Chapter 11 Lauren #2
The snow is falling harder now, coating everything in fresh white powder. The crowd is watching us with collective bated breath. Janet and her band are grinning like they've just witnessed the plot of their new favorite rom-com.
And Dylan is looking at me like I'm the only person in the world.
"What if it doesn't work?" I whisper.
"What if it does? I’ve spent the last few years surrounded by people and I’ve never felt so damn alone. But alone with you, the last thing I feel is lonely."
Oh, God. I’m in love with him. It’s crazy, it’s insane, but I am.
I think about the past two days. The way he kept the fire going all night so I wouldn't be cold. The way he listened to me talk about my dreams without judgment. The way he made me laugh and challenged me and kissed me like I was precious.
The way he just sang the worst rendition of "Silver Bells" in human history because he wanted to show me he was willing to look foolish for me.
"Okay," I say.
"Okay?"
"Okay, let's see where this goes." I grab the front of his hoodie and pull him down for a kiss. "But I'm warning you that I'm going to be stressed about this song for at least another week."
"I can handle stressed. I just can’t handle not seeing you again." He kisses me again, deeper this time, and the crowd erupts in applause.
When we finally break apart, Janet is wiping tears from her eyes. "That," she announces into her microphone, "is what Christmas is all about, folks!"
The band launches into another song, and Dylan and I climb down from the stage. He keeps his arm around my waist as we walk through the market, and it feels right. Natural. Like I don't have to choose between my dreams and taking a chance on something real.
My phone buzzes with a text from Avery.
Did you just go VIRAL at a holiday market?!?!?
"Oh no," I groan. "Someone posted us up on stage."
Dylan peeks at my screen and grins. "Good. Now everyone knows you're taken."
"Taken? We've been officially dating for approximately three minutes."
"Best three minutes of my life." He steers us toward the hot cider stand. "Come on. Let me buy you something warm to drink. That doesn't involve marshmallows."
"The marshmallows are non-negotiable."
"Fine. But I'm putting bourbon in mine."
As we stand in line, Dylan's phone starts buzzing too. He glances at it and laughs. "Ian saw the video. He says, and I quote, 'Your singing is an actual crime but I'm happy for you.'"
"I like your brother already."
"You'll meet them all at the distillery Christmas party. If you want to come." He looks suddenly uncertain. "That's not too much, is it? Meeting the family?"
I think about it. Two days ago, it would have been too much. But standing here with snow falling and Christmas music playing and Dylan looking at me like I'm the best present he's ever gotten?
"I'd love to meet your family. As long as you promise never to sing in public again."
"Deal." He kisses the top of my head. "Though I can't promise I won't sing in private. Bourbon makes me confident."
"Bourbon makes you delusional."
"Same thing."
We collect our ciders—mine loaded with whipped cream and a candy cane—and find a bench near the stage. Janet's band is playing another song, and couples are dancing in the square despite the snow.
"So," Dylan says. "Nashville. When do you want to go on our first official date?"
"This doesn't count?"
"This is just the grand gesture. The real first date needs to be planned properly."
I lean my head on his shoulder. "How about tomorrow night? I'll probably be in a complete panic about this song, and you can distract me."
"Perfect. I know a great restaurant. Very romantic. And after dinner, we can go listen to live music somewhere. Support the local songwriting community."
That makes my chest warm. "You really get it, don't you?"
"Get what?"
"What it means to be a songwriter. Why it matters so much to me."
Dylan sets his cider down and takes both my hands in his. "Lauren, I watched you light up when you talked about creating that feeling for people through music. I watched you come alive on that stage just now. Of course I get it. Your passion for your art is part of what makes you incredible."
I blink back tears for the second time today, but these are happy tears. "You're going to make me cry again, and my mascara can only handle so much."
"Then I'll just have to kiss it better."
He does, sweet and slow, tasting like bourbon and cinnamon and promises of more tomorrows.
When we break apart, I say, "I should probably actually drive home at some point. I have work to do."
"I'll follow you. Make sure you get there safe."
"Dylan, you don't have to—"
"Rule number seven," he reminds me. "I need to make sure you're home safe. And besides, I want to see where you live. See where the magic happens."
"It's a tiny apartment with questionable plumbing and a neighbor who plays drums at weird hours."
"Sounds perfect."
We finish our ciders and walk back to where our cars are parked. The snow has let up again, leaving everything coated in a fresh layer of white. It's like the whole world has been reset, given a second chance to get things right.
Just like us.
As I unlock my car, Dylan pulls me close for one more kiss.
"Thank you," he murmurs against my lips.
"For what?"
"For not driving away forever. For giving this a chance. For being brave enough to let me in."
"Thank you for following me to a holiday market and singing terrible Christmas songs in front of strangers."
"That really sounds like less of a compliment than what I said, but anytime." He grins and opens my car door for me. "I'll be right behind you, okay? Take your time, drive safe. I'm not going anywhere."
I believe him. And that's the scariest, most wonderful thing of all.
As I pull out of the parking lot, I can see Dylan's truck in my rearview mirror, following at a safe distance. My phone buzzes with another text from Avery.
That video has 50k views. You're famous now. Also YOU HAVE TO TELL ME EVERYTHING.
I smile and turn up my radio. A Christmas song is playing and for the first time in weeks, I'm not thinking about my deadline or my career or whether I'm good enough.
I'm just thinking about how sometimes the best songs, the best stories, the best moments in life are the ones you never see coming.
And how maybe, just maybe, I'm about to write the best Christmas song of my career—because now I know exactly what it feels like when snow falls and someone looks at you like you're magic.
My phone rings.
I tap the screen to answer it on speaker. It’s Dylan.
He’s singing the infamous Mariah Carey Christmas song.
Laughing, I tell him, “I’m going to drive off the road! Stop!”
“I just didn’t want you to forget my voice on the drive home.”
“I’m ending this call.”
But I grin as I drive down the mountain with Dylan following behind me.
I know sometimes taking a risk is the only way to find what you've been searching for all along.