Roxanne held Hunter’s arm as they returned to the family room, arranging themselves comfortably on the sofa after dispensing with hugs and kisses all around. Everyone fawned over her dress, but Roxanne waved away the compliments, her cheeks pink with the blush of attention. Hunter, meanwhile, preened for his audience. As he accepted compliments and graciously added his own, Roxanne was relieved he didn’t elaborate on the dress’ origin. She was still soaking it in herself, not to mention trying to adjust to the change of pace. It already seemed like years ago that she’d been riding shotgun in Mark’s Snowcat, trying not to get sucked into his smile and thinking about sweet things like maple pie and mistletoe kisses.

She hadn’t heard the sound of jingle bells since Mark had disappeared into the snow and out of her life.

In the years since she’d seen them, her parents had gotten a little plumper, a little older, and, apparently, a lot happier. Retirement had been good to them, and she had never seen her mother smile so easily or heard her father laugh so hard. Her niece and nephew were even bigger than she’d expected. Rachel was noticeably pregnant with a third bun in the oven, and although she knew the sex of the new babe she wasn’t sharing. Her husband, Ken, was his typical quiet self, the very opposite of his wife, though his hair had started to thin just a little and there were new lines forming around his eyes that said parenthood hadn’t been as easy as Rachel insisted it was.

Amidst them all, Grandma Myrtle sat in her wheelchair, smiling contentedly as she watched her family, the pride she felt sparkling visibly in her eyes. Roxanne had thought that her parent’s insistence of this Christmas as Grandma Myrtle’s last might have been exaggerated—a conveniently timed ploy to pressure her into spending Christmas with her family in the Green Mountain cabin instead of in her loft in the City—but she saw now that it might just be true. Grandma Myrtle has grown frail and fragile, her skin so papery that it was nearly translucent and her hair the brittle texture of spun glass. Her eyes were clouded with cataracts, and her clothing seemed to hang off her shoulders like cloth flung over sticks.

There was a sharp pang in her chest that Roxanne didn’t quite recognize. It felt like sadness tinged with guilt. Grandma Myrtle had been such a big part of her life when she was growing up, but Roxanne hadn’t even bothered to send a letter in over a year. The last she could remember, she’d send a bouquet of mail-order flowers for Grandma Myrtle’s last birthday. But the office admin had ordered them on her behalf; Roxanne didn’t even know what kind of flowers had been included in the arrangements. Grandma Myrtle had once been Roxanne’s biggest champion—she’d been the one that encouraged her to leave home to pursue her dreams. The one thing Myrtle had insisted upon was for Roxanne to stay happy, and to always, always, trust her heart. Despite her beautiful dress, her handsome boyfriend, and her fancy byline, Roxanne was unsure if she’d lived up to her grandmother’s requirements.

“Did Ranger Foster take good care of you last night, Roxy?” her father was asking.

“What?” Roxanne blinked, snapping out of her guilt reverie and into the present. Hunter reached over and squeezed her hand—not in a reassuring kind of way, but an impatient kind of way. He gave her a strange look she couldn’t quite decipher. “Oh, yes. He was…he was a total gentleman.”

Her father nodded as if he’d assumed as much. “Mark Foster is a good man. One of the best rangers on the Patrol.” He lifted a finger in the air pointedly in the way he did when he wanted to make sure you were listening. “Single-handedly organizes a toy drive for all the kids out in these parts who’s families can’t afford to give them a good Christmas. Collects the gifts, wraps them up, and spends his holiday delivering them out. I expect that’s what he’s up to tonight.”

“Actually, he delivered them today. We wrapped them last night,” Roxanne added. She remembered the Costa kids and smiled. Then, she remembered the kiss she’d shared under Clara’s mistletoe with Mark and felt the heat crawl up her cheeks. “He let me ride along with him in the Snowcat, and we—”

“You spent the day delivering Christmas presents to poor kids?” Hunter’s voice was incredulous. Roxanne’s family stared at him and he had the decency to look embarrassed. He cleared his throat and tried to save it. “I mean to say, you spent the day roaming around with some forest ranger instead of getting here as early as you could? Everyone has been waiting on you, including me. I was worried sick when I got here and heard you’d been in an accident.”

The heat in Roxanne’s cheeks turned into a different kind of fire. She wasn’t sure whether to be insulted that Hunter would be so callous about her being charitable, or if she didn’t like the way he’d spoken about Mark, or that he’d just tried to make her feel guilty for being late to the cabin. Actually, all of it was really offensive.

She was just about to say something to that effect, when Grandma Myrtle’s voice cut in. “Giving back is good for the soul,” she said matter-of-factly, bestowing upon Roxanne an approving smile as the family’s inarguable matriarch. “Nothing brings out the real Christmas Spirit like doing good for those around you. You did right, honey.”

“Thank you, Grandma Myrtle,” Roxanne said as she slid her hand out from under Hunter’s, hoping he’d get her point.

“It doesn’t hurt that Mark Foster isn’t hard on the eyes either. I met him once when we brought the kids out during the summer, and oh boy,” Rachel, giggled girlishly into her eggnog. She flipped her hand dismissively at Hunter, who was now busy looking insulted himself. “Not that you aren’t uber handsome, Hunter. Don’t mind me—baby hormones.” She rubbed her belly and winked at Roxanne.

