Eight

At last she would be his. He was sure of it.

—Hailey Fairchild, What the Heart Needs

I set the box on the hall table and turn to face him. My heart is galloping faster than Santa's reindeer on takeoff. Don't let this be the beginning of the end.

It's a beautiful kiss, tender and sweet, with his hands on my cheeks. None of those other mistletoe fails started with a mistletoe

kiss like this, so packed with respect and kindness and... love? Is it possible? It sure feels possible.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" he murmurs.

"No, that was fantabulous," I say and come back for more.

We're still standing there, going at it, when Dad comes out and says, "Hey, you two, knock it off and get to the kitchen.

The artichoke dip's getting cold."

Carwyn chuckles and takes my hand, and we move to the table where everyone is discussing what holiday movie to watch.

"Not Elf ," says Sam, giving me a stern look.

"And not Die Hard ," I shoot back.

" Family Man ," suggests Mom.

"We have to watch It's a Wonderful Life ," Gram insists, and everyone groans. "It's tradition," she argues.

We've all watched that movie every year at Christmas for forever. I can say all George Bailey's lines right along with him. And I can't stand Zuzu. Sam is rolling his eyes, and I bet now he's sorry he voted down Elf .

"That's a great movie," says Carwyn, earning points from Gram.

"Of course it is," she says and plunges another cracker into her dip.

We watch It's a Wonderful Life , everyone all comfy in chairs and couches, Carwyn and I sharing the big overstuffed chair. It is a wonderful life, and as we watch it, I can't help thinking how much Carwyn is like George Bailey. He's such a big part of

this community, and so good to his parents. Would he ever want to leave it all behind and live in New York with me?

I push the thought away when Carwyn kisses me good night. It's a forever kind of kiss, for sure. I'm so inspired, I must write!

And write I do, sitting up in bed and tapping away at my keyboard into the wee hours of the morning. I'm on a roll. I can't

quit. And I don't until all I have left is the ending scene, where my heroine and her hero embark on their happily-ever-after.

Success! It's the perfect way to end a perfect day.

I text Ramona early the next morning before breakfast.

Hailey: The book is almost done!

Ramona: Yay! Where did you find your inspiration?

Hailey: I kissed Carwyn under the mistletoe. It was amazing.

Ramona: Ho ho ho! I know this one's going to work out.

Yes, it is. I wish her Merry Christmas, give her a pep talk to help her get through Christmas Day with her dysfunctional family,

and then sign off.

The grandparents arrive by midmorning the next day, and we settle in around the tree with our coffee and pastries and begin to open presents. Mom hands me the one from Carwyn. I open it to find a collection of hand-blown ornaments. Think of me when you hang them , says the note he's included.

I'm already thinking of him. All the time.

***

Carwyn and I spend every day together between Christmas and New Year's Eve. It's all so perfect. Walks in the snow, a Wii

bowling tournament with Sam, an evening with Carwyn's parents, and dinner for two in a quiet corner at Cascade House, the

fanciest restaurant in town.

The menu isn't much by New York standards, but they do have linen tablecloths on the table. And candlelight. Dining by candlelight—it

feeds my romance writer's soul. I still haven't written the end of my book, but I'm not worried. I'll write it on the flight

home.

On New Year's Eve he invites me to his house for dinner—steaks on the grill and French bread. I insist on at least bringing

the salad. He's ordered cheesecake from Cascade Bakery and put champagne on ice. "You have to have champagne on New Year's

Eve," he says.

After dinner we settle on his looks-like-leather-but-isn't couch and gaze at the flames in the fireplace. It's all so romantic.

It's like he knows instinctively what feeds my soul, and I tell him so.

"I want to make you happy," he says.

"You are," I tell him. "I've never been happier."

When it's almost midnight he pours the champagne and raises his glass. "To us," he says.

"To us," I repeat, and we touch glasses and drink.

"This last week has been epic for me," he says.

"Me too," I say.

"Is it too soon to ask if you want to keep this going?"

"Oh, Carwyn." I'm so thrilled I can barely breathe, let alone get out the words. "I'm all for that. I can hardly wait to show

you New York," I add.

"I can hardly wait to see it. And I can hardly wait to get you back to Cascade. I bet your parents will love having you back."

"For visits," I clarify.

He nods thoughtfully. "So, long-distance relationship?"

"Well, I do live in New York."

New York is where my life is. Even though it's where my mistletoe mistakes haunt me like Scrooge's ghosts, it's where I've

formed friendships, where I've found myself, and where I feel comfortable. I'm not sure why, but I assumed if we reached the

point of talking about rings and weddings, our story would end with us in New York. I'd be back in my world, with my kind—writerly

types—and with my perfect man.

But my perfect man isn't saying anything, and there's the uh-oh again.

"We can find a way to work this out," he says finally.

Can we? He's the principal at the local high school, for crying out loud. And his family's here. His dad.

"I can come to New York during spring break. Maybe you can come out for the summer."

"And what if this gets serious?" Oh, crud. I didn't mean to say that out loud. It's too early to say things like that out

loud.

"We'll work it out," he says, but now the uh-oh is looming over us like a giant Grinch.

The clock starts to chime. It's midnight. Now I know how Cinderella felt. The ball is over.