Page 91 of Mistletoe and Mayday

The higher I climb, the more abundant they become. They line my hallway floor, creating a shimmering glass galaxy that captures and fractures the flickering hallway lights. Paris, with its delicate Eiffel Tower. London, with small red phone booths. Tokyo’s miniature cherry blossoms. Rome’s tiny Colosseum. Sydney’s opera house captured in perpetual frozen perfection.

My arms can’t hold any more. The globes tumble from my grip as I stoop to pick up Rio de Janeiro, its Christ the Redeemer statue detailed at barely an inch tall. Hundreds ofthem carpet the hall, each representing somewhere in the world.

My apartment door comes into view, and my lungs stop working.

Sebastian.

He leans against my door wearing jeans and a leather jacket. His perfect hair sticks up in all directions, like he’s been running his hands through it for hours. He looks raw, undone, and so achingly beautiful my ribs feel like they might crack from the pressure building inside them.

This can’t be real. I saw him. At the restaurant. With her.

But there he stands, surrounded by what must be a small fortune in snow globes, creating a glittering pathway that leads to him.

“How?” The word barely escapes my throat. “When did you?—”

“Been collecting them.” His voice sounds raw, like he hasn’t slept. “Ever since you left.”

My fingers tighten around Paris, its miniature base digging into my palm. “But I saw you with Rebecca. You were having lunch?—”

“Saying goodbye,” he cuts in.

My grip loosens, Paris almost slipping from my hands. “What?”

“That’s what you saw through the window.” Sebastian pushes away from my door, stepping closer. “Rebecca wanted closure. To apologize. I agreed to meet her to end things properly.”

The snow globes in my arms suddenly weigh nothing—or maybe everything. My balance shifts, world tilting sideways.

“I was telling her about the incredible pilot who crash-landed into my ordered life and made everything else I’ve ever known seem hollow and meaningless.”

My throat closes. “You were smiling?—”

“Because I was finally free. And in love. With you.”

His words hang between us. I stare down at the collection of miniature worlds in my arms—perfect cities and landmarks, each one contained, predictable, safe.

Unlike my heart, which performs gymnastic routines that defy every law of physics.

“You left this.” He holds up the Chicago snow globe I abandoned outside that restaurant. “You disappeared before you could see me run after you.”

My airway constricts. My brain short-circuits at the sight of him holding the very globe I set down as my final goodbye.

“Sebastian—”

“No. My turn to talk.”

He takes another step.

“You ran,” he continues, voice dropping lower. “So I followed. To Seattle. Denver. Phoenix. Every city your company said you might be in. I’ve slept in airports for three days straight.”

The strange looks from my supervisor yesterday suddenly make perfect sense. Those knowing smiles from the ground crew. They knew. Every last one of them knew he was hunting for me across the country.

“I bought one for every city I searched.” He gestures to the hallway of globes, hundreds of them glittering like fallen stars.

“Then I bought every single one I could find in every shop in every city and chartered a plane to fly them here before you returned.”

My eyes sweep across the hundreds of snow globes,transforming my dingy hallway into a magical wonderland—places I’ve never even dreamed of visiting.

“I haven’t been to half these places,” I whisper, voice shrinking in the narrow hallway.