Chapter Nine

Juniper

The last echoes of laughter still danced through the living room as I stooped to collect the torn shreds of Christmas paper that littered the floor. Angela and Brayden, lost in a new world of toys, barely noticed me navigating between their games of make-believe. I couldn't help but smile at their innocent joy, even if my arms ached from bending and gathering.

"Careful, Junie, don't throw out the good bows," Ginger called out from the kitchen, her voice sweet with the hint of worry that always seemed to lace her words.

"Wouldn't dream of it," I replied with a smile, fishing out a particularly sparkly red bow from the pile in the recycling bag and setting it aside. My fingers felt clumsy, still stained with traces of soil from repotting Mom's poinsettias earlier—those stubborn reminders of my life outside Springfield, filled with earth and growth, not just shiny surfaces and crisp edges.

From the kitchen, I heard the clink of dishes and the low murmur of conversation. Mom and Ginger were critiquing the gravy, and for the first time, their quest for perfection warmed my heart. After last night, I realized perfection had nothing to do with it, but rather, shared moments. That's what was truly important.

In the dimming light of late afternoon, the room took on a golden glow. The tree stood sentinel, its lights twinkling softly against the encroaching twilight. It was beautiful, really, despite—or perhaps because of—the chaos beneath it. It was our chaos, born from love and years of shared memories.

I glanced towards the kitchen, catching a glimpse of Candi and Ginger moving in a familiar dance of holiday meal preparation, shoulders brushing, a shared smile here and there. For a moment, I saw them not just as my mother and sister, but as people—flawed, trying, loving people. Maybe the frost that had settled over my heart, the one that kept me at arm's length from them, had finally thawed.

"Juniper, do you need help with that?" Ginger appeared at the doorway, wiping her hands on a dish towel, her brows furrowed.

"No, I've got it under control," I said. "You go ahead and keep Mom company."

The doorbell's chime suddenly sliced through the quiet hum.

"I'll get it," I said, straightening and brushing a rogue curl from my face. Ginger went to survey the children's activity while I walked to the foyer. Pulling open the door, I was met with a sight that knocked the breath from my lungs. Brian stood there, looking like a man who'd just run through a blizzard, packages stacked precariously in his arms, his normally neat hair sticking out at odd angles.

"Merry Christmas, Juniper," he said.

"Daddy!" Brayden's and Angela's voices pierced the air at once, high-pitched and gleeful as they abandoned their toys and charged him like pint-sized linebackers.

"Hey, kiddos!" Brian's voice was thick with emotion, his eyes rimmed red, as if he'd been fighting battles none of us knew about. He dropped the bags haphazardly by the door and scooped them into his arms effortlessly—a bear of a man whose strength was now being used to hold onto what were clearly the most important pieces of his life.

He looked up, his gaze finding Ginger peeking over my shoulder, and something unspoken passed between them—a silent conversation in a room full of noise. "I couldn't do it," he said, his voice rough around the edges, like a confession. "Couldn't be away from my family on Christmas."

Ginger's hand flew to her mouth, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, but she held herself together, the pillar of poise she always was.

"Nothing's more important than this—than you all," Brian continued, his voice steadying as he looked down at his children, who clung to him as if they could keep him there forever through sheer will.

"Wow," I murmured under my breath, a warm feeling spreading through my chest as I took a step back, giving them space. It was moments like these that reminded me why home, with all its complexities, was still worth every effort.

"Looks like Santa made a special delivery," I quipped, trying to mask the tightness in my throat. This was their moment, but somewhere deep inside, I hoped that one day, I'd meet someone who'd fight through storms to stand at my door with the same conviction. I wished that person had been Mason.

Brian enveloped Ginger in his arms, and she melted into him, her body language shedding its usual composure for a vulnerability that tugged at my heartstrings. I couldn't help but eavesdrop, the intimacy of their moment spilling over to where I stood, frozen in place by the raw emotion of it all.

"I can't lose you, Ginger," Brian whispered, his voice barely more than a breath. "I've been a fool. Can we...will you work with me on this? I want to save us."

Ginger nodded, her tears cascading freely now, her whispers lost in the fabric of his coat. "Yes, Brian...yes."

