Chapter 16
Wesley
The morning of the parade dawned crisp and clear, the snow easing after a night of falling relentlessly.
It had left Wishing Tree sparkling like something from a Christmas card—every roof thick with frosting, every lamppost haloed in white, every tree branch glittering with frost. The square had been transformed into a wonderland, and at its heart, the Wishing Tree stood open for the season, ribbons already fluttering in the cold breeze, first wishes tied with cold hands.
Our float—if you could call a giant straw-covered bicycle with a wooden goat head bolted to the front a float—was nearly ready.
The four teens from the high school’s history club had done me proud.
Connor was checking the sleigh wheels, Megan fussed with the fairy-light garlands, Luis was fixing a loose bit of cardboard horn, and Jamie—sweet, earnest Jamie—was tightening straps like he’d been born with a toolkit in hand.
“Looking amazing, team,” I called, clapping my gloved hands together. My breath puffed in the cold, but my chest warmed just watching them. “Honestly, I’m bursting with pride. If yule goats were a competitive sport, we’d take gold.”
Megan laughed, cheeks pink under her beanie. “You mean if? We already won. This goat is epic.”
“Epic and educational,” Connor added, grinning. “We even made sure the signs are historically accurate. Nordic tales and everything.”
“Bless your history-loving souls,” I said, hand to my heart. “Hunter would be so proud.”
“Hunter is proud,” came a deep voice, and I spun to see him striding across the square, snow crunching under his boots, carrying a cardboard tray of steaming cups.
My pulse did a ridiculous little skip.
“Hey, professor!” Jamie called, brightening instantly. “Guess what—I got a ninety-seven on that essay about Reconstruction!”
“That’s incredible,” Hunter said, his tone warm in that rare, unguarded way he sometimes forgot to hide from me. He handed Jamie a hot chocolate before passing drinks to the others.
Luis chimed in, “You told me to research migration patterns, remember? I got an A! The teacher said it was the best thing I’ve written.”
Hunter’s mouth curved in a small, proud smile. “That’s because you worked hard. All of you did.”
Connor straightened. “We’re thinking about doing the next presentation at the town hall—make it a community thing.”
Hunter looked… impressed. “That’s ambitious. I like it.”
I stood there, hugging myself, watching the kids beaming under his praise, and my heart squeezed. He’d only been helping them a few weeks, but already they lit up around him. And I… well, so did I.
Megan nudged her cup toward him. “You didn’t get one for yourself?”
“Black coffee,” Hunter said with a shrug, but then his gaze flicked to me, lingering a beat too long, warm as the cups he was passing out. “And a latte with… whatever it is Wes drinks.”
I laughed, trying to keep my knees from buckling. “That’s froufrou coffee to you.”
He rolled his eyes, but there was the faintest twitch of a smile tugging at his mouth. “Froufrou, then.”
The kids caught it instantly, of course, their wide grins bouncing between us like ping-pong balls.
Jamie muttered, “He totally brought that for you.”
Megan elbowed him. “Shh!”
“I can hear you,” I said, mock-stern, but my face was on fire.
Hunter handed me the cup, fingers brushing mine, and muttered, “Don’t let it get cold.”
I took a sip, ignoring how badly I wanted to kiss him in the middle of the town square. “Perfect,” I said softly, and his eyes caught mine in a way that felt like a promise.
The kids, bless them, launched into a chorus of goat-related jokes, giving me a moment to breathe. But the truth was obvious—he hadn’t come for them, not really. He’d come for me.
And God help me, I’d never felt so warm in the middle of a snowy Vermont morning.
By late afternoon, I’d left the teens in charge of last-minute goat touch-ups and ducked back to the store. The Story Lantern was dark now, CLOSED sign on the door. I sprinted up the narrow staircase to my apartment.
Time to transform.
My outfit waited on the bed, lovingly pieced together from too many Etsy searches and a little sewing help from YouTube and a cursing Brooke, who vowed never to try sewing again.
Red wool tunic trimmed with white embroidery, a woven belt, thick navy leggings tucked into fur-lined boots, and a cape I’d convinced myself was absolutely necessary.
The crowning glory was the knitted hat—pointy, striped in red and white, with a bobble big enough to double as a snowball.
Festive? Yes. Subtle? Not even remotely.
I tugged it all on, checked the mirror, and grinned at the ridiculous yet glorious version of myself staring back. A yule-goat shepherd, ready for duty.
