Chapter 21
Valerie
And then there were two.
The ghost vanished, leaving just Grant, me, and the envelope, suddenly heavy in my hands. Only a few more days until Christmas Eve, and the case that was supposed to fix my life had started ticking like a time bomb primed to blow it apart instead.
What happened on that beach didn't seem like a mistake anymore. It felt like divine intervention disguised as chaos.
Which was exactly the problem.
Because the more real this became, the more I wanted from Grant—real vows, not the joking ones we’d stumbled through. A life glimpsed around the edges of my fear, full of laughter and warmth and something dangerously close to forever.
That's what he’d meant, wasn’t it? The difference between a fake husband and an accidental one. He’d made me promise a year ago we’d never fake anything between us. So if he wasn’t faking, and neither was I, then that meant—
“You gonna open it? Because I’ve reached peak suspense.”
I blinked, snapping out of whatever spiral my brain had just staged.
Grant waited, one arm resting on his knee, the faintest smile tugging at his mouth.
His sweater sleeves were shoved to his forearms, the knit stretched over a chest I’d had the undeniable pleasure of using as a pillow for nearly a week.
The air in the room was warm, but my temperature spike had nothing to do with insulation.
Whatever was in this card was definitely going to get me in trouble.
I tried to wrangle my thoughts, but if Santa was a mind reader, my name was already scribbled in permanent marker at the top of the naughty list. Judging by the look in Grant’s eyes, he’d claimed the second spot—and was absolutely planning to challenge me for first.
“Just admiring the expensive stationery,” I said.
“Uh-huh. You admire. I’ll age.”
I tore the envelope open. Inside was a single cream card, stamped with the same embossed seal as the first challenge. I read the words twice, just to be sure I wasn’t hallucinating.
“It says we have to create a memory together that we’ll both cringe about later—in public.”
Snow still whispered against the dormer windows, soft but relentless. A thread of disappointment coiled through my chest. We weren’t doing anything in public tonight. Not with the roads closed, and the town buried under a storm.
Besides, what would we even do? Write Valerie Spellman might, kind of, possibly be falling for Grant Delaney in the snow outside the police station, then throw a rock through the window? I shook my head. That wasn’t just cringeworthy; it sounded like a felony.
“I have an idea,” Grant said, his grin spreading with pure mischief. “And it won’t get us arrested.”
I jolted, cheeks flaming faster than smores over an open fire. Had I said that last part out loud?
“Arrested?” I squeaked.
“Yeah. The radio said there’s a state of emergency. Only official vehicles are allowed out.”
Relief rushed through me—good. My snow-writing confession was still safely in my imagination.
“So what’s your idea? I’m not streaking in front of the ghost.”
Grant laughed, and the sound curled around my spine.
“Relax. I was thinking of something classier. But if streaking is ever on the table…”
His devilish eye contact should be considered a ranged weapon. Target acquired. I crumpled the challenge card into a ball and lobbed it at his head.
“I regret coming here. I should’ve taken a case overseas. I could be sunning myself in Fiji right now.”
He pushed to his feet, still smiling. “Oh, you’re going to wish you were in Fiji. Come on. Coat, boots, scarf. Preferably in that order.”
“We’re going out? In that?” I pointed at the window, where snow still fell in glittering sheets.
“Yes. It’s part of the experience.”
“Dying of hypothermia?”
He caught my hand and tugged me to my feet, hard enough that I collided with his chest. His arms came around me automatically, achingly warm.
“Have I ever let you die of hypothermia, even once, Spells?”
Something in his tone stripped the humor out of the air, the words sinking like an oath. A reminder he'd always been there when I needed him.
“You have magic hands,” I murmured, my palm flattening against the steady thrum of his heart. “Warm a girl up once during a rainstorm, and she develops expectations.”
Those hands sifted through my hair, a low hum of heat sparking across my scalp. “Never settle,” he said softly.
My eyelids fluttered. I could’ve settled for never leaving this attic. Just growing old among the dusty boxes and the steady warmth of him. But I stepped back before I forgot how to move.
I pressed a finger into his chest. “I will allow you to take me into the blizzard. But I will complain the whole time and expect cocoa upon our return.”
His thumb traced the edge of my cheekbone. “It’s a date.”
The wind hit like a wall the moment we stepped outside. Snow whirled under the lantern light, catching in our hair and eyelashes until everything blurred. I yanked my scarf higher.
“This is insane,” I said through the wool.
“Technically,” Grant said, offering his arm, “it’s a marriage-building exercise.”
“Technically,” I countered, looping my arm through his because the drifts were practically knee-deep, “it’s the frozen trail to divorce.”
He grinned down at me, the man who faced every storm with reckless abandon. “You won’t get my magic hands in the settlement.”
I scoffed, doing my best to keep the cheesy smile off my face. “You’re lucky this isn’t a community-property state, or you’d be saying goodbye—” I mimed slicing my hand through the air like a blade. “—to half of those digits.”
“Adorably ghoulish, Spells,” he said, tugging me closer as laughter curled under the words.
The wind tried to steal my hat as we trudged through the drifts, a flashlight beam cutting through the swirling white. Grant slowed his pace, steadying me whenever my boots threatened rebellion. Up ahead, a single lantern flickered through the trees, mounted above the caretaker’s cottage door.
I stopped short, suspicion prickling down my spine. “Grant,” I warned, “what are we doing here?”
He turned toward me, gloved hands bracketing my shoulders. “We're creating memories.” And before I could argue, he knocked, then added, “By spreading holiday cheer.”
