I stroke Rusty's long face as he muzzles up another carrot chunk, try not to listen to the tense conversation between Nikki and her siblings. The glimmer of hope shutters, burrows back under the ice and sleet. It was stupid to think this would work.

There's a nudge against my arm. Peering down, I'm met with a beaming Nikki. She extends a steaming cup of cocoa to me, careful not to spill any of the precariously perched mallows.

"Do you want some cocoa with your marshmallows?" I tease, accepting the cup.

"Don't knock it until you try it." She sasses. When I give her a skeptical look, she rolls her eyes. "If I can navigate a sleigh, you can try something other than black coffee."

Hesitantly, I bring the concoction to my lips, sip, and sample. Sweet heat assuages me, followed by a cascade of cream and chocolate. I moan under the sensation, the surprising satisfaction that comes from hot cocoa on a cold winter's eve.

"Wow," I declare.

"Right?" She flashes me the most brilliant smile. "Ms. Stokoe makes it just like Mom used to."

I glance at her sharply, waiting for the sadness to creep into her eyes. But it doesn't. The shadow is there, but not all-consuming. With it is genuine happiness, the delight in sharing something so precious to her.

I can't help it. I reach out, press a sticky kiss to the semicolon tattoo at the inside of her wrist. It doesn't matter that her family is still wary, waiting for me to hurt her in some way. This woman is fierce and precious, talented, and wonderful. I never want to stop touching her.

"She sounds amazing."

"Yeah," she laces our gloved fingers together, starts walking us closer to the square and the giant Christmas tree. "She was always encouraging me with my art. Said I should open a gallery."

"Why don't you?" I ask, not for the first time.

For weeks I've watched her work, seen her skill, been left breathless by the images she creates. They're more than pictures; they're beauty and grace rendered in charcoal and paint. They rival the majesty of every snowflake, sunset, and starry sky.

She shrugs like she always does. "Art's personal. I put a lot of myself into it, y'know?"

I do. I've seen it firsthand. "Mhmm."

"So what if I put it out there, and nobody likes it?" She shakes her head. "I'm good with commissioning."

We pause on the fringes of the crowd. Close enough to see, not so far that I can't keep tabs on Rusty. Tourists and locals alike flock the square, take pictures, drink cocoa, sing carols. Nikki joins in, and I wrap her in my arms, keep us both warm.

No one whispers or gossips. I'm just another man standing with a beautiful woman. It feels whole; good. And I have Nikki to thank for it.

There are speeches, toasts, Mayor Sartori gives a brief history of the ceremony. The crowd's anticipation mounts. Then the switch is flipped, the massive tree bursting to life with thousands of Christmas lights. The crowd oohs and ahs. People point out their favorite ornaments, snap pictures. It's beautiful, I suppose.

Except, my eyes are on the woman in my arms, the delight on her features. The lights dance on her skin, flirt with her freckles, caress her dark hair. She's more radiant than any light on that tree, any trinket glowing in its branches.

"Incredible." Her word mists in the cold night air.

"Yes," I turn her to face me, tilting her chin up, stare deep into those crystal eyes. "You are."

Nikki meets my mouth, slow and sensual. She's chapped where I run my tongue over her lower lip, sweet with cocoa. We're unhurried, languid, tasting each other past the marshmallows and mint. Perfect and together – words I never thought I'd say again on Christmas Eve.

"Ahem."

We snap apart, turn, and spot her siblings. Connor looks like he just sucked a lemon. Rachel peers between us with narrowed eyes. The tension is thick enough to carve with a knife.

"It's getting late," Connor finally speaks. "Past the kids' bedtime."

I start to separate, but Nikki holds me close. Clearing my throat, I nod. "Of course."

"You guys go ahead." Nikki flashes her brother a challenging smirk, then pecks my cheek. "Be safe taking my family home." And she's gone before I can protest.

**

Connor lingers when we arrive at the base of the hill. Rachel smiles fleetingly, the kids wave animatedly. He sends them off with a kiss and a promise to tuck them in. Then he's leering at me, hands in his pockets. "She's special, you know."

I nod. "I know."

"This isn't a Christmas fling," he rumbles. "So help me, if you hurt her –"

"I'm falling in love with her." I blurt.

Connor blinks. "...what?"

What?!

It's been four weeks, but I already know. It can't be anything else. I think about her all the goddamn time, wonder where she is and how she's doing when she isn't around. I physically ache without her near, find any excuse I can to touch her. I'm better with her.

"I'm falling for her," I repeat.

He rolls his eyes. "We all saw how well that went last time."

The old me, the Grinch me, would have risen to that bait, squared up, dared him to fight. Now, I don't care. Yes, I made a mistake. No, I'll never forget. But it doesn't define me. It just took a blue-eyed angel to help me see it.

"Nikki's different."

"Uh-huh."

"Look," I scrub hair from my face, try and make what I'm about to ask make sense. "I want to do something for her, and I need your help."

Connor shifts in the snow. "This should be good."

"You've seen her work," I start, knowing he's as in love with her art as I am. "Everyone should see it, starting with this town."

That mollifies him marginally. "Go on."

"The local gallery," I press, "I'm going to rent out the space, put her work on display."

Connor grins. "You need our help getting things set up."

I merely nod.

He's silent for a moment, regarding me with a mix of awe and distrust. He folds his arms, refolds them, sucks his teeth. Then, "There you go surprising me. I fucking hate when she's right."

"Pardon?"

"Nik said that we didn't really know you; I guess she was right." He shrugs, stokes the fledgling hope rising in my chest. "Give us a time and place – we'll make it happen. I have tons of her canvas around; I'll gather it up."

I nod and provide him with the details. Then, "Thank you."

"Yeah." Connor nods. "And, Forest?"

"Yes?"

He smiles genuinely, the first I've seen from him. "When she invites you to dinner tomorrow, bring something that isn't a dessert."

My stomach clenches in utter joy. "Of course."

Plan in motion, I bid Connor farewell, rein Rusty back onto the icy streets. I text Nikki, worried about her alone in the cold. I've half a mind to head back into town and check on her until I see her response.

Nikki: Perfectly fine ♡

Once home, I untack, brush, and put Rusty up for the night. Heading into the house, I'm surprised to see Nikki's boots paired neatly by the front door, her jacket over a dining room chair. I mean, she does have a key, but I wasn't expecting her.

"Nikki?" I call to the house at large.

Her voice sounds high and excited. "In here!"

I follow the sound down the hall, past the kitchen, and into my bedroom, then nearly stumble at the sight that greets me past the closed door.

Nikki has strewn my room with Christmas lights. Red, green, blue, and gold dance along her skin where she stands in skimpy candy-cane boy shorts, a white tank that does nothing to hide her pert nipples and a Santa Claus hat. She twists a strand of dark hair between her fingers, looking delectably shy as she gazes at me.

"Surprise," she murmurs, gesturing around the room. "Merry Christmas."

Merry Christmas, indeed.