Page 15 of Melting the Grump
Chapter 6 – Scott
The first hints of dawn filter through the barn's weathered slats, painting stripes of pale gold across the hay-strewn floor.
Abigail sighs in her sleep, her face peaceful, one hand resting over my heart as if even unconscious, she seeks its rhythm. Her red curls spill across my chest, tangled from sleep. I reach out carefully, tucking a wayward strand behind her ear, marveling at its softness, at how natural this feels.
In the gentle light of morning, something fundamental has shifted inside me. The caution that's guided every decision, the walls I've built to protect myself and this town, don't feel necessary anymore.
For years, I've been so careful—measuring risks, calculating costs, guarding against the mistakes of the past. But looking at Abigail now, I don't want to be careful anymore. I want to keep her. To build something with her. To take the risk that comes with opening my heart fully.
The fire has burned down to glowing embers, offering just enough warmth to hold back the morning chill. The entire scene feels suspended in time, fragile and perfect, like a snow globe just before the flakes settle.
She stirs, eyelashes fluttering against her cheeks before opening slowly. For a moment, confusion clouds her expression, then recognition dawns, followed by a smile that makes my chest tighten.
"Hi," she whispers, voice husky with sleep.
"Hi yourself," I murmur, unable to stop my own smile.
"How long have you been awake?"
"A while." I don't tell her I've been memorizing the curve of her jaw, the pattern of freckles across her nose, the way her body feels against mine. It sounds too intense, too soon. Except nothing about this feels too soon anymore.
"The storm's over," she observes, noticing the beams of sunlight.
"Looks like it." I tuck another curl behind her ear, letting my fingers linger against her cheek. "We should probably head back to town. People might be looking for us."
She nods but makes no move to get up, instead snuggling closer into my side. "Five more minutes?"
I drop a kiss on the top of her head. "Five more minutes."
Those five minutes stretch into twenty as we exchange lazy kisses and whispered words.
Outside, the world glitters with impossible beauty. The early snow has transformed Harvest Hollow into a wonderland where autumn and winter collide, with golden leaves dusted with crystalline white, pumpkins wearing caps of snow, morning sunlight catching every surface and turning it to diamonds. Our breath clouds in the crisp air as we stand hand in hand, taking in the scene.
"It's magical," Abigail breathes, her eyes wide with wonder.
I squeeze her hand, watching her instead of the landscape. "It is."
The walk back to town follows the winding path through woods and fields. Snow crunches beneath our boots, interspersed with the crackle of fallen leaves.
"What are you thinking about?" she asks, catching me watching her again.
"How quickly everything's changed," I admit. "A week ago, I was determined to keep your festival proposal from passing the council vote."
She laughs, the sound bright in the quiet morning. "And now?"
"Now I'm wondering if we should add a winter carnival in February." I pull her close, pressing a kiss to her temple. "Since you seem determined to turn our quiet town upside down."
"Just wait until you see my ideas for Christmas," she teases, eyes sparkling. "Lights everywhere. Carolers. A living nativity scene with real animals."
I groan dramatically, but there's no real resistance in it. "You're going to be the death of my carefully ordered life, aren't you?"
"Absolutely." She stands on tiptoe to press a quick kiss to my lips. "But what a way to go."
As we near the edge of town, other people appear on the roads: neighbors checking on each other after the storm, workers clearing fallen branches, children already building snowmen in yards despite the thin dusting of snow. Every person we pass does a double-take at the sight of us together, hands linked, my arm occasionally sliding around her waist. I can practically hear the gossip spreading through Whitetail Falls at the speed of light.
Strangely, I don't mind. The private, careful man I've always been would have hated being the subject of town talk. But with Abigail beside me, her cheeks pink from cold and happiness, I find I couldn't care less who sees us or what they think.
Acorn Circle comes into view, the historic heart of Whitetail Falls bustling with activity despite the early hour.
