It's been five days.

My anger ebbs, but the hurt remains. I return to my solitary existence, think to lose myself once more. The silent plea on Nikki's face haunts my every waking hour. I look for her everywhere, see her in everything. Each afternoon I find myself searching down the gravel drive. Each evening I pass the lit tree, remember cocoa and kisses. Each night I dream of black hair and crystalline eyes.

On New Year's Eve, Rachel knocks on my door. "Hi," she squeaks, staring up at me and wringing her pink-mittened hands.

I pull on my leather jacket, preparing to tack up Rusty. "Go away."

"We need to talk." When I ignore her, trudge toward the stables, she follows stubbornly. "Please," Rachel adds.

"Talk," I mutter, maneuvering Rusty between the carriage apertures.

"I'm the one who invited Xander," she admits. "It was before I knew you, knew how close you two were getting. I just didn't want to see her hurt."

That irks me. "Because I'm so fucking dangerous?"

"That's what I thought," she kicks at the straw on the cement floor. "Then I saw you two at the tree-lighting ceremony and dinner, how she looked at you, and..."

"What?" I snap.

"She loves you, Forest."

I bark out a cruel laugh before I can help it. "She doesn't."

Rachel scowls with familiar defiance. Her face, so much like her sister's, crumples my reserve. All I can see is Nikki, barefoot in the snow, begging me to stay.

"She does," Rachel snarks back.

"It doesn't matter!" I retort. "She lied."

"It does! She pushed him away," Rachel pleads. "You saw that!"

I did see it. I watched her eyes blaze with disbelief, chose to ignore it. All I could see, remember, feel was hurt. Old scars festering with recollection.

Except Nikki isn't Kate. Nikki is loving, talented, and kind. It's there in the way she draws, how she talks, the sparkle in her eyes, the love for her family.

"I can't, we can't –" I falter as I secure Rusty's harnesses.

Rachel watches me somberly. "You can."

"Then why isn't she here?" I leer. "I said some pretty hateful things, Rachel."

"She's not here because she's heartbroken. I'm here because I'm trying to fix it." Rachel folds her arms. "And I know what you said. From where I'm standing, you haven't exactly handled your pain any better. Either time." I flinch away from the truth, but Rachel continues. "She was thinking about staying for you."

"Was." I echo. "Past-tense."

"She'd still stay if you asked." She puts a hand on my arm, stills me in my preparations. "Connor's going ahead with the gallery reveal tonight. You should be there."

I shake my head. "She wouldn't want me there."

"Yes, she would," Rachel presses. "You deserve to see her light up when she walks into a room full of her art, people ready to buy it, and you, the reason for it."

I consider her for a long moment before shaking my head. "No."

Rachel puffs, her breath clouding in the chilly air. "You have until six to change your mind; that's when she'll arrive." She turns to leave, then adds, "Also, I tried to dissuade Xander from showing. I called him on Christmas Eve after Connor came in and told me what you planned to do with Nik's art. That was when I realized how wrong we'd been about you."

I throb deep in my chest, the shards of glass Nikki broke digging in deep. My soul knows I love her, but my heart is afraid. There's not much left of me to piece together. If I show up and she hates me, what then? I'm not sure I could survive it.

**

The hours pass in a blur. I barely notice the tourists, the tips, the cold. My mind is elsewhere, consumed with thoughts of Nikki. Left to my own devices, I sit, stir, fret. I know with every moment that passes, things get worse.

I'm such a dick.

I left her there, crying for me, refusing to hear her out, said awful things. I'll beg forgiveness if that's what it takes to fix this. Without her, I can't breathe.

Darkness shrouds the town in a gossamer cloak of snowfall and starlight. It's nearly six; I'm cutting it close. Tethering Rusty to a post outside the gallery, I shove a hand through my hair, take a deep breath, and stride inside.

Soft rock and the smell of cinnamon permeate my senses. Tourists and townies alike crowd the small space, admire the art. The gallery is open concept, pieces displayed on walls and hanging by wires in gilded frames at the center of the room. I recognize Rusty and Azure, concentrated in beautiful strokes and whimsical flurries. Some are charcoal, others full of vibrant greens and blues that contrast with the surrounding snow.

Then I spot one at the far end of the gallery – it's drawn a crowd. Pictured is a blue roan gelding, large head pressed against the bare chest of a man with olive skin and shoulder-length dark hair. It stirs me more than any photograph could. Nikki's brush renders the soft lines of Rusty's cheeks, the stiffness of my jaw. In this image, I see hurt and healing, pain, and providence.

I understand, truly, what Rachel meant when she said Nikki loves me. The proof is everywhere. These weeks together culminated in sketches, charcoal, oil, and acrylic.

What have I done?

"Forest." I start as Rachel beams up at me. "You came."

"I –" Words fail me as I take in her emerald green gown. "I feel underdressed."

She smirks. "Doesn't matter. You're here."

"Where's Nikki?"

