, but it felt brittle—or was that just me?
He was hurt. I hadn’t told him about the realtor, but it wasn’t as if I was actually selling.
I just wanted to know how much I’d get if I decided to sell.
Wes didn’t need to know that the figure was a good one, or that I’d felt weird listening to the realtor’s pitch when she explained several people were already interested in Wishing Tree Main Street property.
Harry McCoy had started this place as a small café, but it had evolved over the years into the coffee shop I now run.
And although I’d never known Harry, I felt a pang of something when she talked so eagerly about profit and selling. Probably history.
But if I were relocating to Seattle, or LA, or hell, upstate, then I’d need the money.
A move like that wouldn’t be a change of scenery—it would mean making a fresh start, finding new work, new people, new everything.
And that kind of leap came with a price tag I couldn’t ignore.
Especially since walking away from my relationship with my ex had left me with nothing.
I’d kept Lucas talking far longer than necessary.
Hockey, history, the parade float plans, even the goddamn weather—anything to give Wesley time to bolt ahead and get home before I walked out.
The man had a way of unraveling me, and after the question about the valuation, I needed a few deep breaths before I saw him again.
When I stepped outside into the frosty night, relief was short-lived—because Wesley was right there, waiting.
Not wearing a coat.
“Jesus, Wes,” I muttered, shrugging out of mine and dropping it around his shoulders before he could protest. His ridiculous cloak billowed under the weight of my jacket, but at least he’d be warm. He was shivering, though he tried to play it off with a grin.
He slipped on a patch of ice near the curb, and his hand shot out to grip my arm, fingers tight on my sleeve. Heat burned where he touched me, but I shook it off and focused on the knee-high leather boots he was wearing with their slick soles, completely wrong for icy sidewalks.
“Careful,” I said, steadying him. “Those things are an accident waiting to happen.”
“They’re dramatic,” he said brightly, tightening his hold on me as if he wasn’t ready to let go.
I stared down at him, at the faint flush in his cheeks from the cold, at the stubborn glint in his eyes. “Why were you waiting?” My voice came out quieter than I intended, rougher.
He blinked up at me, then looked away, suddenly fascinated by the line of snow along the curb.
“No reason,” he said quickly. Too quickly.
“Maybe I felt weird about the whole realtor thing, I didn’t mean to act hurt, I don’t have the right to be hurt.
Anyway, I thought you’d need company on the way back. ”
Wesley must’ve sensed my brooding because his chatter shifted, lighter, warmer. “What are you thinking about to make your face all scrunched up?”
“My uncle,” I said before I could engage my brain.
“You know—I remember him from the couple of times he visited the bookstore. Always made sure to visit me, loved a good murder mystery, always asked what I had on the shelf.” His smile tilted fondly, as if he were offering me a scrap of family connection I didn’t even know I had.
I shrugged, feeling uncomfortable. “I didn’t know him. I think there was a falling out somewhere back with my grandfather. Family stuff no one ever explained to me.”
Wes hummed, not pushing, just letting the words settle between us as we walked. ”Can I ask you a serious question?” he asked.
“Save me now,” I deadpanned.
He grinned at me. “No, honestly, why didn’t you just sell the property straight off instead of coming here and being forced to locate yourself next to me?”
I sighed. “That’s a long story.”
“We have time,” Wesley said, and gestured at the way forward—we still had the rest of Wishing Tree to walk through until we got back to our places.
“I’d lost my parents, lost the tenure track, found out my trust fund ex was playing me the whole time, then I got a letter telling me I’d inherited a coffee shop in the Christmas capital of Vermont.
You’d better believe I went into that lawyer’s meeting with every intention to sell, but Great Uncle, or whatever he was, McCoy had a stipulation. ”
Wesley grinned, eyes dancing. “That sounds like the start of a great whodunnit—old oak-paneled offices, a crusty lawyer with ink-stained fingers, weeping family all in black. With veils, of course.” He winked at me. “Even the men.”
I huffed out a breath. “Sorry to burst your bubble, but it wasn’t like that.
It was in a glass high-rise, and I was the last relative left standing that they could track down.