Then their lips met, and I glanced away out of respect.

"Ahem," came a voice from the doorway, laced with the kind of authority that commanded attention without raising its volume. Candi stood there, impeccable as ever, her gaze sweeping over the reunited couple with hope and joy radiating from her eyes. "This," she declared, "calls for a toast."

The world outside might have been cold and unforgiving, but in that foyer, warmth spread like firelight. It wasn't just about Ginger and Brian anymore—it was about family, about second chances. And as I watched them, a flicker of hope danced within me, whispering that maybe, just maybe, Christmas magic was real after all.

The doorbell chimed again, making me jump. "Juniper, dear," said Candi, tilting her head towards me with a mischievous look, "why don't you see who's come to visit? It seems Christmas isn't done with its surprises."

My heart hitched. With my fingers nervously twisting a curl around my finger, I stepped back to the door. The cool draft from the hallway brushed against my cheeks as I reached for the handle, bracing myself for whatever lay on the other side.

Swinging the door open, the air caught in my throat. There stood Mason, his rugged features softened by snowflakes that clung to his dark hair like tiny stars. In his hands was a bouquet so large it nearly hid his broad chest—a sea of bright red roses.

"Hey, Juniper," he said, his voice a warm melody against the cold. "I thought maybe you'd like another ride?"

Behind him, a horse-drawn sleigh waited, its glossy chestnut horse stamping impatiently, breath pluming in the frosty air. The driver, decked out in a top hat and tails, looked like he belonged on the front of an old-fashioned Christmas card, completing the scene that felt plucked straight from a dream—or a romance novel.

"Are you asking me on a sleigh ride, Mason Knight?" I asked, unable to keep the wonder from my voice or the smile from my lips.

"Only if you're saying yes," he shot back, his eyes sparkling with an invitation that promised more than just a simple ride through town.

Snow began to fall, dusting his shoulders and transforming the world into a soft, ethereal landscape. The corners of my mouth lifted in an involuntary smile—Mason always did have impeccable timing.

"Let me grab my coat," I said, the words almost a whisper.

"Take your time, I'll be right here." His gaze lingered on mine, and for a moment, the cold didn't seem to touch me at all.

Spinning on my heels, I dashed towards my room, my heart pounding faster than the horse's hooves outside could ever hope to match. In my room, the package lay atop my dresser, wrapped in silver paper that shimmered under the soft glow of fairy lights I'd strung up for the season. The delicate curling ribbon seemed to hold my breath captive—this was it, the moment I'd either been dreading or longing for, I couldn't quite decide which. With trembling hands, I picked it up and held it close, as if it were a fragile bird. The gift wasn't much, a small token really, but it carried the weight of all my unspoken words, my hopes, my fears.

"Got everything?" Mason's voice, deep and comforting, snapped me back to the present as I returned to the foyer.

"Almost," I replied, clutching the package like a lifeline. He was there, holding my coat open for me. His touch was gentle as he helped me slide into the woolen warmth, his fingers lingering just a moment longer than necessary, sending a shiver down my spine that had nothing to do with the chill in the air.

"Thank you," I murmured, suddenly shy under his gaze.

"Anything for you," Mason said with a grin that held promises I dared not decipher just yet. He offered his hand, and I took it, letting him lead me out into the snowy evening. As Mason helped me into the sleigh, the world seemed to pause, holding its breath along with me. He tucked the blanket around us, his movements careful, almost reverent. Then, with a nod to the driver, we were off, gliding through the streets of Springfield.

The town square I knew so well transformed before my eyes into something out of a storybook. The sky shifted from pale winter blue to a canvas of deep navy, the first stars daring to twinkle above us. The Christmas trees sparkled in every window, their lights flickering like fireflies caught in an endless dance. Snowflakes kissed my cheeks, each one a cold whisper against my skin.

"Isn't it beautiful?" I murmured, more to myself than to Mason.

"Nothing compared to you," he replied, his voice low and full of warmth that contrasted the icy air.

