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Christopher swiped at his face, missing the spot entirely. “Did I get it?”

“Not quite.” Layla reached up and wiped away the whipped cream with her thumb, feeling warm all over at how close he was. He made her feel that way every time they were near each other, and she was sure that she wanted him to keep making her feel that way, every day.

“Thanks,” he said with a smile, handing her one of the mugs. “I brought you hot chocolate. Figured you might need it, standing over here by the cold window.”

Layla wrapped her hands around the mug, enjoying the warmth. The hot chocolate was perfect, rich and creamy, topped with a mountain of whipped cream and a sprinkle of cinnamon. It was Imogen’s, so she knew it would be the best. “Thank you. That’s very thoughtful.”

Christopher leaned against the window frame beside her, looking out at the snowy landscape. “Are you all right? You’ve been quiet tonight.”

“I’m just… taking it all in. This is incredible. All of this.” She gestured to the room behind them, to the celebration in full swing. “I can’t get over how amazing it is.”

“It’s pretty special,” Christopher agreed. “We’ve been doing this for as long as I can remember. Christmas Day, the whole town comes together. It started back when the community center was first built, and it’s just become tradition.”

Layla took a sip of her hot chocolate and tried to gather her courage. “Actually, I have something for you. A gift. I meant to give it to you earlier, but I…” She trailed off, not sure how to explain her nervousness.

“You don’t have to give me anything,” Christopher said. “Having you stay longer has been a present in and of itself.”

She felt her cheeks flush. “Well, now that you say that…” Layla set down her mug on the windowsill and pulled the folded paper from her pocket. Her hands were trembling slightly with nerves as she held them out to him. “This is for you.”

Christopher took the paper, unfolding it carefully. Layla watched his face as he began to read, and her heart flipped a little in her chest as she saw his eyes widen.

She’d given him her article, the one she’d written about Fir Tree Grove and sent to the magazine shortly after she’d decided to stay for Christmas. Kirkland had still wanted the piece, of course, and he’d been very happy with her work on it. She’d made sure to print out a copy for Christopher, wanting him to see it and know what this town, and he, meant to her.

She’d titled it “Finding Home: A Christmas in Fir Tree Grove,” and she’d poured her heart into every word. She hadn’t just written about the kitschy shops and charming decorations and how everyone went all-out for the season, although that had been a big part of it. She’d also written about the people, about how terrifying it could be to be stranded in a rural winter storm, and how everyone had alleviated that fear, even though she was a stranger. How everyone had come together to help each other afterward, and had welcomed her help too.

She’d written about Hearthside, and how Christopher had kept it going after his wife passed, how important it was to him and to the community, and how it had felt like home to her when her life had started to feel like it was fraying at the seams.

Christopher read in silence, his eyes moving across the pages, and Layla held her breath, waiting. When he finally looked up, his eyes were bright with emotion.

“Layla,” he murmured. “This is incredible. You perfectly captured the true spirit of this town in a way only someone who really loved this place would be able to accomplish.” He looked back down at the pages, shaking his head in wonder. “The way you describe the town, the way you talk about the people—it’s like you really understand what makes this place special.”

“I do understand,” Layla said softly. “Because it’s become special to me too.”

Christopher carefully refolded the paper. “Your magazine must have loved this. You’ll probably get a promotion for this kind of writing.”

“That would be nice,” Layla said, and then took a deep breath. “But it doesn’t matter. This was my last article for the magazine.”

Christopher’s head snapped up, his eyes searching her face. “What do you mean?”

Instead of answering with words, Layla stepped closer and kissed him. It was soft and sweet, like their first kiss had been, and when she pulled back, she was smiling.

“I mean I gave them my resignation,” she said, biting her lip. “A couple of days ago, before the office let out for the holiday. I’m done with that life. I’m done writing about things I don’t care about and tried to make myself believe that I did, and I’m done living for anyone other than myself.”

“Layla—” Christopher’s voice was low, his eyes hopeful, and her heart leapt.

“I’m going to pursue poetry,” she continued, the words tumbling out now. “The kind I’ve always wanted to write. And I’d like to do it here. In Fir Tree Grove. I’m… I’m going to stay.”

For a moment, Christopher just stared at her, and Layla felt a flutter of panic. What if she’d misread everything? What if he didn’t want her to stay? What if⁠—

Any worry she had fled as he leaned in and kissed her, a look of absolute joy on his face before his lips met hers. Layla melted into him, her arms wrapping around his neck, and for a moment the whole world fell away. There was no community center, no celebration, no crowd of people. There was just them, just a perfect moment of joy and love.

When they finally broke apart, Christopher was grinning like he’d just won the lottery.

“This is the best gift you could have given me,” he said. “This is a wonderful Christmas. And I can’t wait to spend more with you.”

He looked as if he might kiss her again, when Jackson’s voice suddenly boomed across the room.

“Attention, everyone! Can I have your attention, please?”