The lawyer was younger than me, slick suit, no drama.
Just me signing papers and wondering what the hell I was doing there. ”
“But you didn’t sell because there was a stipulation?”
“Huh?”
He stopped then and flicked my forehead. “The stipulation, Hunter, tell me the juicy whodunnit stuff.”
“Oh, that. For two years, I had to run the place, not just own it but actually run it, and then at the end of the two years, I got to sell it and keep any money I made on it.”
Wesley went silent for a moment. “And the two years are up, Valentine’s next year, right?”
“You remember when I arrived here?”
“I remember you coming in the year before last, on your first day, and complaining my candy-pink balloon arch was blocking the entrance into your shop.”
“Well, it was blocking the door.”
“It was February 14th-appropriate,” he argued, a teasing glint in his eyes, and his nose wrinkling as he baited me.
“It was an obstacle course,” I countered.
Wesley smirked. “Obstacles make life interesting.”
“Not when I’m carrying boxes of my possessions in, they don’t.”
Wes nudged me with his elbow. “Admit it, you secretly liked the balloons.”
“I did not.”
“You smiled when you shoved them aside.”
“That was me grimacing. There’s a difference.”
“Uh-huh. You looked enchanted.”
“Pretty sure ‘enchanted’ isn’t the word. Trapped, maybe.”
He laughed, light and teasing, and the sound curled through me in a way I didn’t want to analyze too closely.
We fell into step together, his arm still linked through mine as if he was afraid of sliding again, or maybe just using it as an excuse.
The town square glittered with early lights; the kind of Christmas glow that made even my chest loosen a little.
As we passed the old fountain—frozen solid now, icicles hanging like daggers from the rim—Wesley gasped and tugged at my arm.
“You want to know a secret?” he whispered, eyes huge, and pointed at the fountain.
“What?” All I saw was the wishing tree landmark sealed under a crust of ice, the main pump bundled for winter, and the snowmelt pooling inside already hardened solid.
He gestured dramatically. “That’s not just ice. That’s a portal. A magical one. I read about it—frozen gateways disguised as fountains, doorways to other realms, but only if you knock three times at midnight and whisper the name of your truest love.”
I groaned. “Wes—”
“I’m serious, professor,” he insisted, though his eyes sparkled with mischief. “Wishing Tree’s fountain is a portal. And you can’t tell me it doesn’t look exactly like the kind of place you’d fall through to another world.”
Snow crunched under our boots as I shook my head, but my lips twitched against a smile. “You’re impossible.”
“Magically impossible,” he corrected, squeezing my arm, and then he leaned closer, lowering his voice like we were sharing a state secret. “Don’t worry. If it ever opens, I’ll make sure you come with me.”
And for the first time all night, the confusion in my chest eased, just a little. “You’d take me with you?”
Wes smirked, eyes gleaming. “Of course—who else is going to be big and brave enough to fight the dragons?”
I huffed out a laugh. “I’m not sure how good I’d be with dragons.”
“You’d learn,” he shot back, still clinging to my arm as if the ground might crack open beneath us.
Something big settled on my shoulders, and I turned him to face me, grasping his shoulders. “I’m sorry, I might be selling, Wes. I’m sorry, I might be leaving.”
“It’s okay.”
“I know you—”
“I just got used to you is all.”
“You won’t miss me.”
“Well, you’d miss the town,” he said.
“Yeah,” I admitted.
“You’d miss Christmas here.”
“A little,” I said, then met his eyes.
“But mostly”. he hesitated; the words rough in his throat. “I’d miss you, Hunter.”
There was a moment when I’d thought we might kiss, when he leaned in to me, but he spun away, sliding to the snow collected near the trees.
“But that is neither here nor there!” he said with a laugh and then held out a hand, which I grasped.
He tugged me along until I fell in step.
Wesley kept up his light chatter, this time about the giant goat sleigh.
He described it with such flair I almost believed him when he claimed he alone knew how to construct it, that it would be the boldest Christmas float the town had ever seen.
He laughed, promising me this year would be his best Christmas yet, as though saying it often enough would make it true.
“I’ll miss you too,” I admitted as we reached the Wishing Tree.