Chapter 12
TWELVE
brENTON
Somehow I know I’ll remember this day for the rest of my life.
Because tonight I’m going to tell Greer everything.
I’m standing in front of the bathroom mirror in the firehouse bunk room, trying to flatten my hair. It’s hopeless. My hair is always a little wild, but now it’s wild with purpose. Wild with hope.
Cruz lounges on the bench outside the bathroom, scrolling his phone. “You done yet?”
“No.”
“You’ve said that three times.”
“It keeps being true,” I mutter.
He snorts. “You’re getting ready like you’re about to propose.”
“I am not.”
“Uh-huh.”
I check the mirror again. “What if she freaks out?”
“She won’t.”
“How do you know?”
Cruz pockets his phone and stands. “Because every time you walk into the lodge, she looks like someone just handed her a plate of cookies and a marriage license.”
I stop breathing. “She does not.”
“She does,” he says. “She really does. It’s honestly alarming.”
I swallow, suddenly overwhelmed by the possibility of hope.
“Go,” Cruz says, clapping my shoulder. “And Brenton?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t be a coward.”
I nod.
Then I head toward the lodge, my heart pounding harder than any call I’ve ever responded to.
The lodge is packed.
Guests and staff mingle under warm lights and paper snowflakes suspended from the beams. Someone strung fairy lights around the banister. The piano in the corner plays a soft, jazzy version of “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.”
The smell of cider, cinnamon, and evergreen wraps around me like a memory.
And then I see her.
Greer is standing near the tree wearing a deep green dress that makes her look like the centerpiece of the entire holiday season. Soft curls frame her face. Her lips are berry red. And when she laughs at something Holt says, she tilts her head back a little, her eyes bright.
I’m pretty sure I stop breathing for a solid ten seconds.
Holt notices me first. His eyebrows lift so high they nearly escape his forehead. He swiftly points two fingers at his eyes, then at me, then at Greer.
I flip him off behind my jacket.
He gives me a thumbs-up like we’re in a covert spy movie.
Greer turns — and stills when she sees me.
Something soft and warm and devastating flickers across her face.
She walks toward me slowly.
“Hi,” she says, voice quiet and full of something that makes my knees weak.
“Hi,” I breathe. “You look…”
Beautiful. Luminous. Like everything I’ve wanted but didn’t think I could have.
“…happy,” I finish.
Her smile tilts. “I am.”
My pulse kicks.
Before either of us can say more, the lodge mic crackles.
“Welcome to the Wilder Mountain Staff & Town Secret Santa Mixer!” someone announces. It’s Ellie from the bakery, who runs events like she was born for them. “It is now time for the big reveal!”
Laughter ripples through the crowd.
Greer bites her lip.
I swallow.
This is it.
Staff gather near the front as Ellie reads off pairings. People clap. Someone whoops when two coworkers realize they’ve been gifting each other for three years straight. Jovie squeals when she finds out Rhodes gave her a pair of handmade calfskin mittens.
Calder stands in the back with a cup of hot cider, scowling at all the cheer like it personally offended him. (Perfect.)
Then Ellie lifts the final card.
“And last but definitely not least…”
The room quiets.
“These two had…impressively thoughtful gifts. Possibly romantic gifts. Possibly aggressively romantic gifts.”
Holt cackles.
Ellie continues.
“Please give it up for… Brenton and Greer. Who were each others’ Secret Santas!”
The crowd erupts into cheers.
My ears ring.
Greer turns toward me, both hands pressed to her mouth, eyes wide.
“You,” she whispers, staring at me like she’s seeing me for the first time.
“Yeah,” I say softly. “Me.”
“And I—” She shakes her head. “I was giving to you.”
I nod.
“You chose those gifts?” she asks. “All of them?”
“Yes,” I say. “Every single one.”
Emotion flickers across her face so fast I can barely track it — surprise, disbelief, hope, something deeper.
Her voice trembles. “The notes…?”
“Me.”
“The ornament?”
“Me.”
“The planner line?” she whispers. “The one about letting myself believe in big things?”
My throat tightens. “Especially that one.”
Tears shine in her eyes.
And suddenly I don’t care that the entire lodge is staring. I don’t care about timing or hesitation or storms or every fear I’ve carried for years.
I step closer.
“Greer,” I say quietly. “I wasn’t holding back because I didn’t want you. I was holding back because wanting you scared the hell out of me.”
Her breath catches.
“But I’m done being scared,” I continue. “And I’m done pretending I don’t want a life that includes you.”
A soft, shocked laugh escapes her.
“You want a life with me?” she whispers.
I lift her hand. Press my lips to her knuckles. “Yeah,” I murmur. “I do.”
The room collectively “awwwws.”
Holt yells, “ABOUT DAMN TIME!”
Calder mutters from the back, “This is excessive.”
Ellie waves her clipboard. “Kiss already!”
And Greer — blushing, laughing, crying a little — rises onto her toes, puts both hands on my chest, and kisses me.
Not a small kiss.
Not a shy kiss.
A kiss that tells the world that I am her man and she is my woman.
The room bursts into fresh cheers and catcalls.
And I kiss her back, pulling her close, letting my hands wrap around her waist like she’s something precious.
Because she is.
When we finally break apart, breathless and smiling, she whispers:
“I choose you too.”
And I swear, it’s the best moment of my life. Even better than getting exactly what you want under the tree Christmas morning.
Because she’s mine now. I’m hers.
And the rest of this holiday season, and every moment of the future, is ours to share.