Page 16 of Melting the Grump
"Oh no," Abigail murmurs, her steps faltering as she takes in the damage. The framework for her lantern display has collapsed in one section, and several vendor booths have toppled. Nothing catastrophic, but enough to set back her careful timeline.
Before I can offer reassurance, we're spotted.
"Scott! Abigail!" Meredith calls, waving from near the ancient oak tree. "Thank goodness you're all right! We were worried when no one could reach you after the storm hit."
In moments, we're surrounded by council members, volunteers, and curious onlookers. Questions fly from all directions asking where we took shelter, if we're okay, what happened at Harvest Hollow.
Through it all, I keep Abigail's hand firmly in mine, a fact that doesn't go unnoticed. I see Mabel and June exchange knowing glances, and Walt Bramble's eyebrows raise nearly to his hairline.
"The festival setup took quite a hit," Meredith says, gesturing to the scattered decorations. "We're trying to assess if we can still make the timeline work."
I feel Abigail tense beside me, her enthusiasm dimming as she surveys the setback. The practical, cautious part of me should be relieved. Here's the perfect excuse to scale back her ambitious plans, to revert to the safer, familiar festival format we've always used.
Instead, I find myself stepping forward, my voice carrying across the square.
"Martin Construction will donate the labor and materials to get everything back on track," I announce. "My crew can be here within the hour. We'll have the structures rebuilt by nightfall."
A collective gasp ripples through the gathered crowd. No one seems more shocked than Abigail, whose wide eyes turn to me with disbelief and dawning joy.
"Scott," she begins, but I squeeze her hand, silencing her protest.
"The Fall Festival is important to this town," I continue, my eyes never leaving hers. "And so is the woman who envisioned it."
Murmurs spread through the crowd, followed by scattered applause that quickly grows into cheers. Meredith's face splits into a knowing grin, and I spot Walt giving me a thumbs-up from the edge of the gathering. But none of that matters compared to the look on Abigail's face, a radiance that outshines even the morning sun glinting off fresh snow.
"You don't have to do this," she whispers when the crowd begins to disperse, organizing into work parties based on Meredith's direction.
I tuck a finger under her chin, tilting her face up to mine. "I want to. Not just for the town. For you."
"But yesterday you were still worried about all the risks, the cost—"
"Some things are worth the risk," I interrupt softly. "You taught me that."
Her eyes shine with unshed tears, but her smile is bright enough to warm the coldest day. "When did Scott Martin become such a romantic?"
"About the time a stubborn, beautiful event planner from Portland decided to turn my town upside down." I pull her closer, our bodies fitting together perfectly despite the layersof winter clothing. "You've talked me into the most reckless, wonderful idea I've ever had."
"The festival?" she asks, her hands sliding up my chest to rest on my shoulders.
"No." I brush my thumb across her lower lip, marveling at its softness. "Falling in love with you."
The words slip out naturally, without the fear or hesitation I might have expected. Because it's true, sometime between arguing across the council table and waking up with her in my arms, I've fallen completely, irrevocably in love with Abigail Robinson.
Her breath catches, eyes widening. "Scott..."
"Too soon?" I ask, suddenly uncertain.
She shakes her head, a tear spilling over to track down her cheek. "No. Not too soon. Just unexpected. In the best possible way." Her fingers curl into the fabric of my jacket. "I love you too. I think I have since you stood in Harvest Hollow asking about fire codes and insurance."
I laugh, the sound echoing across the square. "Nothing says romance like safety regulations."
"It does when you're the one enforcing them." She rises on tiptoe, bringing her lips closer to mine. "You care so deeply about this place, about the people here. How could I not fall for that?"
Around us, Acorn Circle hums with activity, ladders being set up, decorations salvaged, plans remade. The ancient oak tree spreads its branches overhead, a few stubborn golden leaves still clinging to its limbs despite the storm. Lanterns sway gently inthe morning breeze, catching sunlight and scattering it like stars even in daylight.
I capture her lips with mine, pouring everything I feel into the kiss. Her arms wind around my neck as she melts against me, returning the kiss with equal fervor. When we finally part, breathless and grinning, I rest my forehead against hers.
"Welcome home, Abigail Robinson," I murmur.
