Page 69 of The Trouble with Mistletoe

“I just don’t want you to get taken advantage of.”

“She’s not⁠—”

“Don’t want you to build a future with her in your head if she’s looking at you as nothing more than a fling.”

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.

What can I say? That I won’t be hurt if it doesn’t work out? That I haven’t already thought about what it might be like to wake up to Wynter every morning? Or to hold her hand as we walk down the street? Or kiss her as snow falls around us?

Because I have. Especially this morning after finally having her in my arms.

My gaze snags on a framed photograph on the dresser, and I walk toward it, picking it up. A smile tugs at my mouth at the memory of Mom and me at the Holley Ridge Tree Lighting Ceremony last December. She’s bundled in a thick coat, her cheeks pink from the cold, my arm wrapped around her, practically holding her up.

She’d already stopped chemo and had started hospice. I knew she only had a short while left, but that didn’t stop me from making memories with her.

“If I do get hurt, it will be worth it,” I declare, my eyes tracing over my mother’s features. “I knew Mom was sick. Knew she didn’t have much time left. But I didn’t cut my losses early. I stayed. Spent every minute I could with her. And I’m so grateful I did. Grateful I didn’t spend those last few months trying to protect myself from losing her. Because I would have missed everything.”

I run my thumb along the edge of the frame before I set it back down and look at Declan. I can practically see his argument in his expression.

“I know this is different,” I continue. “But the same idea applies. No one can predict the future. No one knows what might happen tomorrow. Or next week. Or next month. Losing Mom taught me how little control I have over everything. But I do have control over what I choose to do right now. So right now, I’m choosing to be happy. And being with Wynter makes me happier than I’ve been in a while. She may hurt me. May reach into my chest and completely obliterate my heart. But it will be worth it to have this time with her.”

Declan studies me for several long moments, as if looking for any hint of uncertainty. But he won’t find any. Not about this. Not about her.

Finally, he lets out a long sigh and hangs his head. When he looks back at me, there’s a hint of something in his eyes. Pride, maybe?

“Then that’s all I need to hear.” He gives my shoulder a squeeze. “I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks.”

“And I’m sorry.”

I frown. “For what?”

“I didn’t mean to come off like an asshole or a know-it-all. Or make you think I have all the answers.” He releases a self-deprecating laugh as he picks up another of my mother’s dresses and carefully examines it before placing it in the donation box. “I certainly don’t. In truth, I probably make worse decisions than most. I’m just trying to look out for you. My dad never gave me much advice. It wasn’t until I joined the Navy that I had any sort of male role model in my life. I’m not saying I get to be that for you. But I care about you. That’s all.”

I give him a small smile. “Thanks, Declan. That means a lot.”

“Of course. Your mom raised a good man. I hope she knows that.”