Page 52 of Marrying the Accidental Groom
He stared straight ahead, the town stretching below them like a snow globe come to life, but all he could feel was the sting behind her words. Of course she meant him. What else could she be talking about? The rushed marriage. The awkward aftermath. She’d been stuck here ever since, trying to salvage some kind of dignity while he tripped over garland and his feelings like a man who had no business holding onto someone like her.
She was trying to let him down gently. That’s what this was. A polite confessional disguised as vulnerability. And maybe she wasn’t wrong. Maybe he really was the mistake she should’ve let go of already.
Still, he forced a smile. Tried to keep it light. “Well, I can definitely confirm that letting go isn’t your strong suit. Letting go feels an awful lot like changing plans.”
She smiled, but then her gaze shifted, looking out over the snow-covered storefronts again. She was quieter now. Maybe even a little lost. He shifted slightly, his arm brushing hers. “So what keeps you hanging on?” he asked, trying to keep the question casual. “Hope?”
She gave a dry little laugh. “Stubbornness, mostly. But yeah. Hope too.” She turned to look at him then, eyes softer than before. “I used to think if I planned everything perfectly, I could avoid the mess. The heartache. But life doesn’t care about plans. I’m starting to think that maybe the detour’s the only part of the trip worth remembering.”
Gideon swallowed hard, his gaze fixed on the lights ahead. A row of icicle strands blinked in perfect rhythm across the eaves of the church. Down the block, a nativity scene glowed against the snow.
He wasn’t what she’d planned. He knew that in his bones.
But he wanted to be the part she chose anyway.
Still, he couldn’t say it. Not yet. Not when everything in her life—the job offer, the fresh start—pointed away from him.
Gideon’s heart pounded hard, as if her words had knocked something loose. But he couldn’t look at her. Couldn’t let himself believe she meant it.
Not when everything in him still felt like a gamble she hadn’t meant to take.
Maybe, if he were a braver man, he would’ve reached for her hand. Told her she didn’t have to do it alone anymore. Told her that commitment didn’t scare him when it came to her. That he wanted to be her soft place to land.
But he didn’t.
Instead, he sat there with the night air biting at his knuckles, guilt settling heavier in his chest than the blanket over their knees.
Because he wanted her.
So much it physically ached sometimes. He wanted to hold her and protect her and kiss her until she forgot what it meant to be second-guessed. But he also knew what she needed—stability, structure, safety—and he wasn’t convinced he could be that for her. Definitely not without asking her to sacrifice the future she’d worked so hard for. Not without holding her back from something greater.
Mostly, he didn’t want her to look back at a life together with him and wish she’d not taken that detour.
He let out a slow breath, his voice quieter this time. “Yeah. Maybe.”
The sleigh creaked and swayed as it turned back toward the ranch, and the lights of town slowly faded behind them. Juliana nestled deeper into the blanket beside him, close but not quite touching.
He didn’t reach for her. Didn’t kiss her, even though he wanted to—more than he wanted his next breath. Because she’dbeen brave enough to say she held on too long. And he was starting to think the kindest thing he could do was let go.
But he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to keep her. Forever.
19
JULIANA
The fever made the ceiling ripple.
Not literally—Juliana knew that—but her vision kept doing this soft-focus slide, like the wood paneling above Gideon’s couch was a mirage shimmering in Arizona heat. She hated it. Hated the cotton-stuffed feeling in her head, the way every joint ached as if she’d done squats for the first time since college, the drip-drip-drip of her treacherous nose.
Worst of all, she hated being benched. No clipboard, no checklist, no control.
Gideon eased into the room, a bowl steaming in one hand and a chipped enamel mug in the other. The string lights he’d stapled around the cabin’s front porch cast halos through the window, and for one dizzy second she thought they were part of his entrance, as if he’d called in lighting cues.
“Soup delivery,” he announced in a stage whisper. “There were two options: Connie’s chicken noodle, and my experimental ginger miso ‘please don’t die on me’ special.”
She sniffed, which turned into a cough, which turned into a glare. “Define experimental.”
He set the tray on the nightstand, grin crooked. He angled the bowl closer. “Mom’s won the coin toss.”
