“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 throughthe 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.