I turned to him, my cheeks flushing with a heat that rivaled the hearth back home. His eyes reflected the twinkling lights, and in them, I saw a future I hadn't let myself imagine until now. A future where distance and doubt didn't stand a chance against what was blossoming between us. The sleigh ride wove us through the streets, past families gathered in their homes, laughter spilling out onto the snow-covered sidewalks. And there, amidst the winter wonderland, with Mason by my side, Christmas felt complete. The sleigh slowed to a gentle pace, and Mason turned to face me, an urgency in his gaze that I'd never seen before.

"Juniper," he began, his voice rough with emotion as he took my hands gently into his. "I'm sorry I left the party so abruptly. I...I saw Troy. He cornered you, didn't he? Asked for another shot?"

The memory of Troy's pleading eyes flashed in my mind, but it was Mason's earnest expression that held me captive now. "Yes, he did," I admitted softly, wondering where this conversation would lead us.

Mason ran a hand through his dark hair, setting some snowflakes adrift. "I couldn't just stand there and not say anything which is why I left. Juniper, I need you to know the truth." His eyes searched mine, deep pools of sincerity. "What we have...it's not a fling for me. Not at all."

My heart hammered against my chest, each beat echoing his words. This was the moment of truth, the pivot upon which everything could change.

"I've fallen in love with you, Juniper," he continued, his voice steady despite the tremor I saw in his hands. "And I want more than just these fleeting moments. I don't care if it's long distance. Hell, I'll move to Baltimore if that's what it takes to be with you."

The world seemed to fall away, leaving only Mason's confession hanging between us like mistletoe, waiting for a resolution. My throat tightened with a thousand unsaid words, but none of them felt adequate. Instead, I reached for the small package I had tucked away in the pocket of my coat. The shiny paper caught the light from a nearby string of Christmas lights, and the curling ribbon added a playful flourish to my heartfelt offering.

"Here," I said, my voice barely above a whisper as I placed the gift in his large, calloused hands. "For you."

He looked at it, then back at me, and in that moment, I saw everything he felt laid bare, and I knew my own heart mirrored his. Tears brimmed in my eyes, not from sorrow but from a wellspring of emotions too vast to contain. They were tears of hope, of joy, and above all, of love. Love for the man before me who saw me—not just the woman with unruly curls and freckles, but the soul within, with all its dreams and fears.

Mason's fingers worked through the ribbon, a focused furrow creasing his brow as he parted the folds of paper to reveal the small, carefully crafted ornament that I'd started painting the day we visited the holiday market. He held it up between us, examining it in the fading light. The smile that spread across his face could have lit up the entire town of Springfield.

He'd already seen the horse-drawn sleigh on the front, to which I'd added further detail, and suddenly I knew that it had been what inspired him today.

"Turn it around," I whispered, my breath forming a misty cloud in the air between us.

He flipped the ornament over, and for a moment, there was only silence—a hushed reverence for the tiny image of us in his tow truck, a memory forever captured in miniature. His eyes lifted to mine, filled with unspoken emotions.

"Juniper," he started, but I couldn't hold back any longer.

"Wait," I cut in, my voice trembling as much as my hands. "I need to tell you something."

"Anything," he said, his gaze locked on mine.

"I turned Troy down," I confessed, the words spilling out in a rush. "When he asked me for another chance, all I could think about was you, Mason. And I realized…" My throat tightened, but I pushed through the knot of emotions. "I've fallen in love with you."

His arms were around me in an instant, pulling me close against the solid wall of his chest. His heartbeat thrummed against my ear, a steady rhythm that seemed to echo my own.

"And we'll make it work," I continued, the tears finally breaking free. "No matter the distance or the obstacles. We'll find a way."

"Hey," he said softly, tilting my chin up so he could wipe away the tears with the pad of his thumb. "Don't cry, sweetheart. This is the best damn Christmas present I could ever ask for."

"Really?" I managed a watery laugh, feeling the last of my fears dissolve in the warmth of his embrace.

"Really," he confirmed, his lips curving into a smile that promised all sorts of delicious things. "Because I'm in love with you too, Juniper. And whatever it takes, I'm here for the long haul."

"Then Merry Christmas, Mason," I murmured, leaning into him, my heart full to bursting.

"Merry Christmas, Juniper." And with that, he kissed me—a kiss that sealed our promises and kindled a fire that would keep us warm long after the snow melted and the Christmas lights dimmed.