Roxanne put on her best diplomatic face and gave her sister a warning smile. “I didn’t notice,” she lied. Rachel had always been boy crazy, and an instigator, and Roxanne didn’t want any drama with Hunter in front of her family. So far he’d been oddly quiet about whatever he might have noticed on the cabin’s front porch, and Roxanne didn’t want to tempt his jealousy when he was clearly on his best behavior—which in itself was something of a mystery. “Did Hunter tell you that he’s going to be premiering at the London Fashion Week this year? He’ll be working Armani,” she said, trying to steer the conversation into safer topics.

While her family smiled good-naturedly, not having a clue what London Fashion Week was, Hunter played coy. “Oh, come now, babe. No one cares about London Fashion Week right now. It’s Christmas. Besides,” he gave the room a sly grin and smoothly turned the tables, “did Rox tell you her latest news?”

He turned his eyes to her encouragingly, but she had no idea what he was talking about. She pushed her breath out in a nervous laugh. “My news? I don’t have any news?”

Hunter put his hand dramatically to his head and clicked his teeth. “I assumed you knew already,” he exclaimed, with staged effect. “Did you not get the email? What have you been doing all week, living under a snowball?”

A tremor of excitement was running alongside Roxanne’s nerves. “I haven’t had cell signal,” she admitted, leaving out the fact that she hadn’t really tried to use her phone—but she had noticed he hadn’t tried to get in touch with her, either. “I haven’t even looked at my inbox. What news?”

He beamed, wrapping his arms around her, and directed the news at her family. “Roxanne shared some of her designs with Vivian Yurich, the editor-in-chief of Vogue, who sent them to one of her dearest friends, Dahlia D’Arcy”—he paused, letting the name sink in although only Roxanne would recognize it. Dahlia D’Arcy was one of the hottest up-and-coming couture designers in French fashion. Roxanne’s stomach hit the floor. “And Dahlia loved them,” he went on. “Loved them so much, that she’s selected three of Rox’s designs for her spring line, and has asked Rox to join her at her firm in Paris.” He stood excitedly, pulling Roxanne on wobbling feet up beside him. “In fact, this dress is one of Roxanne’s designs, freshly made by one of the premier tailors in Madrid. Doesn’t she look absolutely brilliant?”

Roxanne’s family was congratulating her, but she couldn’t hear it past the sound of her heart beating in her ears. She gawked at Hunter, all pretenses of posture completely forgotten in her shock. “Are you serious?” was all she could say. The room was spinning. She felt faint. It was everything she had hoped for—everything she had dreamed for—and now that it was happening, she couldn’t believe that it was real. She tried to sit back down, but Hunter held her upright, keeping her on her feet with her hands locked in his.

“Read your email, babe,” Hunter grinned, exposing a row of perfect teeth. It was his real smile, the one that gave him dimples on both sides of his mouth, and not the one he used for the camera. “You’re the hottest piece of news right now, I promise you that. Vivian Yurich is already congratulating you on your move to France, unless this isn’t what you want?”

“It’s what I’ve always wanted,” Roxanne said, but the words felt hollow coming out of her lips—not because they were untrue, but something seemed to have shifted in her and they didn’t fit completely right anymore. She really wanted to sit down, but Hunter hadn’t loosened his grip on her hands and seemed intent on keeping her on her feet. Maybe she should have worn more comfortable shoes. It was fantastic news, but something about the way Hunter was sharing it made her uneasy, like she was missing the punch line of some elaborately planned joke. Like it was his big news, and not hers. She resolved to phone Spencer the moment she could to verify the scoop.

“It’s all part of what we’ve been working toward,” Hunter added. All Roxanne could do was smile, reflecting the expressions of each of her family member’s faces. Only Grandma Myrtle seemed to recognize Roxanne’s hesitation. Her clouded eyes looked stormy with concern.

Hunter took a deep breath and gave her hands a slight squeeze. She watched his Adam’s apple buoy in his throat as he swallowed. Then, he stepped in closer to her so that the only place she could look was directly into his eyes.

“I have another surprise for you,” he said, his tone suddenly hushed and conspiratorial. He released one of her hands and reached into his coat jacket, while simultaneously he lowered himself down to one knee in front of her. Eyes still on hers, Hunter pulled a box from his pocket. Roxanne immediately recognized the Tiffany blue box, and knew instantly what would be inside even before she saw the black velvet of the box’s interior. She heard a sharp intake of breath, but couldn’t be sure if it were her mother’s, or Rachel’s, or maybe even her own.

Roxanne’s heart made the same sucking sound as the ring box as Hunter peeled it open. He had, of course, spared no expense—a ring like this was as much a reflection of Roxanne as it would be for him. Flashing in the light of the Christmas tree, the world’s most iconic engagement ring stared up at her. Four karats, flawless in a six-prong setting, the large center diamond seemed to float above a brilliant pavé band that twinkled as if it were made of stars. It was absolutely stunning, but even still, when she looked at the ring Roxanne felt nothing but shock…and maybe a little bit of dread. It was too much, too fast.

Hunter held the box open in front of her, allowing the dramatic tension to build in the room without saying anything. “Hunter, I…” she began, unsure of what to say when it finally felt that the silence had gone on too long.

He took this as a cue to continue. “Roxanne Elizabeth Hudson,” he said, in a rehearsed voice, “would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”