Royal Hearts (Love At The Lake #2)

Chapter 34

Thirty-Four

CAT

“ L et’s tell them, already,” Winter groans.

“What if someone leaks to the press?” I’m so stupid in love with a prince and keeping the secret from my sister. Winter’s keeping it from his buddies, per my request, which is a problem because we’re headed to Fran and John’s house and can’t keep our hands off each other. And it’s Christmas Eve.

And I hate secrets.

Rumors or not, Frannie is going to come unglued when I admit I’m dating Winter Larsen. While he’s dating a handful of other women. But that’s semantics! And almost over!

Since Winter and I made love in his gym—I will never get the visuals of watching him do erotic things to me in mirrors out of my head as long as I live—we’ve continued to do it in every space we can find for a week straight. All over Vikingstrong castle before I helped him move out, at Little Star Lodge in my four-poster bed while he stayed with me for a few days, even in his car outside the Tipsy Taco after we met Fran and John for two-for-one margarita night.

“Cat,” Winter shuts the door to the hunting cabin we’ve been shacking up in on John and Fran’s property—or what will be ‘John and Fran’s’ if the man ever proposes. “They probably already know.”

“No way, we’ve been very stealthy.” Plus, we haven’t talked about what we will mean to each other after the show. I want to stay in our Gingerbread cottage forever, in our snow globe forever, and we could possibly have that. City-girl-moves-to-small-town-for-prince has a ring to it.

He snorts, “ The Tipsy Taco?”

Well, he’s got me there. Anyone could have seen us, I guess. But it was fun.

Streamflix’s presence has been wiped away, and while I miss Robbie, Marco, and the crew who all flew home to their families after we were awarded more time off, I don’t miss hiding from the camera, and despite the risk, I don’t want to hide anymore from our friends.

“Don’t drop that one!” I yell as we crunch through snow to the main house. We pass snowmen with beanie hats and carrot noses that John and Fran built yesterday. “It’s breakable.”

“What is it?” Winter catches a large box with his chin before it tumbles from his stack and hits the ground, a tag hanging off it marked for Fran.

“It’s a coffee mug for Frannie. We try to repulse each other with corny mugs every year for Christmas, except we secretly love corny mugs, the cornier, the better.”

“And this is a corny coffee mug?” He gestures to a massive box wrapped in plaid paper with a shiny red bow. “It’s the size of a coffee maker. ”

“I like to throw her off. She’ll think I got her a new pair of boots or something.”

“But you always get each other mugs. ”

“You don’t have to get it, just carry the boxes!” I direct him.

He’s got presents stacked above his head and so do I. It took me all afternoon to wrap them with no help from Win, who spent his day giving sleigh rides to grade schoolers. When John and Frannie offered him the small but cozy hunting cabin on their property, Lola came with him, of course, but the horses are still in his barn until he arranges transportation to a small stable in Clover.

My room at the lodge has been empty most nights. I wouldn’t say I moved in with Winter, but most of my stuff has made its way over to the cabin and neither one of us has mentioned any of it going back. I think I could live happily in that little gingerbread house with lattice trim and a red front door for the rest of my life. Working remotely with a cup of tea, after all, internet life has its perks—like living wherever you please.

We both tromp across the lawn, hugging the lakeshore as it gently laps at smooth rocks accustomed to the area and reflecting a high winter moon. “We need to tell them. They’ll keep the secret through the last few days of filming. It’s all basically over, Cat. Let’s enjoy tonight, together, as a real couple.”

“You’re right.” I can tell he’s shocked to hear me admit it.

“Good,” he says, and kisses me reverently on the forehead before we push through sliding glass doors into the kitchen. It’s pretty handy living in my sister’s backyard. I don’t hate being close to her again.

“Merry Christmas, Kitty-Cat!” Fran runs and jumps into my arms as I set presents on a large marble counter. The main house is nice, hence the acreage and the cabin they had just sitting around to offer us. “How was the commute, neighbor?”

