Page 73 of Mistletoe & Magic
“You okay?” he asks quietly.
I nod, sliding my gloved hand into his. “I’m more worried about you.”
His thumb strokes over the back of my glove. “I hate that she did that in front of everyone.”
“You protected Junie,” I say softly. “That’s what matters. And you don’t have to protect me from the hard stuff. I’m in it with you, Remy.”
His jaw works, like he’s swallowing something he can’t quite say out loud. Then he leans in and presses a quick kiss to my forehead. “Good. Because I need you.”
Before I can answer, a truck crunches down the drive. Tate hops out, a box of donuts from the diner in one hand.
“Peace offering,” he says, holding it up. “Figured you could usereinforcements.”
Junie cheers and runs to meet him. A few minutes later, Willa’s car rolls in behind him, and she climbs out with a tray of coffee.
“Don’t look so surprised,” she teases. “Mom texted. Said we might need some backup out here.”
It is so busy, as I imagined it would be the closer we got to Christmas. And having everyone around is definitely easing the tension of Sloane showing up yesterday unannounced. She sucks for that. She could have called and spent special time with Junie. Instead, she made it all about her, and she never even hugged or said hello to her kid. I don’t get it.
Before long, we’re all in the barn, passing out donuts and cups, the goats nosing around like they’re part of the conversation. Rowan texts that she and Finn are coming for ornament-making tonight, and the air feels lighter with every laugh.
By the time we get back inside, Junie is practically bouncing. We spread paper over the table and pull out glitter, paint, and plain wooden ornaments. The whole kitchen turns into a sparkling disaster, but Junie is beaming, and even Remy relaxes enough to sit and paint one.
“You’re actually pretty good at this,” I tease when I see his careful work on a little wooden star.
He smirks. “Don’t tell anyone. It’ll ruin my image.”
Later, after Junie is bathed and tucked into bed, I find Remy by the fire, staring at the ornament tree like he’s memorizing every messy, glittery piece.
“Hey,” I say softly, sitting beside him.
“Hey.” His arm slides around my waist, pulling me closer.
We sit in silence for a while, just listening to the crackle of the fire. Then he says, “Last night scared me.”
I turn to look at him. “Me too.”
“I kept thinking… what if she tries to come back and mess it all up? What if I lose what we’re building?” His voice is low, rough.
I cover his hand with mine. “Can I talk to Sloane? I have an idea. Maybe after the holidays. Give her a chance to cool down. Make her realize that I’m not her enemy. If she wants a relationship with Junie, we can all get on the same page.”
He exhales slowly, as if that was the last thing he expected me to ask. Then he kisses me, softly at first, then deeper when I slide my hands up his chest. “I don’t need you to, but if you want to, I won’t stop you. I know you love Junie and are looking out for her.”
“I love you, too,” I remind him.
“I love you so much.” When he finally pulls back, he rests his forehead against mine. “You make this house feel like a home.”
“And you make me feel like I belong.”
His mouth curves into the slowest, sweetest smile I’ve ever seen, and right then I know, whatever storms come, we’re weathering them together.
The gift shop hums with customers picking out trees and last-minute gifts. The heater ticks. Wind brushes the windows. I fold a stack of tree farm sweatshirts and listen for Junie’s little hum while she colors. But I don’t hear it anymore. She was right here ten minutes ago, sitting in the sunny patch by the window with her sketch pad and a cup of cocoa I watered down so it wouldn’t be so hot. Lola was snoring under the counter. Everything was normal.
“Bug?” I call, half distracted, still smoothing the sleeves so they line up. “You ready for lunch?”
Silence answers me. Not the I-am-hiding silence. A flat, empty kind. What the heck.
I straighten, and fear pricks up my spine, worry filling me. “Junie?” I check the corner behind the card rack where she likes to hide, then the tiny reading nook we set up with beanbags and a basket of winter books. Her sketchbook is there, crayon mid-stroke, like she stood up and forgot to put it down. The cocoa sits untouched, a thin skin on top.