The door swung open to reveal an old man in thick flannel. White whiskers sprang from his ears, and deep lines framed eyes squinted with curiosity.
“Everything all right up at the inn? Power still holding?”
Grant nodded, slipping an arm around my shoulders. “Running just fine. We’re here because it’s that special time of year when my wife loves to sing her carols.”
My head snapped toward him, eyes wide.
Your wife?
Wait—Carols?
The man shrugged as if he'd seen stranger things during a storm, then leaned back and called over his shoulder, “Shirley, come quick—there’s carolers!”
“Carolers?” she shouted back. “In this weather?”
He threw up his hands as if he couldn't make sense of it either.
“Grant,” I hissed under my breath, my mittened hand gripping his coat sleeve. “I am not singing Christmas carols.”
His arm tightened, tucking me firmly against his side, the heat of him cutting through my coat like my own personal wood stove. A woman with silver curls, wearing a red fluffy robe, appeared beside her husband, the TV remote still in her hand.
And then, without shame or warning, Grant started to sing.
Loudly.
So off-key I nearly bolted just to avoid being caught at the scene of the crime.
Not arrested? Please. Grant was going to do twenty-five to life for butchering Jingle Bells.
He nudged me with his elbow.
“Fine!” I snapped, joining in on the next verse.
My voice somehow sounded worse than his.
Animals were probably waking from hibernation just to judge us.
My elusive groundhog had likely vowed never to surface again, sentencing me to a lifetime of long winters.
The couple in the doorway winced; neither looked impressed.
That did it—I dissolved into laughter, the kind that burned in my chest and stole my breath until I leaned against Grant just to stay upright. By the time we reached the end, the caretaker had shut the door and turned off the light.
I laughed harder.
The flashlight beam clicked on, and Grant took my hand, his breath puffing clouds into the night.
“Come on, you were promised cocoa. I think you’ve earned it.”
We sprinted toward the inn as fast as the snowdrifts allowed. I couldn’t stop laughing—half delirious, half tipsy from this moment, from him. When the porch steps loomed, we slowed to catch our breath beneath the swaying lantern.
My cheeks ached, tears freezing as they slipped down my chin. Grant brushed them away with his thumb, his own cheeks flushed pink from the cold. The edges of his hair, peeking under his hat, were dusted with white flakes.
I dropped my forehead against his chest and cringed. “How are we the worst carolers that ever lived?”
“We?” His grin curved, wicked and boyish all at once. “I thought I sounded pretty good. They were going to invite us in until you started.”
“You were flat on every note. Next Christmas, I lead.”
I felt his sudden inhale, the subtle shift of muscle under my palms. His arms tightened as if my words had lodged somewhere deep, and holding me could keep them there.
Next Christmas…
The lantern scattered golden light across his face. Snow clung to his lashes, his breath syncing with mine until the air between us changed—becoming charged. I’d done it again, electrified the wire between us. Only this time, it wasn’t with hate. It was with hope.
“Grant—” My fingers fisted in the front of his coat, tugging him closer. “I don’t want cocoa.”
“What do you want, Spells?” His voice was rough enough to scrape the air.
What did I want? The list was endless, but every line, every wish melted into one word.
I rose onto my toes. “You.”
The kiss stole my breath. Snow spun around us, cold against my skin and heat everywhere else. He caught my chin on a groan, his mouth taking me deeper, until the porch light blurred to nothing.
The door banged open, flooding us with a rush of warmth and the scent of pine. We stumbled inside, kicked off our boots, mouths still searching. Mittens, hats, coats—one by one—slipped to the floor.
Grant’s hands framed my face, walking us backward, his mouth slanting over mine like I was a gift he couldn’t open fast enough. One hand slid into my hair, the other found my waist, becoming my anchor in this blizzard we’d created.
He tasted like peppermint, and everywhere he touched burned. I’d spent months—years—pretending I didn’t want this. So certain something else was out there. That what was already in front of me was too broken to fix.
“Valerie,” he breathed against my mouth, the sound breaking around the edges.
I kissed him harder. We stumbled toward the stairs; the moment giving way to something hungrier. When my foot slipped on the first step, he caught me hard against him, his fingers finding mine and lacing tight.
“Careful,” he murmured, somehow steady in the chaos. “Can’t let you get hurt.”
He guided me upward, his thumb tracing slow circles against my skin. His restraint was maddening, but he had the look of a man who wasn’t going to risk anything—determined to take his time when every instinct in me begged him to rush.
At the top of the landing, he turned and pressed my back against the wall, breath uneven.
“Tell me you’re sure,” he said, the ache in his tone twisting inside my chest. “Tell me again.”
“Yes. I want you.”
It was all he needed. His hands slid beneath my thighs, lifting me as if it were effortless. I wrapped my arms around his neck, our mouths finding each other again.
He carried me the rest of the way, the hallway narrowing to his heartbeat and the creak of the door as he kicked it open. He laid me down gently, arms braced around me.
There was something in his eyes—fierce ice blue, a stark contrast to the teasing glint I’d grown used to. But both were Grant, and I wanted them equally. Even knowing I might lose everything.
“This doesn’t have to change anything,” I whispered, my breath shaking. “If you’re not—”
His mouth brushed the corner of mine. “You change everything, Spells.”
Then he kissed me, deep enough to rewrite every rule between us.
The lantern flickered once and went out. I didn’t need it anymore. Not with him—safe from everything. There were no cases to solve, no marriage contracts to escape. Just us. Exactly where I wanted to be.