It feels right to be close again. I’ve hated the past few months being away from her in San Francisco when she was here. Something about all of this, this night, and this place feels right.

“Merry Christmas, Frannie-Bananie. Hey, we have to call Mom and Dad. ”

“They’re in Mallorca now, right?”

“I think so? Isn’t that near Ibiza?”

She shrugs and pulls her phone from a drawer. “I have no idea.”

“I’m going to step out and call Elias. It’s Christmas morning in Denmark and he’s one of those uber productive early risers. And Mallorca is near Ibiza. Be right back, Bloom,” Winter says, his gaze soft and happy.

I love seeing him this way, and I nod. “Okay.”

“And then it’s time,” he adds, mockingly stern.

“ Okaaaaay .”

“Time for what?” Frannie asks, eyes wide no doubt expecting a Christmas surprise, but I wave her off for now.

“What is with all the international calls?” John quips, “I’ve already wished Ricky and Patty a Merry Christmas when I saw them this morning at Bargain Barn picking up a last-minute singing penguin for Patty’s yard. The woman has a thing for lawn ornaments.” He begins laying out an assortment of glasses, swizzle sticks sporting fish with Santa hats, and cocktail mixers.

When the call connects, and they confirm they are in Mallorca, we catch the Bloomfields up on our lives and exchange Christmas wishes—a Bloomfield tradition. Dad wishes for his old comfy recliner because he’s ready to hang up his travel boots and go home, Mom wishes for new luggage because hers has a tear, Frannie wishes for a solid opening week at Thistle and Burr Motel, and I wish for things to stay exactly as they are in this moment in time. Christmas Eve in this pretty house with Fran and friends, on a loop, forever.

The doorbell rings in the background and a crew of men walk in with presents wrapped in everything from newspaper to black trash bags.

“Gotta go. The guys are here and we’re doing an exchange. I’m dying to give Cat her present.”

“You girls have fun,” Mom says .

“We’re proud of you,” Dad adds. “We haven’t seen much but we’ve heard that show of yours is doing well in the States,” Dad says to me. “Is the guy going to get the girl in the end?” Mike Bloomfield will be a hopeless romantic till the day he dies.

Frannie snorts a laugh. “Oh yeah, I think you can safely say the guy is going to get the girl.”

I punch her in the thigh. “Ow, Cat!”

“Enjoy yourselves,” I say into the camera. “And then get back here, we miss you!” Our parents have fought hard through raising kids, building a business, and falling back in love with each other while starting their retirement. They’re not just a love story, they’re a real love story. One I know my sister hopes to emulate, and one I’m beginning to think I’d like a taste of as well.

Frannie pulls me into the living room. “Present time!”

“Let me at least get everyone drinks,” John says, ever the caretaker, while he grins at her from the kitchen.

“You do drinks, I’m going to give Cat the first present.” She makes big eyes at John, then turns to a massive, and I mean enormous, present in front of an equally huge fireplace with a roaring fire going. They strung real popcorn and cranberries to weave into their garlands together and I’m swooning right along with them.

“Did you waste that much paper wrapping a coffee mug?” I ask her, as she pushes me to the box. It comes up to my shoulders. “Or did you spring for a bigger refrigerator for the cabin, because?—”

“Open it,” she squeals jumping on her toes, a Christmas tree scrunchie bobbing on her head.

“Wait, I want to give you mine, too.” I run to the counter to grab Frannie’s present while she groans and drops to the sofa in the living room.

“Why don’t you open your gift?” Winter says softly. “Put your sister out of her misery.”

My eyes bob between the two of them and the room goes silent. “Wait, are you two up to something? ”

“In cahoots with Winter Larsen? Never,” Fran deadpans. “Open it!”

John passes out more drinks, handing a tall glass of dark beer to Logan who takes it and mumbles, “Please, put us all out of our misery.”

“What could it be, any guesses?” Ben asks and they all glare at him.

“Does everyone know what it is but me?”

“Yes,” Logan says.

