Page 115 of Merry Me
“I knew it,” she said, her eyes gleaming. “I knew you’d been trained in brooding, not in basic sleigh logistics.”
“Some of us are multitalented,” I offered, deadpan. “Just…not in ways that involve steering heavy holiday machinery.”
She shook her head fondly, still giggling softly as I stood and carefully helped her up, brushing snow off her coat.
“I really am sorry, though,” I murmured. “For almost killing you.”
She smiled warmly up at me, cheeks flushed. “Well, as far as near-death experiences go, this one wasn’t so bad.”
“High praise,” I said, unable to keep from grinning. “You’re giving me a lot of that tonight.”
As we continued trying to get the snow off our clothes and tried to rescue the blankets and sleigh, laughter still lingered between us. She shot me a mock-serious look as I tried to steady the sleigh.
“Maybe next time we stick to safer traditions,” she said, snorting when she realized there was still snow in her hair.
“Like what?” I asked. “Gingerbread houses and passive-aggressive ornament placement?”
She grinned. “You say that like it isn’t a full-contact sport in my family.”
“Remind me to bring a helmet next year,” I said, nudging her gently. “And maybe body armor. Something festive, though. With bells.”
“Obviously,” she deadpanned. “We’re not animals.”
Her laugh spilled out—light, bright, and totally unbothered by the near-death sleigh-riding experience—and it hit me like it always did. Right in the chest.
And in my dick.
We managed to right the sleigh, with some teamwork and one very offended horse, clinging to what dignity we had left, and finally made it to the rehearsal dinner. We were windblown, half frozen, and trailed a generous helping of snow through the front door.
No one asked. Not a single person commented on our disheveled entrance. Not when Natalie looked like that—rosy-cheeked, scarf askew, her smile still tugging at the corners of her mouth like she hadn’t quite come down from the high of laughing at me.
When I grabbed her hand, she didn’t let go.
Not when people looked. Not when a few heads turned and eyebrows lifted. Not even when MeMaw gave us a knowing, smug little smirk.
Natalie stayed right there beside me, steady and sure.
And for the first time, I didn’t feel like I was waiting for her to come back.
It felt like…she already had.
NATALIE
The rehearsal dinner looked like Joanna Gaines and an elf got drunk and decided to cohost a holiday special. Fairy lights draped from every beam, glinting off garlands and place cards with too-perfect calligraphy. It should’ve been over-the-top. Somehow, it wasn’t. It was just cozy enough to feel warm, not forced.
Candles flickered down the long wooden table, casting soft glows over pine boughs and wine glasses filled a little too full.The whole place smelled like cinnamon and cedar—and probably vanilla, thanks to the dessert Paige insisted on adding last-minute because she “didn’t think the menu had enough sugar to induce a coma.”
Laughter curled up toward the rafters, warm and lazy, the kind that made you feel like maybe, just maybe, life could be good and soft and easy for a minute. I tried to focus on it—on Paige in her cream sweater dress, glowing with that sort of smug, sparkly joy only brides-to-be get away with; on the way Levi beamed at her mid-story, even though he’d told the same story about their first date approximately eight hundred and sixty-seven times in the past week.
Across the table, my parents sat shoulder to shoulder, their hands brushing as they reached for their glasses. My mom said something that made my dad laugh—really laugh—the kind that lit up his whole face. She smiled like she’d just scored a win, then slid her fingers over his knuckles like she wanted to hold the moment in place.
It was all very sweet.
And I was trying really hard to care.
Really.
But Easton was sitting right next to me.
