Chapter 1

Tabitha

I park the car a block away from Main Street, deciding to walk the rest of the way and soak it all in. There’s a specific magic to the first lungful of Holly Ridge air after months away. It’s sharp and cold and smells like pine needles and impending snow, a scent so deeply woven into my childhood that my shoulders relax as I watch everyone mill around. 

The city has its own energy—a thrum of ambition and exhaust that I’ve learned to love—but this quiet, glittering stillness is home.

Twinkle lights, in every conceivable color, are strung from lampposts and drip from the eaves of the familiar storefronts on Main Street. Giant plastic candy canes line the walkway to the town square, gloriously tacky and unchanged from when I was six. It’s the kind of idyllic, slightly over-the-top Christmas charm that my marketing firm would spend a million dollars trying to replicate for a client’s ad campaign. Here, it’s just… Tuesday.

My phone buzzes in my pocket with a text from my boss—Fingers crossed for the pitch! Call me after the holidays—and a wave of pleasant warmth spreads through me, chasing away the winter chill. The promotion I’ve been killing myself for is so close I can taste it. This trip home is my victory lap. Weeks of my mom’s gingerbread, my dad’s terrible Christmas sweaters, and then back to the city to claim my new corner office. Perfect.

The annual tree lighting ceremony is already in full swing. The whole town seems to be crammed into the square, a sea of wool hats and puffy coats. A choir of slightly off-key teenagers is belting out “Jingle Bell Rock” near the gazebo, and the air is permeated with the aroma of roasted chestnuts and mulled cider. I navigate through the crowd, grinning at familiar faces, and make a beeline for the hot cocoa stand. I need something to warm my hands.

“One large with extra whipped cream, please,” I tell the woman running the booth.

She hands over a steaming cup and I turn, ready to find a good vantage point for the main event, and walk straight into a wall. A very firm, very broad wall clad in a ridiculously nice wool jacket.

Hot cocoa erupts from my cup, a volcano of brown liquid and melting whipped cream splashing all over the front of that beautiful navy coat.

A sharp hiss cuts through the air, and the man flinches back, his whole body tensing. “Shit.”

“Oh, my God!” My apology is a strangled gasp as I stare at the damage. The heat must have soaked right through. “I am so sorry! Are you okay? Did I burn you?”

My hands flutter uselessly in the air between us, my own panic turning my blood to ice. I just scalded a stranger. A huge, very solid stranger. I should be dabbing at him, offering first aid, something, but my brain has completely stalled.

He’s already unzipping the coat with practiced efficiency, pulling the wet, steaming fabric away from his chest. Underneath, a dark gray Henley is soaked through in a spreading stain. “I’m okay,” he says,  voice a little tight. “Thick coat, thick sweater. Saved me from the worst of it.”

“Are you sure?” I’m practically vibrating with mortification. “We should get some ice on that. Or cold water. I can’t believe I did that.”

He finally looks up from assessing the damage, and his eyes—God, his eyes—stop the frantic apology in my throat. They’re green. Not just green, but the color of moss after a rainstorm, deep and soft and framed by thick, dark lashes. And despite the situation, they’re crinkling at the corners with a startling amount of amusement.

He gently takes the now-half-empty cup from my trembling hands before I can do any more damage. “Definitely seen worse traumas in the ER. First-degree cocoa burn at worst. I’ll live.” He glances down at his ruined coat. “The coat, on the other hand, might need last rites.”

That coaxes a shaky, guilt-ridden laugh out of me. "I am so, so sorry, Mr. Wall." 

Mr. Wall? My brain supplies belatedly. Seriously? Heat floods my face. 

“Mr. Wall?” A low chuckle rumbles in his chest. “I think I like it.” I want the ground to open up and swallow me whole.

“Anyway, don’t worry about this.” His smile is genuine now, a slow, easy thing that makes him absurdly handsome. He’s tall, with shoulders that properly fill out his coat, and a jawline that looks like it was carved from granite. A light dusting of stubble darkens his chin, and his warm light brown hair has a bit of a wave where it’s not covered by his beanie. “It was an ambush. The wall never stood a chance.” He extends a hand, carefully avoiding his damp front. “You’re Tabitha Walker, right?”

My brain short-circuits. Damn wall, and he knows my name. He’s also making jokes after I just tried to give him a chest-sized blister. I rack my memory, trying to place him. There’s something familiar in the kindness of his smile, but the rest of him is… new. Upgraded. A Holly Ridge 2.0 I definitely would have remembered.

“I… yes. I’m sorry, have we met?” My cheeks are on fire, and it has nothing to do with the cold.

“Estefan Merrill.” He offers a hand, and I place my own in his. His grip is warm and solid. “We had calculus together. You sat behind me and used to tap your pen on the desk. Drove Mr. Henderson crazy.”