I’d barely bounded down the stairs when a knock came at the back door.
Heart doing a jittery dance, I swung it open—and froze.
Hunter.
But not Hunter in his usual grumpy-professor-turned-coffee-guy look.
Oh no. This was Hunter in full, devastatingly gorgeous, authentic Nordic garb: a dark linen tunic belted at the waist, woolen trousers tucked into knee-high boots, a heavy cloak fastened with a carved brooch, and a fur collar that made him look as if he’d stepped straight out of a saga.
His hair was wind-tossed, his cheeks pink from the cold, and he carried himself like some kind of Viking lord who’d conquered Wishing Tree.
“Wow,” I blurted, heat rushing to my face. “Just… wow.”
He wrinkled his nose, looked adorably embarrassed, then tapped the brooch. “This is wrong. I mean, it’s plastic and print, and it would’ve been bone, back then. Cloak’s wool, dyed with madder root. Boots are replicas, hand-stitched. And the tunic—linen. Cold as hell, but authentic.”
I swallowed hard, throat tightening. “You… you did this. For me?”
He shrugged, but I could see the effort behind it, the way he’d thought about every detail because he knew how much this meant to me. “Did some research. Figured if you’re going to drag me into a Nordic-themed giant goat stall, I might as well do it right.”
My eyes stung. I laughed, covering it badly. “You’re ridiculous. And perfect. And—don’t mind me if I just melt into a puddle here.”
He cleared his throat and held up a clay bottle. “I also come bearing glogg. Warm, spiced wine. Traditional.”
He poured me a measure into a small cup. I sipped—and oh. Cinnamon, cardamom, cloves, orange peel, a sweet heat spreading through me like firelight.
“It tastes like… Christmas had a baby with a cuddle,” I said reverently.
Hunter chuckled. “That’s… one way of putting it.”
Then he lifted a can of cream from the bag in his other hand, giving it a shake with a perfectly straight face. “You want some?”
I stared, then burst out laughing. And in my ridiculous hat and his deadly-serious Viking cosplay, with glogg in my hands and cream ready to top it, I realized—I wasn’t only excited for the parade. I was sparkling for him.
The street outside The Story Lantern had been transformed.
Strings of white and gold lights crisscrossed overhead, casting everything in a soft glow, and the air smelled of cinnamon, pine, and woodsmoke.
Our stall stood beside the shop windows, decorated with sprigs of holly and a banner I’d painted at two in the morning that read:
The Story Lantern lights reflected in his eyes.
“Hunter…” My voice broke on his name.
And then his hand came up, tentative but sure, cupping the side of my face, his thumb brushing under the brim of my hat.
The world stilled.
His thumb brushed my cheek, and I leaned into it before I could stop myself. The square was empty now, quiet except for the creak of lanterns swaying overhead and the crunch of snow under our boots.
“Wes—” he whispered, voice low and rough, as though the word cost him something.
I didn’t let him finish. Hat bobble bouncing ridiculously, I surged up on tiptoe and pressed my mouth to his. Just a brush of lips, tentative and reckless all at once, but it stole the air from my lungs. This was our first kiss where anyone could see us, making it real.
For half a heartbeat, I thought he might pull back.
Instead, he kissed me, steady and sure, one big hand still cupping my face as if he’d been waiting forever.
I heard someone wolf whistle, someone else shouted that we should get a room, but I didn’t care.
The cold vanished, melted under the warmth of him, and when his arm slipped around my waist, tugging me closer, I forgot where we were.
Snowflakes clung to his lashes, his breath mingled with mine, and I trembled against him, undone.
He eased away only when we were both breathless, but he didn’t let go. His forehead rested to mine, his voice a promise in the hush. “Let’s get this cleaned up,” he murmured, “then I’m walking you home.”
“All the way home?” I smiled at him and gestured at our stores behind us.
He lowered his voice and whispered right next to my ear. “All the way home and up to your bed.”
My grin wobbled, my chest tight with so many things I wanted to say and couldn’t. “Deal,” I whispered instead.
And just like that, we returned to our tasks, side by side, boxing up cups and lanterns, brushing snow from the stall, amidst the glow of Christmas lights. The parade may have ended, and the street was nearly empty, but something new had begun—quiet and certain as the snow settling on Wishing Tree.
I think…
I know…
I’ve fallen in love.