John punches his grumpy friend playfully in the arm, but the lumberjack does not budge. Come to think of it, he does resemble a tree, big, strong, unmoving, and stoic. But there’s also a calmness to him, almost like he knows something the rest of us don’t—not just about the present, but life in general.

“Logan, shhhhhh.” Fran hushes him and kicks him good-naturedly with a reindeer-socked foot.

“I’ve got a surprise for you all, too, you know. Maybe I should do mine first?” Winter gives me two thumbs up, but the entire room groans. They seriously want me to open my present.

Fine, our announcement can wait. Because declaring out loud I’m part of a couple, especially after Winter and I have gone to such lengths to hide, still feels a little terrifying.

“Okay, okay.” I pull back shiny, snowflake-covered paper and easily find a long piece of packing tape to tug on top. When I pull the first flap, the whole box begins to rustle and move.

I slap the top of the box closed and turn to Winter and my sister, who are both on the edges of their seats, “If you got me a pony . . .”

But a shriek from the box in front of me cuts me off.

“ Merry surprise Christmas!” Willow pops out of the box, hands above her head in a ta-da pose. “It’s really hot in there, by the way. I thought I was going to suffocate.” She’s wearing a cherry red sweater that compliments her strawberry hair, leggings, and a hunter-green beanie with a pink pom-pom .

The room erupts into applause and my heart grows ten sizes.

“Wills,” I yell right into her face. “Oh my God, you’re here!”

“I know!” she yells back, trying to hop from the tall box but her knee catches the edge and she goes flying face-first toward a huge glass coffee table.

My body twists at an odd angle, and I try to turn to catch her, but strong arms nudge me out of the way to sweep her off her feet before she face-plants into glass.

The room lets out an audible gasp as Logan’s long legs step safely around the sharp edge of the coffee table with Willow in his arms. He slowly sets her back on her feet but keeps both hands wrapped around her tiny waist, making her ample curves even more prominent while she grips his shoulders for dear life. He steadies her, giving her a moment to find her balance.

“Uh, thanks.” She looks up as he towers over her petite frame, her cheeks turning Rudolph red as he glares down at her. “Hey.”

“Hello, again.”

“Willow, you did it!” Fran breathes. “Logan, how’d you catch her?”

He says nothing, steps back, pulls his drink from the mantel where he’d set it, and only nods.

Fran throws her arms around the three of us and we all nuzzle into each other like only old friends can. Willow sighs deeply and I realize it’s been a while since I’ve checked in with her, so wrapped up with Royal Hearts , and Winter.

She gives me a sweet grin, as if she knows exactly what I’m thinking and has already forgiven me. “The band’s back together. Finally. But what’s your announcement? I was kinda dying listening in the box. Do you know how long I was in there? Could you guys have waited to call your parents?”

“Sorry, Wills.” Frannie winces. “Okay, Christmas surprise number two,” Fran motions to me mischievously. “Out with it already.”

I eye her. “Do you know?” I murmur under my breath as the three of us stand in front of a warm fire in the grate, the guys all watching from the couch now as if we’re on stage doing a comedy routine.

“Yes, of course I know,” she speaks even lower through her teeth, leaning in mysteriously and giving me a twitchy eye that I think is supposed to be a wink.

“Know what? What are you two talking about?” Willow demands, pouting a little.

Winter stands up. “Cat and I are dating. We’re together. God, Jul!”

“What?” I ask, looking up at his goofy grin.

“Merry Christmas!” The men chorus back at him.

“Danish,” Winter supplies. “You’re probably going to need to learn some, I mean, if you’re willing?—”

“Ah! Knew it!” Frannie bounces on her toes and claps her hands and the guys go back to talking about fly fishing with Ben leading a very rigorous casting tutorial.

“Wait—” Willow demands. “He’s about to propose on Royal Hearts ! I’ve been on a book binge so I’m a little behind, but I’ve been rooting for Lexi A.”

“Um, Wills,” I hedge apologetically. “I have a lot to catch you up on, but seriously, you guys can’t tell a soul.”

