Page 43 of Holiday at Home
Dinner is good—better than good—but I barely register the flavors. What I notice is Violet’s laugh warming the air, the wayshe tips her head back when I say something she deems funny, and the flush that lingers on her cheeks when our knees brush beneath the table.
She talks about the bakery, how her parents started training her to run the place when Nora left with Robbie, how hard it was for her after the three of us moved away.
“I lost my three best friends in the whole world, all in the space of a summer. Sure, you called every day, but it was hard not to feel like I’d been left behind.”
And then I broke up with her.
And then she lost her parents.
Violet’s gotten in the habit of being abandoned. I inwardly promise never to let that happen again.
“I never thought about it like that.”
“It’s fine. Trial by fire,” she says, eyes glinting. “And one literal fire, when I forgot an oven mitt in the wrong place.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “That sounds like the best way to teach Violet Sterling how to forever worry about oven fires.”
Her lips twitch. “You’re not wrong there. Though I’m trying to stop worrying so much.”
“A little fear is good for you,” I counter, leaning forward, elbows braced on the table. “But too much? It’s paralyzing.”
“I feel that to my bones.”
“But you’re not paralyzed, Violet. You’re running your family’s business, carrying on your parents’ legacy. You’re moving forward with your chin lifted and your shoulders square. It’s admirable.”
Her breath hitches before she takes a sip of wine, her cheeks blazing pink.
The restaurant hums with low conversation and clinking glasses, the kind of soft chaos that makes it easy to forget you’re being watched. Candlelight flickers between us, catching in Violet’s hair, painting her skin gold.
She looks relaxed tonight. I take a sip of wine, then lean back in my chair, feeling her eyes on me.
“First winter in New York,” I say, smiling over my wineglass, “I thought I was going to die from the cold.”
She laughs, exactly the reaction I wanted. “Let me guess. You tried to play it off like you were fine.”
“Obviously.” I grin, remembering that stubborn, prideful kid version of myself. “I didn’t own a real coat. Just this paper-thin thing I brought from Florida. I had no clue what black ice was, and I found out the hard way—three times in one week. I think I actually considered moving back south.”
Her eyes glint with amusement. “I can picture it. You, slipping down some Manhattan sidewalk, pretending you meant to.”
“Pretty much.” I pause, my smile softening. “But then one night I was walking home—angry, cold, cursing the city under my breath—and it started snowing. The good kind. Quiet. Slow. The whole world went still, and suddenly all that noise in my head just… stopped. I stood there until my coffee froze in my hand, just watching it fall.”
Violet tilts her head, her expression gentler now. “That’s actually really sweet.”
“Don’t tell anyone,” I murmur, leaning forward, elbows on the table. “I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”
Her laugh is quiet but warm, the kind that seeps right under my skin.
“After that, I learned to love it,” I continue. “The cold. The stillness. Even the chaos of it all. That Christmas, I went ice skating at Rockefeller Center for the first time—half the rink tourists, half locals pretending they weren’t sentimental. I fell twice, bruised my pride both times. But when the lights came on over the tree…” I trail off, remembering the sight, glittering snow, city lights reflecting off the ice, that fleeting moment ofpeace. “It hit me. Snow has a way of making everything feel new again. Like no matter how much you’ve screwed up, you still get another chance.”
When I look up, Violet’s gaze is steady on mine, soft, searching, maybe a little too full of understanding.
And for one disarming second, I wonder if she knows that I wasn’t really talking about snow at all.
“I’ll have to take you sometime,” I say, desperate for something to fill the silence.
Violet hefts her wineglass with a gentle smile. “We’ll see how things turn out.”
“What? You don’t trust me?”
