Page 109 of Hashtag Holidate
Maddox’s laugh was warm and delighted. “The position might be available. But I should warn you—the boss can be pretty demanding.”
“I can handle demanding.”
“And I’ve heard he’s grumpy. Very, very grumpy.”
“I specialize in grumpy mountain men, actually. It’s my niche.”
He kissed me then, soft and deep and full of promise. When we broke apart, his forehead rested against mine.
“Are you sure about this?” he asked quietly. “Really sure? Because once you’re here, really here, I’m not letting you go.”
I thought about the life I was leaving behind—the constant travel, the carefully curated loneliness, the hollow pursuit of likes and follows. Then I thought about waking up in this man’s arms every morning, about Maya’s laughter, about being part of something as lasting as the nearby mountain.
“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life,” I said. “Legacy isn’t just where I want to be, Maddox. It’swhoI want to be. The best version of myself. The version that belongs to someone and somewhere.”
“To me,” he said fiercely. “You belong tome.”
“And you belong to me.”
“Always.”
Outside, the snow continued to fall, cloaking everything in untouched white. Inside, wrapped in Maddox’s arms with the fire warming our skin and love warming our hearts, I finally understood what home felt like.
It felt like forever.
It felt like family.
It felt like the truest, realest, most authentic thing I’d ever experienced in my perfectly curated life.
And for the first time in longer than I could remember, I couldn’t wait to see what tomorrow would bring.
#TheRealMaddrian #Stay #ILY #FinallyHome
EPILOGUE: #ADRIANHAYESSTAYS
MADDOX - ONE YEAR LATER
The hissof the espresso machine in our new coffee corner made me smile as I adjusted the display of Nordique jackets for the third time that morning. A year ago, I’d have laughed at the idea of merchandising eight-hundred-dollar parkas. Now? I wanted every detail of this grand opening to be right.
“Stop fussing,” Adrian called from behind the hot chocolate station. “They were perfect twenty minutes ago.”
“They weregoodtwenty minutes ago,” I corrected. “They definitely were notperfect.”
Maya didn’t look up from her livestream. “He’s been like this all week,” she informed our followers. “Yesterday, he reorganized the socket wrenches because they weren’t ‘visually compelling.’”
“I’m standing right here,” I muttered.
“You were supposed to hear that.” Her voice was full of affection—and pride. Home for winter break from UW, she’d slotted back into the rhythm of our little family effortlessly, balancing sass and strategy like a pro. Her “Sullivan Saturday” series had doubledour followers and made her a surprisingly effective brand ambassador, a thing I wouldn’t have even known existed a year ago.
“Maddox,” Adrian said gently. “Baby. You’re stress-organizing again.”
I set down the headlamp I hadn’t realized I’d picked up and walked over to him, wrapping my arms around his waist. He leaned back against me without missing a beat.
“I’m not nervous,” I lied into his Sullivan Hardware hoodie, one of the new ones with the updated logo.
He snorted. “You’ve been up since five.”
“I just want today to go well. This—” I gestured around us. “—this is everything we’ve worked for.”
