Total pages in book: 42
Estimated words: 40951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 205(@200wpm)___ 164(@250wpm)___ 137(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 40951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 205(@200wpm)___ 164(@250wpm)___ 137(@300wpm)
Then she turns and walks away, red coat bright against the snow, head high.
I sit there, hands clenched around the reins, watching her go.
Every instinct in me screams to jump down. To call her name. To tell her I lied. That I do want more. That I’m just too broken to know how to hold it without dropping it.
But I stay on the box.
Because I’ve spent a lifetime learning how to survive.
And right now, surviving looks like letting the best thing that’s happened to me in years walk out of my life and telling myself it’s for the best.
The bells jingle softly as Donner tosses his head.
I fix my gaze on the road ahead and tell myself I’m doing the right thing.
It’s amazing what you can make yourself believe when you’re trying hard enough not to feel.
FIFTEEN
IVY
The morning I leave Chimney Gorge, it feels like the whole town shows up to watch me drive away.
Everyone except the one person I actually want to see.
Snow crunches under my boots as I carry my tote toward the square. The sky is one of those clear winter blues that feels fake, like someone painted it on. Banners from the Jubilee still hang over the street. Lights twine the lampposts, faint in the daylight. It smells like cinnamon, woodsmoke, and fried dough.
It smells like a place I fell in love with.
It smells like the place I got my heart broken.
Keely is the first to tackle me.
“Don’t go,” she says, flinging herself at me so hard my bag swings. “Stay and be our permanent content elf. We’ll pay you in cookies and emotional validation.”
I hug her back, laughing weakly. “Tempting. Very tempting. But my boss would probably notice if I stopped showing up and just…moved into the Peppermint Inn.”
“You’re a big city executive now,” she sighs, pulling back. “Creative Director.”
My brand-new title still feels too big, like a coat I haven’t grown into yet. “Something like that.”
Mayor Turner swoops in next, coat flaring, bells jingling at the ends of her scarf.
“You’ve given us a bumper year, darling,” she declares, gripping my hands. “Bookings are up, donations are up, and we already have inquiries for next year’s Snowflake Jubilee from three states over. You’ve put Chimney Gorge on the map.”
“I had great material,” I manage, forcing my lips into a smile. “You gave me a story to work with.”
She pats my cheek, eyes suspiciously shiny. “You come back anytime. Summer festival, fall harvest, special ‘Ivy Returns to Her Adoring Public’ parade. We’ll roll out the bells.”
“I’d like that,” I say quietly.
For a second I let myself picture it—coming back in summer, no snow, kids running through sprinklers in the square. Stopping by the stable. Seeing Rhett.
Except I’m not sure he’d want to see me.
That thought feels like ice water on an already bruised heart.
I scan the edges of the crowd. Volunteers. Families. Mrs. Hadley, wrapped in four layers and waving as if I’m boarding a ship.
But no tall, broad-shouldered mountain man in flannel.
No familiar scowl that I’ve learned hides things softer.
I already know he’s not here. I knew the second I walked into the square and didn’t feel his eyes on me. But a part of me keeps checking, like maybe he’s lurking by the barn, or back in the shadow of the gazebo.
He isn’t.
Keely follows my gaze, and her face softens. “He’s doing a fence check,” she says, like she wants to fix it for me and can’t. “Storm knocked over a section of the line up by the ridge. He left early.”
“Right,” I say, voice thin. “Of course. Important.”
Important.
Unlike goodbyes, apparently.
We make our way to my car. It’s already been scraped and warmed, windows clear, a to-go cup of cocoa waiting on the hood with a note from Lolly: Fuel for the road. Come back, sweet girl. —L.
I run my finger over the handwriting and swallow hard.
“Text me when you get home,” Keely says, hugging me again. “And send me pictures of your office. I want to see where you’re going to conquer the world from.”
“Deal,” I say.
Mayor Turner kisses my cheek, leaves a faint smear of red lipstick that Keely smudges away with a mitten. Mrs. Hadley presses a smaller quilt bundle into my arms “for when the city gets too loud.” Someone shoves a bag of cookies through the open window. Someone else tucks a tiny Chimney Gorge ornament onto my dashboard.
It’s a lot. It’s warm and chaotic and overwhelming.
It’s everything I ever wanted for myself…just not here, not yet.
“Take care of our PR elf,” the mayor calls as I slide behind the wheel.
Keely leans down, eyes earnest. “Come back,” she says quietly. “Even if it’s just for you.”
I nod, unable to speak past the lump in my throat.
I start the car. Wave. Smile. My face hurts. My chest hurts more.
As I drive out of the square, everyone waves like I’m in some kind of small-town royal procession. Kids jump up and down. Mrs. Flores blows me a kiss. Even the choir throws in an impromptu “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” as I pass.