She planned every detail of the Snowball Falls Winter Gala. He was the one variable she couldn’t control.
If you’ve ever watched Eliza Carter hold a clipboard, you already know this was inevitable. This bonus scene sits alongside Mistletoe and Mayhem..
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Eliza gripped her third clipboard of the evening just as Charlie Rivera slid the fourth one smoothly from her fingers.
“Give that back,” she demanded.
“Absolutely not,” he replied, his tone entirely too pleasant for the freezing temperature.
She lunged for the plastic board. He lifted it out of her reach, weaponizing his height advantage with a maddeningly relaxed stretch.
“Charlie.”
“Eliza.”
“That is my master schedule.”
“This is an intervention,” he corrected, lowering his voice as he stepped closer. “You’re currently stress-sorting the dessert forks.”
She dropped her gaze to the long table draped in midnight-blue velvet. The forks lay in gleaming, identical rows. She had arranged them by tine length, then by the luster of the silver polish, and finally by their overall structural reliability. One stray piece of silverware sat a fraction of an inch out of alignment. She nudged it into place with a rigid index finger.
“The Winter Lights Gala requires a flawless seating strategy,” she informed him. “A strategy requires a physical chart.”
“One physical chart, Eliza. You printed six copies.”
“I need backups for smudges.”
“You laminated the original.”
“People cause emotional smudges.”
He leaned into her personal space. His wool coat carried the faint, grounding scent of cedar and wood smoke. “They’re just chairs. The guests are ordinary people.”
She shot him a withering look. “The Whitfields arrived ten minutes ago. They invest millions in boutique experiences. They ignore adequate events.”
A slow, crooked grin transformed his face. “You’re a boutique experience.”
Heat rushed to her cheeks, entirely unrelated to the propane heaters scattered around Evergreen Square. The town plaza buzzed with electric energy. Thousands of tiny sapphire and diamond bulbs curled around the massive central hemlock tree. Maddie’s bakery stall flooded the crisp air with the scent of browned butter and toasted sugar. Near the ice-skating rink, his brewery stall had two enormous oak barrels acting as tables, each wrapped in an oversized velvet ribbon.
Charlie had insisted on the ribbons. He claimed the fabric softened the harsh lines of the wood. She had argued the point for twenty minutes before conceding.
“Look at the cocoa bar,” Charlie murmured, resting his hand warmly against the small of her back. “The marshmallow toppings sit in perfect alphabetical order. Your work achieves absolute excellence.”
She evaluated the station. “You refrained from rearranging the sprinkles this time.”
“I value my physical safety.”
She exhaled a long, ragged breath, watching a plume of white frost disappear into the night sky. “I need this night to succeed.”
“Everything looks perfect.”
“Perfection guarantees the investors sign the contract.”
Charlie tilted his head, his dark eyes catching the fairy lights. “C’mon, tell me the rest.”
She shifted her weight, the gravel crunching beneath her suede boots. “This festival is ours. We built the first real thing that belongs to us.”
The playful teasing melted from his expression, leaving behind a quiet intensity. The fake engagement had ended months ago. The prop ring sat locked in a velvet box at home. The residents of Snowball Falls had simply adjusted their gossip and continued to watch them.
He took her hand, lacing his fingers through hers, pressing his thumb against her pulse point.
“We built it together,” he agreed.
Mayor Frost swept past them, her silver cape billowing. “You two look devastatingly in love,” the mayor declared loudly. “Keep up the good work. Cameron Whitfield is watching from the ice sculptures.”
Eliza snapped her spine straight. Her chin lifted.
Charlie tightened his grip. “We can stop if you want.”
“I know.”
She maintained her hold on his hand anyway.
The Whitfields approached with the synchronized glide of high-level venture capitalists. Cameron Whitfield wore a cashmere overcoat that radiated quiet wealth. He offered a polite, measured smile.
“Eliza,” Cameron said smoothly. “The atmosphere feels incredibly charming.”
“Thank you, Cameron. We designed the layout for an intimate, scalable aesthetic.”
Charlie leaned forward, projecting an effortless charm that Eliza deeply envied. “We also have an excellent winter stout on tap.”
Cameron paused, then let out a sharp, genuine laugh. “I suppose you do.”
The conversation settled into the familiar rhythm of a business pitch. Eliza navigated the questions, detailing expansion tiers and explaining the midnight installation of the ice lanterns. Charlie remained a solid, immovable anchor at her side. He listened to her data points. He let her lead the narrative. He simply existed as a supportive force in the center of her anxiety.
Cameron glanced between them, his eyes dropping to their joined hands. “You two remain deeply committed partners in all this.”
“We share everything,” Eliza said softly.
“She handles the brilliant logistics,” Charlie added, his smile entirely sincere. “I ensure the guests survive her lecture on the history of dessert forks.”
The investors finally drifted toward the buffet line. Eliza realized her lungs burned from holding back her nerves. She let out a heavy sigh.
“You were magnificent,” Charlie whispered near her ear.
“I managed to avoid overselling the revenue projections.”
“You handled them perfectly.”
The brass band transitioned into a slow, sweeping acoustic melody. The frantic energy of the square slowed to a romantic sway. Mayor Frost appeared from behind a heat lamp, clapping her gloved hands together. “Dance!” she commanded. “The town expects a spectacle!”
Eliza stiffened. “The dancing portion of the evening begins at eight o’clock.”
“Consider this a schedule revision,” Charlie said. He stepped directly in front of her, offering his open palm.
The surrounding residents of Snowball Falls began forming a loose circle. The town treated public affection with the ruthless scrutiny of competitive sports judges.
She placed her hand in his. He pulled her against the heavy wool of his coat until she felt the steady thud of his heartbeat against her chest.
“Your mind is running again,” he observed.
“My mind always runs.”
“You’re reviewing the seating chart.”
“I’m analyzing the contingency plan for a sudden blizzard.”
“You’re thinking about the forks.”
She let out an indignant huff, burying her face briefly against his lapel.
“Look around, Eliza.”
She turned her head. The Whitfields stood deep in conversation with the stall owners, holding steaming mugs. Maddie waved a celebratory spatula from her pastry stall. The fairy lights twinkled flawlessly. The cocoa remained piping hot. The evening held together beautifully.
“I left this moment completely unplanned,” she admitted.
“That makes it the best part of the night.”
She met his eyes. He looked exactly like the infuriating man who’d filed his tax receipts in cereal boxes.
“You’re permanently banned from touching my bookshelves,” she whispered.
“I accept those terms.”
She reached out and placed her final clipboard onto the nearest empty cocktail table. She left it lying there, completely abandoned. Charlie watched the movement, his playful smirk giving way to a raw, breathtaking vulnerability.
“Are you okay?” he asked softly.
“Yes.”
The music swelled, wrapping around them as the first thick flakes of fresh snow drifted through the glowing blue light. Eliza Carter, a woman who measured her entire life by the second hand of a watch, ignored the time. She ignored the guest count. She rested her head on Charlie’s shoulder, breathing in the scent of cedar, and let the rest of the evening happen without her.
It felt entirely, overwhelmingly perfect.
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Thanks for spending a little time in Snowball Falls.
If you need me, I’ll be in Evergreen Square, guarding the cocoa bar from anyone who thinks sprinkles belong in the wrong jar.
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