Chapters (48)
- 1. One
- 2. Two
- 3. Three
- 4. Four
- 5. Five
- 6. Six
- 7. Seven
- 8. Eight
- 9. Nine
- 10. Ten
- 11. Eleven
- 12. Twelve
- 13. Thirteen
- 14. Fourteen
- 15. Fifteen
- 16. Sixteen
- 17. Seventeen
- 18. Eighteen
- 19. Nineteen
- 20. Twenty
- 21. Twenty-One
- 22. Twenty-Two
- 23. Twenty-Three
- 24. Twenty-Four
- 25. Twenty-Five
- 26. Twenty-Six
- 27. Twenty-Seven
- 28. Twenty-Eight
- 29. Twenty-Nine
- 30. Thirty
- 31. Thirty-One
- 32. Thirty-Two
- 33. Thirty-three
- 34. Thirty-Four
- 35. Thirty-Five
- 36. Thirty-Six
- 37. Thirty-Seven
- 38. Thirty-Eight
- 39. Thirty-Nine
- 40. Forty
- 41. Forty-One
- 42. Forty-Two
- 43. Forty-three
- 44. Epilogue
- Afterword
- Also by
- Acknowledgments
- About Author
I jumped like a skittish cat and looked out the window to see bright greens, reds, and sparkles covering the sky. It took my brain several moments to catch up to my eyes, but when it did, I repositioned my body on his lap facing the window as fireworks lit up our view.
“Oh my gosh.” I held a hand over my chest. “I think I just had a heart attack.”
Finn chuckled behind me. “I guess I didn’t plan that out so well.”
We watched in silence, me curled into a ball in his lap, him with both arms wrapped around me. As if this was something we did regularly.
“I forgot they even did this,” I said quietly. Every year the city would have fireworks each night starting on the twentieth until the start of the new year. It was supposed to be like a grand finale.
“We used to all go up on the gondola and watch it from the mountain. We would wrap up in blankets and Mom would take a million pictures. I remember being so excited when I was little. It was my favorite week of the year.”
From behind me, Finn said softly, “I’ve always just watched them from here. They were always nice, but I never really took time to watch them with someone.”
I turned to him in surprise. “And now?” I questioned.
He gave me that charming smile I loved. “And now it’s like I’m seeing them for the first time.”
29. Twenty-Nine
“I insist.”
“No. I insist.”
“Olive. Take the stupid bed.”
She huffed and crossed her arms, turning her head away from me and going to the couch. After the fireworks show, Olive and I argued for ten minutes over who would take the bed. My tiny cabin only had one bedroom, an office, and one bathroom. I rarely had guests, and the times I did have people over…let’s just say there was no need for another bed. The thought of Olive sleeping somewhere other women had once laid made me sick. I needed to take the mattress out to the road…or burn it. But I’d be damned if I let Olive sleep on the couch tonight.
Olive wasn’t a sleep-on-the-couch kind of girl. Or a sleep with her at the first opportunity, one-night-stand kind of girl. She was the girl you woke up at four in the morning to make breakfast for, or the one you quoted George Bailey to. She was the girl you took home to Mom.
“Finn, I can’t! You are like nine feet—“
“I’m six-two.”
“—tall and I know this couch will not fit you.”
It wouldn’t, but I’d gladly sleep in a crumpled ball for her.
“Sorry, honey. This is nonnegotiable, now go on to bed. You’ve had a long day, and I can tell you’re exhausted.”