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Imogen laughed, waving him off. “Go. Seriously. We can talk about this later.”

“Okay,” Lincoln said, but he hesitated another moment. “We’ll talk later, then.”

“Definitely,” she promised.

She watched as he skated back to the center of the rink, the children swarming around him again. His voice struggled to rise above their chatter as he explained the rules of whatever game they were about to play. Someone had set up inflatable obstacles around the ice, and there were baskets of soft foam balls that the kids were already starting to grab eagerly.

He was going to be such a good father, she thought. He was patient and playful and kind, all traits that made him so wonderful with children. He’d build pillow forts and teach their child to skate like he had with Katie. He’d probably embarrass them terribly at school functions with his willingness to wear silly costumes and make jokes. He’d love them fiercely, the way he did Katie. She’d already seen how wonderful he was, and she couldn’t wait to see it from the very beginning.

The noise of the rink faded to a pleasant background hum as Imogen sat there, one hand resting on her still-flat stomach, watching her husband play with children and imagining the future that was suddenly, miraculously, becoming real.

Their baby could wait just a little bit longer to be announced. After all, they had a whole lifetime ahead of them.

CHAPTER TWELVE

The trail was steeper than Layla had anticipated, and the snow was deeper too. Each step required deliberate effort, her boots sinking into powder that sometimes reached halfway up her shins. She’d been hiking for nearly an hour now, following the path that the woman at the Holly & Ivy Market had described.

Just head past the tree farm, follow the trail markers, can’t miss it!

While she hadn’t missed it exactly, she was beginning to question the wisdom of this particular expedition. The wind had picked up considerably in the last twenty minutes, cutting through her coat and making her wish she’d worn an extra layer. Or perhaps invested in one of those heavy-duty parkas that everyone in Fir Tree Grove seemed to own. Her charcoal gray wool coat, which was perfectly adequate for going from car to building in Portland, had turned out to be woefully insufficient.

Layla pulled the sage green scarf she was still wearing—and was very grateful for, now—more tightly around her neck and kept climbing. The lookout point couldn’t be much farther. According to the trail map she’d photographed on her phone before the signal got spotty, it was only about a mile and a half from the trailhead. She’d already covered at least that much distance, she thought, although the snow made it hard to judge accurately.

A small, insistent voice in the back of her mind pointed out that Christopher had been right about the weather, that his concern at the diner hadn’t been condescension but his very accurate knowledge about how quickly conditions could change in a more rural area like this. That maybe she should have listened instead of dismissing it.

She pushed the thought away forcefully, trying to focus on the path ahead.

But another thought crept in as she walked. She secretly wished he’d insisted harder. That he’d offered—or better yet, insisted—on coming with her as a guide. She’d always prided herself on her independence, and she would have said she’d find it irritating for a man to insist on guiding her anywhere, but from Christopher, it might have been…

What? Nice? Welcome? Attractive?

She scoffed to herself, and then, a moment later, stumbled slightly on an exposed root, catching herself against a nearby pine tree. The bark was rough even through her gloves, and snow dumped from the branches above, landing on her head and shoulders in a cold shower that made her gasp.

This was ridiculous. She was being ridiculous. Why was she even thinking about Christopher’s potential insistence on accompanying her? She’d turned down his help at every opportunity, made it clear she was perfectly capable of handling herself. Why would he put in the effort to push harder when she’d given him every indication that his concern wasn’t wanted?

And more importantly, why did she feel like she might want him to? Why was she suddenly thinking that besides the assistance that it was clear she could have used, she also would have enjoyed the opportunity to spend more time with him? She was going to be leaving Sunday anyway, and no matter what Nicole or anyone else said, she had no intention of returning. All of this was just for a fluff article that she hadn’t wanted to write in the first place. The last thing she needed to be thinking about was her odd attraction to the bed and breakfast owner.

That definitely wasn’t what she should be focused on right now.

Layla resumed climbing, her breath coming harder now, creating clouds in the freezing air. The trail curved around a large boulder, and she had to use her hands to steady herself on the icy rock face. Her camera bag banged against her hip with each movement, a reminder of why she was doing this in the first place.

She wanted this perfect shot for the article. A stunning overview of the town that could be used as the lead photo. And she was going to get it.

The wind gusted harder, and Layla felt the temperature drop. The light was fading too, the sun hidden behind thick clouds that had rolled in with surprising speed. It had been relatively clear when she’d started the hike, just overcast enough to create that perfect diffused light that photographers loved. Now the sky had taken on the peculiar gray-white quality that promised serious snow.

She should turn back, she thought. The sensible thing would be to abandon this particular shot and return to town before conditions got worse. She had so many pictures already, surely one of them would suffice for the article.

But the lookout point had to be close now. She’d come this far.

She pressed on, pulling her coat more tightly around herself. Five minutes later, although it felt like twenty, the trees finally opened up and she found herself standing on a rocky outcropping that jutted out from the mountainside. The view took her breath away.

Fir Tree Grove spread out below her like a storybook illustration, the town nestled in the valley with mountains rising on the sides. From this height, she could see the layout clearly: Main Street cutting through the center, the residential streets branching off from there, the town square, the rows of businesses, the white steeple of the church.

But what really captured her attention was the lights.

As the daylight faded, the town seemed to glow. Not just the streetlights, but thousands of individual lights draped over houses and wrapped around trees, outlining rooflines and decorating yards, lighting up all of it from her vantage point. Henry Cline’s doing, she thought with a small smile, remembering what Nicole had told her earlier. She raised her camera and took several shots, moving across the outcropping carefully to get the perfect angles.

Small and insignificant as she’d deemed this town even before her arrival, she couldn’t help but acknowledge its charm. From up here especially, it looked cozy and peaceful and nostalgic, like a Christmas card come to life.