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Outside in the cold night air, she found him waiting right where she knew he would be. She fed him both steaks from her palm, feeling his warm breath on her wrist, then pressed her forehead against the solid, comforting warmth of his massive head.

“I love you, buddy,” she whispered. “You’re my best boy. I’ll see you later, okay?”

He rumbled softly, turned, and lumbered back toward the barn, the Santa hat still somehow miraculously attached.

Sage watched him go, laughing softly at nothing and everything — at the beautiful, impossible specifics of this life she somehow got to live.

Then she took a deep breath of cold air, smiled, and went back inside.

The night deepened.

The food had long since disappeared. Champagne continued to circulate in quiet flutes. The band moved through their set — country, classic rock, then something slower and older — Patsy Cline’s voice wrapping around the pavilion like warm smoke. Sage had kicked off her boots ages ago, her bare feet warm against the polished wood floor as she swayed.

Finally, the band leader stepped to the microphone.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we’ve got one more,” he said with a knowing smile. “This one’s a special request.” He nodded toward Cal.

Sage looked up from the table where she sat with Annie and Isabelle. Annie was half-asleep, kids already whisked away by the babysitter. “Izzy… what’s he doing?”

Isabelle’s eyes sparkled. “Well… I think you’re about to dance, sis.”

Sage’s heart slammed against her ribs as Cal made his way through the pavilion toward her. He moved with that quiet, deliberate grace — gentle, precise — but no matter how hard he tried to soften it, that raw, titanic strength and dangerous predatory aura radiated off him like heat from a forest fire. She squeezed her thighs together and bit her lip hard.

How does he keep doing that?

He stopped in front of her. The entire pavilion had slowly gone quiet, guests sensing something sacred was about to unfold.

He held out his big hand.

“Dance with me, princess.”

She blushed furiously but took it anyway. His fingers closed around hers — warm, steady, certain.

He led her to the center of the dance floor. The overhead lights dimmed further, leaving only the thousands of cascading string lights to bathe everything in soft amber and gold. Outside the pavilion walls, the vast Montana night pressed close — snow falling silently, the cold dark patient and eternal.

Cal looked down at her, his expression almost nervous for a moment, like he was fighting one last internal battle he was determined to win. He gently squeezed her hands, closed his eyes, and let out a slow breath. When he opened them again, those steel-gray eyes locked onto hers with devastating clarity.

And then Cal Meridian said, simply and with a conviction that felt like it would echo across eternity:

“I love you.”

Sage’s head snapped up. Tears flooded her eyes instantly. Her lip trembled.

He loves me.

Sage Thompson — the girl who once believed she’d never be worthy of love, who carried scars she thought would never wash clean, who had been alone and scared for so long — felt something inside her crack wide open.

“Cal, I…” Her voice broke.

The band began to play.

At first she didn’t register the song. Then the opening notes hit her like a memory wrapped in moonlight — slower, sparser, just piano and a voice that understood heartbreak and hope in equal measure.

Lovely.

Billie Eilish, in the mountains, at midnight, played for her by the man who had asked for it specifically.

“How did you—” she whispered, tears slipping down her cheeks. “Cal… how did you know?”