Estefan? Little Stef Merrill? The quiet, lanky kid who was a genius at everything and always had his nose in a book? No. It can’t be. Stef Merrill had oversized glasses and a growth spurt that left him all elbows and knees. This man is… put together. The quiet intensity is still there, but now it’s wrapped in a package of calm confidence that makes the air buzz around him.

“Estefan. Right. Of course.” A laugh escapes me, sharp and surprised. “You look… different.”

Different? That’s the best you can do, Tabitha? The man went from Clark Kent to Superman and you hit him with ‘different’?

“So do you,” he says in a low, pleasant rumble. His gaze is direct, and it holds a warmth that feels entirely too genuine for a near-stranger. “You look happy.”

A pleasant flutter starts deep in my stomach. “I am.” I find myself smiling, a real, unguarded smile. “It’s good to be home.”

“It’s good to have you home.” He finally lets go of my hand, but the warmth lingers.

The mayor’s voice booms from the speakers, starting the final countdown for the tree lighting. “Five! Four! Three!”

The crowd joins in, a joyful, unified shout. Estefan’s gaze is still on me, not the giant spruce in the center of the square. I feel pinned by the gentle intensity of it, and for some reason, my breath hitches.

“Two! One!”

A blaze of light explodes to our left. The massive tree is suddenly awash in thousands of glittering, multicolored lights. A collective gasp of delight ripples through the crowd, followed by cheers and applause. It’s the moment I’ve been waiting for, the official start of Christmas in Holly Ridge.

My eyes, full of festive cheer, scan the happy faces around me and land on the base of the tree.

And then I see them.

Under the romantic glow of the brand-new lights, for the entire town to see, is Chantel. My best friend. My ride-or-die since kindergarten. Her ridiculously expensive parka is unzipped, and her hands are tangled in the hair of the man she’s kissing.

For a dizzying second, my brain tries to place him—a new boyfriend she forgot to mention? Then he turns his head just slightly, and the festive warmth inside me vanishes. 

The man is Eric.

My ex. The man who dumped me via text message six months ago because, and I quote, “This long distance thing just isn’t working for me anymore, Tab. I need someone who’s actually here.”

The festive warmth inside me vanishes, replaced by a cold, sharp shock that sucks the air from my lungs. It’s not a pang of lost love. Eric and I were over the second his cowardly text came through. This is the brutal, public sting of betrayal. Chantel, who held my hand while I cried about it. Chantel, who told me he wasn’t worth another thought. She’s here. With him. And from the looks of that kiss, this isn’t new.

My vision narrows. The happy sounds of the crowd fade into a dull roar. I can feel shift in the atmosphere around me. The whispers. The sideways glances. Mrs. Grant from the bakery is already murmuring to her husband, her eyes flicking between me and the happy new couple. My humiliation is a tangible thing, a spotlight shining right on me.

How can Chantel do this to me? Was I not a good friend? 

I need to run. I need to disappear. But I’m frozen, pinned by a hundred pairs of pitying eyes. My hand finds one of my braids, my fingers twisting the hair in a frantic, useless gesture of self-soothing. Don’t let them see you crumble. Don’t give them the satisfaction.

My panicked gaze darts around, searching for an escape, an excuse, anything. And it lands on Estefan.

He’s no longer looking at me. He’s looking at Eric and Chantel, then back at me. His expression isn’t pitying. It’s… protective. A small, sharp line has formed between his brows. He takes a half-step toward me, as if to shield me from the prying eyes.

My brain, starved of oxygen and running on pure, people-pleasing terror, makes a decision. It’s not a thought. It’s a primal scream of survival. An act of social self-preservation so insane, so monumentally stupid, that it might just work.

I close the gap between us in a single step. I grab the sleeve of his expensive, cocoa-stained coat, my grip like a vise. His concerned green eyes find mine.

I don’t look at him. I look past him, over the heads of the crowd, directly at Eric as he finally comes up for air. I raise my chin, summon every ounce of fake cheer I possess, and I yell, my voice ringing out with terrifying clarity in a momentary lull in the crowd’s chatter.

“We’re engaged!”

The whispers stop. The entire town square goes silent. Eric’s smug smile falters. Chantel’s eyes widen in disbelief.

Then, I make the mistake of looking up at the man whose life I’ve just hijacked.

Estefan is staring down at me, his handsome face a mask of utter shock. But underneath the shock, there’s something else flickering in the depths of his moss-green eyes. It’s not anger. It’s not confusion. It’s something I can’t read at all, something wild and unnamable that makes the air crackle between us.

Just as I realize the full, catastrophic weight of what I’ve just done, the silence breaks. A smattering of applause starts, then grows, swelling into a wave of surprised, delighted celebration from the people of Holly Ridge. And all I can do is stare up at my brand-new, completely fake fiancé.