Chapter 10
The snow falls in soft, lazy spirals as I walk down Main Street, my hands tucked into my coat pockets.
It’s the kind of gentle snowfall that belongs on a Christmas card—delicate flakes catching the morning light, dusting the garlands and bells strung between lampposts.
It’s been three days since we got here, yet everything already feels familiar.
Sophie woke early this morning, bleary-eyed but determined, and we went for our first run.
Little chatterbox that she is, she kept it up the entire way.
She didn’t really expect me to respond all the time, so I enjoyed listening to her.
Most of the time she was bad mouthing Chase, and sometimes she was sharing stories Amber trying to upstage her sister.
It was interesting to learn that Bob’s brother chose to take his wife’s surname when he married into money. No wonder there is such an income disparity between the two families. Not that it matters to me, but listening to Sophie has hardened my resolve.
I don’t know if Amber stole Chase just because Olivia had him or if she is genuinely in love with him. I don’t care either way. As far as I’m concerned, she cleared the path for me. But I’m going to make sure Amber gets no further opportunity to humiliate Olivia.
I check my watch. I still have time for the appointment.
It’s remarkable I’ve not once opened my laptop since I got here, nor have I had the desire to do so.
It sits untouched back at the Hartley house, and I’m sure emails have piled up despite me being on official vacation.
The Alexander Castellano who left New York a week ago would have been unable to truly disconnect even when he’s supposed to.
But that Alexander hadn’t spent a morning decorating with Bob, or learned a Christmas folk song from Carol as she made breakfast, or felt Sophie loop her arm through his like he’s actually her brother.
That Alexander hadn’t been welcomed into a family’s fold so completely that it felt like his first real Christmas.
This is the first day I’ve been alone in Silverbell Hollow, and the quiet is oddly strange.
Olivia left an hour ago with her mother and Sophie, heading to Asheville for what Carol called “mandatory girl time.” She’d been a little reluctant to leave me to my own devices, but her father and I are planning to go tree shopping this afternoon, so that sort of pacified her.
Now, walking through downtown Silverbell Hollow with snow dusting my shoulders, I have business to attend to. Business that requires Olivia to be far, far away.
My phone rings.
The screen lights up with “Mom,” and my good mood evaporates like steam in cold air.
I consider letting it go to voicemail. But Victoria Castellano is nothing if not persistent, and ignoring her only delays the inevitable. I answer, keeping my voice neutral.
“Mom.”
“Alexander.” Her tone is pleasant but pointed, the way it always is when she’s displeased. “Where are you?”
“Traveling.”
“Traveling.” She repeats the word like it’s a foreign concept. “Your assistant doesn’t know where you are. She says you’re ‘unavailable for the holidays.’ What does that mean?”
I weave around a family taking photos in front of the massive Christmas tree in the town square. “It means I’m unavailable.”
“It’s Christmas, sweetheart. We should spend it together as a family. I thought you were in Hawaii, but when I called the resort—”
“Stop looking for me.” The words come out sharper than I intended. I soften my tone. “I’m fine, Mom. I just needed some time away.”
A group of carolers has set up near the gazebo, their voices lifting in harmony as they sing “Silent Night.” The sound is pure and sweet, carrying across the square.
“Where are you?” My mother’s voice shifts, curious now. “Are those carolers?”
I don’t answer immediately, watching the carolers as they transition into “Deck the Halls.” Families gather around them, children bundled in bright coats, parents holding steaming cups from the nearby coffee cart. The scene is so picture-perfect it almost hurts.
“Mom, do you need something from me?”
“Christmas is for family, Alexander.” Her voice holds that particular note of disappointment she’s perfected over the years. “You should be here with us.”
The words settle over me, heavy and uncomfortable. Christmas is for family. Carol said almost the exact same thing the other morning, her eyes bright as she watched Bob and me hanging lights together. But when Carol said it, it felt genuine, like an invitation, not an obligation.
Why does it feel so different coming from my own mother?