The night goes on in a frenzy of tearing paper, grilling steaks, glasses of cabernet, and bottles of stout beer, all topped off with hot chocolate spiked with peppermint schnapps sloshing from matching reindeer mugs as Winter and I stumble home.

Beautifully unburdened. Like a real couple.

We both kick snow off our boots in unison at the front door and fall into fits of laughter.

“Oh no, you don’t,” Winter says as I start to cross the threshold .

Instead, he sweeps me into his arms and attacks my neck with his mouth, slamming the door behind him with a socked foot.

“I can’t see!” It’s pitch black in the cabin, though moonlight pouring through windows highlights knotty pine kitchen cabinets with iron pulls and some old but serene wilderness art on the walls.

“Freeze, Bloom,” Winter says, delight in his voice as he rummages in a kitchen drawer. He finds what he’s after and strikes a match, lights a candle.

“The lights work, you know.”

“But this is so much more romantic. Very hygge on Christmas Eve, I’ll make you some sleepy time tea and wrap you in blankets like a sm?rrebr?d .”

“What’s that?”

“Thick Danish toast, usually rye bread, with anything your heart desires on top.”

Now that I can see, I move to a small-ish tree in the corner that we barely had time to put up after he moved out of Vikingstrong. Annie packed up all his ornaments and sent them with us. Hanging them one by one, both of us sharing stories about Christmases as kids, was the sweetest thing I’ve ever done with a man.

“I have a surprise for you,” he whispers in my ear. “It’s outside.”

“We barely made it inside.” My small buzz has worn-off but I’m still warm from time spent with family and friends.

“Here,” he scoots me around an old leather sofa covered in nubby throws, across the worn wood floors covered in threadbare carpets to a window beside our Christmas tree. “See,” he points to the end of a slim drive, paved around the big house toward the cabin and the lake.

“It’s our mailbox,” I say, fogging up the glass.

“It is.”

“When did you have time to do this?”

“After I finished sleigh rides earlier today, you were so focused on wrapping presents. I can’t believe you didn’t see me. It took a good twenty minutes to dig and cement the posts into frozen earth.”

“Winter,” I turn into him, his face lit with the glow of colorful lights coming off our tree.

“This might be home base for a while . . .” he trails off.

I swear, my heart grows ten sizes.

“It’s perfect, I’m so glad it’s here. Might make watching you propose to another woman next week a little less pride-crushing.”

This is home base. Maybe this could be a base for both of us, because I have no desire to leave anytime soon. Does he feel the same? Is that why he’s made sure our mailbox is here, and that we have a Christmas tree while our boots are lined up at the door, boot tray catching the melting snow?

“Don’t let it bother you, please. The show has nothing to do with what’s between you and me. We have a plan.”

“Yes, a plan, and the sweetest little mailbox outside the cutest gingerbread cabin.”

“Have you named the cabin?”

“Maybe.”

“Feeling sentimental?” He’s teasing me, hanging my coat on a hook, shrugging off his sweater so he’s in only a t-shirt.

“Maybe the time we’ve spent here has been some of the best in my life,” I offer up honestly and with zero hesitation. A Christmas present for him, and for me.

After the show, we’ll talk about the logistics of making us work. Right now, I just want to enjoy the moment. I want to give us both that gift.

“All the more reason to stay.” He comes to stand beside me again and I let my head drop to his shoulder as we watch fluffy snow fall and melt into the lake.

We’re on the same page. We both want this. It’s a freaking Christmas miracle.

I hum in response, enjoying the snuggle, wrapping my arms around his waist and breathing his scent deep as if it might all slip through my fingers by morning. “You’re almost finished with the show.” I’ll tell him I love him the second it’s over.

He wraps an arm around me. “Yes,” he confirms.

“And then it’s just us.”

He turns me by the shoulders to look at him and holds my gaze. “Take this moment, and times it by millions. That’s how many moments like this I want with you. So many moments, they make up forever. I believe in us.”

“Me too.” I close my eyes and try to ignore a tiny voice inside whispering, when we figure out how this works in the real world, I’ll really believe it.