Chapter 21
Marigold
Eb doesn’t say another word.
Doesn’t try to explain or justify or charm his way past the damage.
He just holds me like I’m precious and I wonder if he’ll kick the door open with one booted foot. Like a proper romantic action hero.
Shh—that’s silly. You don’t want him to break his house.
Still, I should be protesting.
I should be yelling or demanding answers or, I don’t know, threatening to summon Uncle Uzzi and have him curse Eb’s favorite brand of beard oil.
But instead?
I’m melting against him.
Like butter in a warm skillet.
He carries me over the threshold like a bride—don’t read into that, Marigold—and uses one of those fancy keyless locks, punching in a code so fast I almost don’t catch the numbers.
The soft beep-beep-beep-beep is followed by a quiet chime, and the door clicks shut behind us.
Then he punches in another code on a sleek little panel just inside the foyer.
The security system.
Because of course Ebenezer Rogers is the kind of man who has a home security system so intense it could probably shoot down a drone with a squint and a strongly worded warning.
And still, he carries me.
Me.
Through a foyer that smells like pine, cedarwood, and freshly baked bread—wait, what?
I blink, my gaze darting around the entryway, only for my breath to catch in my throat.
Oh.
This place is—holy shit.
It’s beautiful.
Expensive, but surprisingly inviting.
The foyer opens into a wide, vaulted space, all soft white walls, glowing light fixtures, and warm wood floors polished to a gleam.
But it's not the soaring ceilings or the open-concept living room that hits me hardest.
It’s the wall of windows overlooking the backyard.
I gasp.
“Eb,” I whisper, mouth falling open. “Oh my!”
The entire backyard is a winter wonderland.
Stone pavers peek out beneath a dusting of snow, leading to a sleek, covered in-ground pool.
Tall pines surround the space, forming a natural perimeter that looks like something out of a luxury ski resort catalog. And every single tree?
Wrapped in thousands—no, tens of thousands—of twinkling fairy lights.
But center stage?
Dead center in the room with a thick, velvet skirt wrapped around a potted root ball, framed perfectly in the glow of the moonlight streaming in through the windows and fairy lights everywhere, stands a fourteen-foot-tall blue spruce, my absolute favorite Christmas tree, decked out in glittering gold and red baubles, ribbons, tinsel, and—wait.
My heart skips a beat.
“Are those cookie-shaped ornaments?” I whisper.
That’s when he finally sets me down—gently, like he’s worried I’ll crumble.
I turn, eyes wide, drawn toward the tree like I’m being called.
The closer I get, the faster my breath comes.
My fingers reach out, trembling a little, as I pluck one of the ornaments from a lower branch.
It’s a gingerbread cookie.
Perfectly frosted.
A tiny “E+M” piped in red icing.
But it’s not just any cookie.
It’s my cookie.
I scan the rest of the tree and realize—they’re all mine.
Every single ornament. Sugar cookies, gingerbread, shortbread—all of them are replicas from The Cookie Hive.
Some from past seasons, some from this year’s specials.
A few of them are from custom orders, only my regulars would know about.
“How did you do all this?” I start to ask, voice cracking.
Eb clears his throat and shrugs one shoulder, the faintest hint of pride behind his eyes.
“I know a guy.”
He shrugs.
And because he’s damn near perfect, he gives me a moment.
Doesn’t push.
Just stands back, patient and quiet, letting me gawk and try to process what the hell is happening.
Because this?
This is not the act of a man who used me.
This is a man who knows me.
And maybe loves me?
When I finally look back at him, he’s not smirking. Not acting cocky or smug or anything remotely jerkish.
He looks raw.
“I didn’t ghost you,” he says softly. “I didn’t run away.”
“But—” I start, only for him to hold up a hand.
“I wrote a note before I left. I swear I did.”
“You didn’t leave a note,” I say, biting the inside of my cheek. “I woke up alone and… I thought I meant nothing.”
He curses softly and runs a hand over his face.
“I did leave a note, Honey. I wrote you a whole damn page—explaining everything. I’d never just leave you. I was going to text too, but I didn’t want to wake you. It must have fallen under the couch or something. I-I don’t know, but I swear I was thinking about you the whole time in the ER.”
I suck in a breath.
“The ER?”
“Yeah.” He shrugs. “Bobby got in an accident with his motorcycle. He wrecked his bike in the snow, that dumbass, trying to race his own shadow or something. They wouldn’t discharge him from the hospital without someone signing for him.
And I’m the only family he has nearby since our parents moved to Tennessee. ”
He pauses, and I can see the struggle on his face as he reins in his Badger.
“I had to go get him. I thought I’d be back in time to help you. But I was stuck there, thinking about you every second. And when I realized you thought I just vanished?”
He shakes his head.
“That gutted me.”
He steps closer.
Close enough that I feel the warmth of his body, the scent of pine and peppermint from the twinkle-lit room wrapping around us.
He nods.
“Is he okay?”
“Who?”
“Your brother,” I say.
“Yeah. Bobby’s fine. He’s a fucking idiot. But my mother wouldn’t let me drown him or leave him in the woods when we were younger, so I’m stuck with him.”
I laugh. And I snort because I am that cool—you can be jealous, I would be.
I’m trying to make the words land. But it’s all too much.
Too fast.
Too big.
“Oh my God,” I breathe, one hand rising to press against my chest. “So, you’re serious? You left because of your brother?”
“Yeah.”
“And you just didn’t want to wake me?”
“No,” he says, stepping forward again. “Because you looked so peaceful. So beautiful. And because—” He stops.
Swallows hard.
“Because I knew if I woke you up, I wouldn’t be able to leave.”
A laugh bubbles up in my throat.
It’s watery and wobbly, and maybe a little unhinged.
But I can’t help it.
“I freaked out for no reason?” I say, panic rising fast now. “I ruined us for no reason?”
His eyes flash. “No,” he says fiercely, reaching out and grabbing my hand. “You didn’t ruin anything. Not even close.”
I stare at him.
At this man.
This stubborn, sweet, growly Badger who built a cookie-themed Christmas tree in my honor.
Who went to save his brother but still came back for me.
Who kissed me like the world was ending and then let me hit him for it.
And suddenly I’m the one moving.
Throwing myself into his arms.
Holding on tight.
Because maybe this isn’t the end.
Maybe it’s only the beginning.