“I’m spending Christmas with my girlfriend’s family,” I say, the words firm and final. “I’ll see you on New Year’s.”
“Girlfriend? What? Alexander, wait—”
I end the call.
For a moment, I just stand there, staring at my phone. Then I say the word again, testing it out loud in the cold air. “Girlfriend.” My mood lifts immediately, a smile tugging at my lips despite myself. Girlfriend. I like how it sounds. I like how it feels when attached to Olivia.
When it comes to Olivia, I like it all. The way she fits against me when we sleep, her body curling into mine like she’s been doing it for years instead of days.
The soft sound of her breathing in the darkness.
The way her hair spreads across my chest in the morning, dark waves that smell like vanilla and cinnamon.
I’ve always considered myself a patient man, but with Olivia, it’s hard to keep my hands off her. It’s been three days, and I’ve tried to take things slow. But when she presses against me in her sleep, her legs tangled with mine, I want nothing more than to slide my hand between her legs, and—
She’s started to let down her guard in bed.
Her initial discomfort of sharing the bed with me is gone.
I wonder if she’s realized she seeks me out when we’re in bed, even when she’s on the edge of drifting off.
I’ve made sure to move carefully with her, pushing her in some aspects and holding back in others.
It’s a gentle tug of war where I gently pull her towards me, and her feet slide in the mud as she moves closer.
I wonder if she’s catching on. She’s too smart not to, but then again, she might not want to acknowledge it.
I can see it in the way she looks at me sometimes, like she’s trying to figure out if this is real or still part of the act.
In the way she hesitates before pulling away when I touch her.
In the small moments when she lets herself lean into me instead of maintaining distance.
That’s fine. It’s easier to sneak closer while she’s keeping her eyes shut. I’ve waited six years for her. What’s a few more weeks?
I pocket my phone and continue down Main Street, my destination clear in my mind.
The storefront for Evergreen Bing Crosby crooning about a white Christmas.
I stop a young man carrying an armload of what look like table runners. “I have an appointment with Tessa Maddox.”
He nearly drops everything. His eyes go wide, his mouth falling open as he chokes out, “Today?”
“Yes.”
“But we’re in the middle of...” He gestures helplessly at the organized pandemonium around us. “It’s December. We’re running three festivals simultaneously—”
“Today,” I repeat calmly.
He swallows hard, then points to a set of stairs at the back. “Second floor. First office on the left.” I nod my thanks and navigate through the chaos, dodging a woman balancing a tower of centerpieces and sidestepping a man hunched over blueprints spread across the floor.
The second floor is quieter but no less busy.
Through glass walls, I can see teams working, their focus intense despite the holiday decorations covering every available surface.
A woman intercepts me before I reach Tessa’s office.
She’s mid-twenties, polished in cream and black, dark hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail.
An iPad is tucked under one arm, and she studies me with the kind of sharp assessment that reminds me of Olivia.
“Mr. Castellano?” Her voice is professional but carries an edge of curiosity. “I’m Regina Denver, Ms. Maddox’s assistant. She’s expecting you.”
“Thank you.”
Regina opens the door to Tessa’s office, and I step inside.
The space is not the most organized one I’ve seen, but it probably makes sense to its residents.
Color-coded folders line one wall. A massive planning board takes up another, covered in sticky notes, photographs, and what appears to be an entire timeline mapped out in different colored markers.
String lights frame the window, and a small Christmas tree sits on a filing cabinet, its ornaments all miniature planners and tiny staplers.
Tessa Maddox herself is on the phone, pacing behind her desk with the kind of kinetic energy that suggests she hasn’t sat still in days. She’s petite but commands the space, her short layered bob swinging as she turns. When she sees me, her hazel-gold eyes brighten immediately.
“I’ll call you back,” she says into the phone, not waiting for a response before ending the call. She rounds her desk with quick, purposeful strides, hand extended. “Mr. Castellano. What a pleasure.”