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“Tell the driver nobody leaves until I get there,” I say, reaching for Darcy’s tablet. “Move the extra guests onto the second shuttle, call Susan and ask whether the cider can stretch a little further, and somebody confiscate the axe before Stratton Farm becomes the location of a festive homicide.”

Darcy grins and points a finger at me. “This is why I like you.”

She disappears toward reception, issuing orders through her radio, and I turn to find Miles watching me.

“What?” I ask.

“Nothing.” He smiles. “Told you you’re good at this.”

The compliment finds every exposed part of me after our argument and presses directly against them.

“I’d better be. Your family’s future apparently depends upon my ability to prevent tourists attacking Christmas trees with private weaponry.”

“About that.” Miles clears his throat. “Hunter came by to collect my truck from the resort this morning. They need it at the farm for the wagon and trailer, and I’ve got practice before I can come out. Can I borrow your car this afternoon?”

“My car?”

“Yeah. I want to help with the later tours.” His steady gaze holds mine. “If you still want me there, that is.”

I search through my bag and find the keys tangled around the tiny wooden tree ornament I removed from the cabin.

“Fair warning,” I say, holding them out. “The back seat still contains half a wedding, several gifts of disputed legal ownership and six thousand dollars of lace with violent tendencies.”

He chuckles. “Yes, I’ve met the dress, remember?”

“And I'm sure it remembers you fondly too.”

His fingers close around the keys, clinging around mine as they do.

Neither of us moves.

Around us, the resort keeps roaring. Children race toward the market, luggage wheels roll across the floor and somebody near reception loudly demands to know why their room doesn’t contain the promised decorative nutcracker.

“Audrey.” Miles steps closer. “About this morning—”

“Go to practice.” I pull my fingers from his before I make the mistake of holding on again. “You have some thinking to do, and I have an armed family heading toward your great-grandfather's Christmas tree.”

His mouth almost smiles, but the weight behind his eyes remains.

Then he leans down and presses his lips to my forehead.

“I’ll see you at the farm,” he murmurs. “Good luck today. You’re going to make this work. I know you are.”

He walks toward the rink with my keys in his hand, and I watch those broad shoulders disappear through the crowd.

Wonderful.

Miles Stratton now has my car, my wedding dress and approximately half my heart.

Chapter 18

Audrey

The first shuttle rolls down the mountain at two o'clock, and it is glorious.

A black luxury resort van with an evergreen garland wound through the roof rack is filled with families and children, all of them pressing their faces to the fogged windows.

The Stratton Christmas Tree Farm rises out of the snow in the distance, and I sit at the front of the van and smile.