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Jackson laughed and pulled her in for another kiss. This one was different from the last—lighter, happier, and full of easy affection.
When they finally pulled apart, Vanessa glanced toward the kitchen. “The dough should be ready in about twenty minutes. Just enough time to eat dinner and get everything set up for decorating.”
“Sounds perfect.” Jackson stood, pulling her up with him. “But I’m warning you now—my gingerbread houses are going to be way better than yours.”
“Oh, is that how it is?” Vanessa laughed, following him toward the kitchen where Philip was just beginning to stir in his bassinet. “Well, prepare to be humbled, because I’ve been reading up on how to make them perfect.”
Jackson checked on the pot roast while Vanessa lifted Philip from his bassinet, getting him in his high chair for dinner. Outside, the storm continued raging, but inside, everything was warm and bright and full of love.
This was her life now. This was what she’d chosen. And as she looked at Jackson setting the table, at Philip blinking up at her, at the ridiculous amount of decorating supplies spread across the counter, Vanessa felt a wave of gratitude so intense it almost took her breath away.
She wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The quad’s engine rumbled beneath Layla, a steady vibration that seemed to travel through her frozen limbs as they navigated through what had become a wall of white. The world had disappeared—no buildings, no streets, no sky. Just endless snow swirling in the beam of the quad’s headlights.
She hadn’t been lost long. Twenty minutes, maybe thirty at most, although it had felt like hours. She’d realized before long that the trail was nearly impossible to find with how quickly her path up was being covered by the snow, and she was very much in danger of getting turned around. She’d started to get genuinely afraid, worried that she was going to be lost on the mountain and no one would ever find her.
But then the quad had appeared, its headlight cutting through the white, and one of the firefighters had called out to her with obvious relief. “Ma’am! Thank goodness. We’ve been doing sweeps. Come on, let’s get you somewhere warm.”
Now, as they pulled up to the firehouse, Layla felt the adrenaline that had been keeping her upright begin to drain away, leaving her shaky and exhausted. The firefighter helped her off the quad, his hand steady on her elbow as her legs threatened to buckle beneath her.
“Easy does it,” he said, his voice muffled by the wind but warm with concern. “Let’s get you inside.”
The firehouse was full of warmth and noise—radios crackling, voices calling out coordinates and updates, the smell of coffee somewhere in the back. Layla was ushered to a bench near a space heater, and within moments someone pressed a mug of hot tea into her hands. The ceramic was almost too hot against her frozen fingers, but she held on anyway, eager for warmth.
The firefighter who’d found her crouched down in front of her, his expression serious now. “You were found just in time,” he said, pulling off his gloves. “This storm—it’s going to be record-breaking. We’re talking whiteout conditions, power outages, the works. Another ten, fifteen minutes out there and we might not have spotted you.”
Layla’s hands trembled around the mug, and she wasn’t sure if it was from the cold or the delayed shock of what might have happened. “Thank you,” she managed, her voice hoarse. “I didn’t realize—I thought I could make it back before it got bad.”
“These storms come on fast out here.” He stood, glancing at the clock on the wall. “Good news is, we’ve got just enough time to get you back to the B&B before it gets really bad. You’re staying at Christopher’s place, right? Hearthside?”
“I don’t want to inconvenience anyone,” Layla said quickly, setting down the tea. “If it’s dangerous to go back out—”
The firefighter smiled. “Ma’am, the folks of Fir Tree Grove value our visitor experience. We want you to have a favorable one. Comfortable accommodations, good memories to take home with you. Besides,” he added with a wink, “Christopher would have my hide if I didn’t get you back to him safe and sound.”
Something about the way he said it made Layla’s cheeks warm, and she ducked her head, pretending to focus on her tea. But as she sat there, surrounded by people who were working tirelessly to keep everyone safe, who had gone out into the storm specifically to find anyone who might be in trouble, she had a newfound appreciation for the town.
In Portland, she could have been lost for hours and no one would have noticed. Here, they’d come looking.
The ride to the B&B was shorter than she’d expected, although the visibility was so poor she couldn’t have found her way on foot if she’d tried. When they pulled up to the familiar Victorian house with its warm lights glowing in the windows, Layla felt something in her chest unclench. The firefighter walked her to the door, waiting until it opened before giving her a quick salute and disappearing back into the white.
Christopher stood in the doorway, and even in the dim porch light, Layla could see the worry lines etched deep around his eyes and mouth.
“Layla,” he breathed, pulling her aside as he closed the door against the wind and gripping her hands. “Your fingers—they’re frozen.”
His hands were warm, almost hot against her cold skin, and the contact sent a jolt through her that had nothing to do with temperature. They stood there in the entryway, his hands wrapped around hers, and for a moment neither of them moved. Then they both seemed to realize at the same time how intimate the gesture was—how he was holding her hands and she was letting him, how close they were standing—and they both stepped back awkwardly.
“I was worried,” Christopher said, his voice rough. He cleared his throat, running a hand through his hair. “When the storm picked up and you weren’t back yet, I—” He stopped, shaking his head. “I’m glad you’re safe.”
“The fire department found me,” Layla said, her own voice not quite steady. “I got turned around, but they were doing sweeps. I wasn’t lost for long.”
“Still.” His eyes met hers, and a little of the worry in them had faded, but she could still see concern there. “Come on. Let’s get you properly warm.”
He led her to the sitting room where a fire crackled in the hearth. The room was cozy and inviting, with its overstuffed furniture and shelves lined with books, and Layla sank into the armchair closest to the fire with a sigh of relief. The heat from the flames seemed to seep into her bones, chasing away the last of the cold that had settled there. She was glad the sitting room was empty—she figured the other guests must be having dinner.
Christopher disappeared into the kitchen and returned a few minutes later with two steaming bowls of soup that smelled like herbs and vegetables. He handed her one along with a spoon, then settled into the chair across from her with his own bowl.
