Page 6 of The Mountain Man's Secret Star
I took a long sip of cider, tasting cinnamon and star anise.
"Because after this festival, I'm quitting music," I said. "Walking away from all of it."
If he was surprised, he didn't show it. "Why?"
"I used to write songs because I had to. Because there were things inside me that would die if I didn't give them voice. Now I write them because my contract says I have to deliver twelve tracks by March." The words came out like a confession, raw and honest. "I can't remember the last time I wrote something that mattered."
"Small Town Dreamshelped me because it was true," he said quietly. "Because you understood something about finding peace in unlikely places."
"I was young when I wrote that. Felt so wise." I laughed, but it came out bitter. "Now I'm almost thirty, and I feel like I know less about everything."
"Maybe that's the point. Maybe wisdom isn't about having answers. Maybe it's about asking better questions."
The words settled into my chest like seeds looking for soil. Above us, the comet traced its ancient path across the sky.
"Can I tell you something?" I asked.
He nodded.
"This afternoon, when you sent that stew to my green room? It was the first time in months that someone took care of me without wanting something in return."
Recognition flickered in his expression. "What do people usually want?"
"Access. Photos. Introductions to my manager. It's not malicious—it's just how the industry works. Pure generosity feels extinct."
"Not extinct," he said quietly. "Just rare."
We sat watching the comet's slow journey across the star-scattered sky, the cider warming me from the inside while Gavin's presence anchored me to something real and solid.
“Maybe I was meant to come here,” I said finally.
He was quiet for a moment. "Maybe some things are meant to find each other."
We stared at each other in the comet's warm glow, and something shifted in the space between us. The attraction I'd been fighting crystallized into something deeper. We'd been moving toward this moment across years and miles and broken dreams.
"Gavin," I whispered.
He leaned closer, and I could see the reflection of starlight in his eyes. "Yeah?"
"I want to know what it feels like."
"What what feels like?"
"To be cared for by someone who doesn't want anything from me except me."
His hand was warm against my cheek, thumb brushing across my skin with devastating gentleness. Above us, the comet traced its ancient path across the star-scattered sky, and I felt like we were the only two people in the universe.
"Sadie," he whispered, my name back.
I closed the distance between us.
The kiss started soft, tentative, like we were both afraid the other might disappear. But when I didn't pull away, when I leaned into him instead and my hands found the wool of his coat, something ignited between us. His arm came around my waist, pulling me closer against the solid warmth of his chest, and I tasted cider and winter air and promises I'd forgotten how to believe in.
When we finally broke apart, we were both breathing hard, foreheads pressed together in the comet's gentle light. Aroundus, the December night hummed with possibility, and I could hear the distant sounds of the festival winding down—families heading home, vendors packing up, the quiet settling of a small town preparing for sleep.
We pulled back naturally, the moment complete without needing to be interrupted. The comet hung above us, patient and eternal, carrying its cargo of cosmic dust and human hopes toward Christmas Eve.
"I should probably head back," I said eventually, though every part of me wanted to stay here in his arms, under the stars, pretending the rest of the world didn't exist. "Early rehearsal tomorrow."
