Page 92 of Mistletoe and Mayday
Sebastian moves closer, taking Paris from my trembling hands and setting it with the others. His fingers brush against mine, sending electricity crackling up my arm and straight to my thundering heart.
“I know.” His eyes lock onto mine, unwavering. “You collect moments, Bailey. These are all the moments I want with you. We can make those ours.”
My ribcage tightens as I survey the glittering path he’s created. Each globe a promise, each miniature world an invitation.
“It’s a lot,” I manage, emotion strangling my words.
His smile—genuine and unguarded, nothing like the polished mask he wore when we first met—makes my pulse stutter.
“And I want you in every single one,” Sebastian says, close enough now that his warmth radiates against my skin.
“But I pushed you away,” I whisper. “Said terrible things.”
“Then you came looking for me.” He moves even closer. “Why did you come to Chicago, Bailey?”
The question suspends between us. Why did I?
My mind spins with a thousand answers—each true, each terrifying. Because sleep became impossible. Because breathing hurt. Because the sky stretches empty when he’s not watching me fly.
My mouth opens, but nothing emerges. Words jam in my throat, trapped behind years of hearing I’m too much, too loud, too everything. For once in my life, language abandons me.
Sebastian watches me struggle, eyes softening with understanding. Without a word, he reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out another snow globe.
This one stands apart from the others. Smaller. No city name carved into its base.
He places it in my hands with such care, and I feel its weight—heavier than expected, like it contains something precious.
Inside, nestled in perfect white powder, sits a tiny cabin. Not some famous landmark or skyline, but a snow-covered log cabin with a tin chimney and miniature tools hanging from its sides. Two tiny figures stand in the clearing, detailed enough that I almost recognize their faces. In the distance, barely visible among the miniature pines, four wolves watch from the tree line.
My breath catches. Our cabin. Our wolves. Our moment.
“Because some moments change everything,” Sebastian says.
Tears blur the glass dome as I stare at our story, preserved forever. The cabin where we fought wolves, built Christmas trees, and found each other despite our best efforts not to.
I swallow hard, cradling our miniature world.
“You can’t just—” My voice cracks. The cabin snow globe trembles in my hands, its tiny figures watching us with microscopic hope. “Your family?—”
“Know exactly where I am. And who I’m choosing.” Sebastian never blinks, never looks away. The harsh hallway light reveals shadows beneath his eyes—matching the sleepless nights stamped under mine.
“Sebastian...” His name breaks in my throat, half-plea, half-prayer. The snow globes surrounding us catch the light, castingrainbows across the walls, across his face, across the impossible choice he’s making.
“I choose you, Bailey Monroe. Every city. Every flight. Every snow globe. Every imperfect, chaotic, beautiful moment.” His voice remains steady, certain in a way that liquifies my knees.
“I’m still too much.” But I’m moving toward him, drawn to him.
“You once told me you wished to be someone’s priority,” he says, voice dropping low enough that I have to lean closer to hear. “That you wanted someone who’d clear their schedule when you land—not because they remembered you exist, but because they couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
My breath catches. He remembered. Every word.
“I’ve spent my life prioritizing everything but what matters,” Sebastian continues. “But now? I’ll drop board meetings to meet your plane. I’ll check flight trackers hourly. I’ll wait at terminals just to be the first face you see stepping off the jetway.”
His fingers brush a strand of hair behind my ear, and I’m undone.
“You’ll never have to feel selfish for wanting that again, Bailey. Because loving you isn’t an obligation I schedule, it’s the only thing that makes all the rest of it worth doing.”
“We’ll crash and burn.” I whisper the warning.