"Oh, the guest of honor will be arriving shortly." Rachel mewls, tugs at the collar of my leather jacket. "Let me take this."

I allow her to strip me of my thicker layers, accept one glass of champagne, then another. It's crowded as folk mingle about. They appreciate her work, admire the lines and strokes, ask about pricing. I feel a glow of pride in my chest, welcome the attention Nikki is receiving for her work. About damn time.

"Everyone, hush!" Connor announces, lowers the lights. "She's coming."

"Here," Ainsley tugs me down, smiling widely.

"Sit with us!" Riley prompts.

The minutes take forever, where I crouch with the kids. Each second that passes, my heart thunders harder in my chest. I can't mess this up; I can't let her go again.

Nikki opens the door to the gallery, peers about curiously in the dark. Then the lights come on, half the town jumping out at her. Yells of "surprise!" and "congratulations!" assuage her, and she physically tips back, hand clutched to her chest.

She's in a low-cut ruby gown that does sinful things to her skin and black hair. Blue eyes I haven't seen in days take in her surroundings, recognize her work. Tears of joy form where she covers her face with her hands.

"Oh. My. God." She squeaks, finding her siblings in the crowd. "You guys!"

I linger as people rush forward to offer felicitations and praise. Much more satisfying to see her light from the inside like a firework, combust and exude joy at having her work realized. I stand mesmerized, marvel at the woman who changed my life.

"It wasn't our idea," Rachel says, smiling.

"We just helped," Connor adds, nodding at me. "This was all him."

"What?" Nikki wonders.

The world stands still as those crystalline eyes find me. A rush of emotion passes through them – hope, sorrow, anger, awe, happiness. When she blinks, tears fall down her cheeks. When she smiles dazzlingly, I reach her in two strides.

"You –"

"I'm sorry." I cup her face, thumb stroking her cheek.

"Sorry?" Her eyes are hooded as her hands come to rest on my hips, tense, ready to either push me back or pull me close. "What...?"

"Rachel explained everything." I murmur against her neck, the special place behind her ear. "I ran when I should've stayed. I let my pain blind me. You're not like her. You're not weak or a coward. You're amazing. You're my everything."

"You –" she fists my sweater, buries her face in my chest. "– hurt me."

"I know, Babe," I murmur, stroking her hair. "I'm so sorry."

"No!" She slams her fists into my chest. I grunt, accepting the assault without complaint. "I cried for days; I felt my heart break. You come here, apologizing with your stupid sweater and perfect face, in this beautiful gallery. You broke me." Her eyes are burning, but she's hooked her fingers in my belt loops, pulling me flush against her.

I gulp. "I didn't mean to –"

"Too late," she hiccups. "I should hate you."

I nod, muscles straining, chest burning. "Do you?"

"No!" Nikki shudders, leans back, looks up. "I love you, dammit!"

"Good."

She starts to protest, but I silence her with a kiss, one deep enough to express my lament, hard enough to condone my passion, and wild enough to make her breathless. Her tongue meets mine, and I hurl everything I have into making her forget the pain.

My lips stray from her mouth, press against her cheek, her forehead, her ear. When I'm close enough, breath ghosting her neck, I whisper, "I love you too." Her sharp inhale draws me back to her mouth, fervent, desperate, untethered.

Applause erupts from our audience. I smile without breaking the kiss, flip them the middle finger, don't care that there are children present. Let them watch, let them know. I want, need this woman. Nothing else matters.

"You..." I'm proud that she's more than a little breathless. "You did this for me?"

"I needed to show you how incredible you are, Nicasia, make you see what I see, what they see," I explain, gesturing at the crowd. "And I was hoping you'd stay for you."

Again, she peers around at the artwork, her siblings, back up to me. "The gallery?"

I nod to her family. "I had some help."

"Forest..." My heart breaks for this woman, knowing I've hurt her.

"Did you hear me? I'm in love with you, Nikki. This – this is only the beginning of what I'd do for you."

She breaks, huge tears sliding down her cheeks, and buries her face in my shirt. I cradle her head, press my lips to her hair. Maybe I'm selfish for needing her, but I don't care.

"With Xander," she whimpers. "I never meant –"

"I know." I lap away her tears, kiss away the doubt. "I know."

"I didn't –"

"Shh." I press. "I know."

"I love you so much," she gasps through her sobs.

I chuckle, thumb away her tears, tilt her mouth up to mine. "Then, why are you crying?"

"Because I'm happy!" She shudders. "I'm so happy! My art, you, my family.... I'm so unbearably happy."

"Good," I murmur, dry her cheeks, meet her lips again in a slow kiss. "Then let's enjoy your gallery."

She makes a sound somewhere between a laugh and sob, then pulls back. Blue eyes search me, full of curiosity. "First, I have to know. Why Sleighed?"

"Because you slayed me with hot cocoa, mistletoe, and slips in the snow. It sounded... right."

Nikki's smile is watery, her voice thick with emotion when she says, "Nowwho's cheesy?"