Page 106 of Mad About Yule

“If I can give you a word of brotherly advice?”

I repeat hisgo ongesture.

“Rowan’s last relationship was…not good. When we started dating, she was afraid to get too invested because she thought I’d be like him and use her feelings against her.”

I think about sweet, soft Rowan being trampled by someone, and my blood boils. “Kind of want to find that guy.”

“You and me both, brother. But I knew I wanted to be with her. So I loved her as much as she’d let me. It took a while, but eventually, she knew she was safe with me.”

That puts his showering Rowan with affection into perspective. I don’t doubt he’s doing it because he wants to, but he’s also doing it because she needs the reassurance.

Hope needs reassurance too, I realize, just in a different way. Her impulse to keep us out of the spotlight comes from a place of wanting to protect us, not shame or unhappiness. The last guy she dated couldn’t handle the small town gossip and ran off. Of course she’s afraid to dive in too quickly.

When I walked away from her tonight, I didn’t do much to reassure her I’m going to stick around. I want to kick my own butt.

“I don’t know what’s going on with Hope,” Caleb says. “But can you be patient with her while she figures it out?”

Can I? Can I love Hope as much as she’ll let me?

I’ve never been more sure of anything. Even if that means keepingusjust between us for as long as she needs, I’ll do it. I’ll do whatever it takes if it means I can be with Hope. And if things don’t work out, and it all goes down in flames?

At least I’ll go down trying.

THIRTY-SEVEN

HOPE

The bacon started arrivingthis morning. I texted Griffin first thing.

Hope: I messed up last night. Will you meet me at the tree lighting? Because I want to be there with you

He hadn’t made me wait long.

Griffin: I’ll be there

Then, he’d sent a bacon emoji. And he’d been sending one a couple of times an hour since. We worked separately all day; him getting the Winter Wonderland set up, me helping with, well, everything else. But those bacon emojis keep coming, letting me know he’s thinking about me.

Letting me know I haven’t ruined things between us. Because all I want isus.

I’ve got that cartoon bacon burned into my brain, I’ve smiled over those texts so often.

I straighten the canvas for the fourth time in as many minutes. My hands shake every time I touch it, and I’m tempted to tear it right back off the wall, but I can’t help the little nudges. I hung up three of my smaller paintings this morning, complete with price tags.

The price tags seem like overkill when just having people look at my art feels this enormous.

The bells on The Painted Daisy’s door ring, sending a blast of cold air through the store. I haven’t been able to do more than peek out the front window at the growing crowds on the sidewalk since I returned from decorating the tree in town square. Going by the numbers in here, the turnout is even better than I’d expected, in large part thanks to Lila.

As planned, she shows up at The Daisy thirty minutes before tree lighting. She browses alongside other guests before winding her way to me at the counter.

“Have I said how much I love this store?”

That brief praise lights sparklers in my chest. “I love it, too.”

Abby nudges her way through the shoppers to take her place behind the counter again.

“I hate that you have to miss tree lighting,” I tell her.

She rolls her eyes at me. “Please. Like I’m going to let you miss the festival after you worked so hard on it. I’ll see the tree lots of other nights. Now go. Enjoy.”

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