Page 54 of Holiday at Home
Slowly, patiently, Simon shows me how to push off my skates until I’m stable enough to move on my own. Nash skitters and slips, his feet looking almost cartoonish in their frenzy while his parents keep him from falling, Nora holding one hand, Robbie holding the other. Eventually, we all find our rhythm and glide around the ice while music plays, lights twinkle, and paper snow falls in the center over the tree.
“Thirsty?” Simon asks, and I nod. He skates us to the far side of the rink, the ice whispering beneath our blades, then helps me step onto the carpet. My fingers stay tucked in his as he leads me to a small table laden with snowflake cookies dusted with glittering sugar, cupcakes crowned in white frosting like tiny drifts of snow, and two steaming carafes with mugs waitingbeside them. In the center sits a single gift, wrapped in gold paper and tied with a bow so big it could outshine the tree.
“We’ve got cocoa and coffee,” he says. “The baked goods won’t hold a candle to yours, but I did what I could with what I had.”
I rest my head against his shoulder, overwhelmed. “You’re amazing. This is amazing. I don’t even know where to begin to thank you.”
His voice softens. “Your smile is enough.” He picks up a mug, his breath visible in the cold air. “Now, I’d recommend half cocoa, half coffee—but you do you.”
I nod, watching as he pours a little from each carafe, adds a candy cane, and hands it to me. The mug is warm against my palms, the scent rich and sweet. I lift it to my lips, take a sip, and sigh. “It’s perfect.”
And I don’t just mean the drink.
I mean tonight.
And the night before.
And every night since the bakery reopened.
I mean Nora’s laughter echoing across the ice. Nash’s bright voice carrying through the music. The shimmer of lights dancing in the glass. The faint hum of carols that feel like hope.
And him. Always him.
When the season started, I didn’t know how I’d make it through, but now, I’m so filled with holiday cheer, I can barely remember the woman I was just a few weeks ago.
Simon cups my face in his gloved hands, the blue of his eyes catching the glow of a thousand tiny bulbs. “It really is,” he murmurs, and I close my eyes, leaning into the warmth of his touch.
He presses a kiss to the top of my head, inhaling like he’s memorizing the moment. When I open my eyes, he’s holding out the gold-wrapped box, that boyish smile tugging at his lips.
“Since I didn’t get to leave you one this morning.”
“Waking up to you felt like a gift,” I whisper, my voice raw with truth. With wanting. With yearning for this to be my life, my forever.
Simon smiles and I swear, even though I know he’s leaving soon, he feels the same. “It was for me anyway.”
I place the mug on the table and accept the present, tearing through the paper and opening the box to find a glass ornament inside. I lift it and the lights catch in the cuts, shining and reflecting. I peer closely to read the engraving.
You are the light that beckons me home.
I meet his eyes, confusion knitting my brows, and find nothing but truth and vulnerability waiting for me.
“Simon, I?—”
He presses a finger to my lips. “Don’t overthink it. Just let it be what it is. You mean the world to me, Violet. You always have.”
23
Simon
Operation Ice Skate went better than I could have hoped, especially given the ridiculously short time frame I had to pull it off. You’d be surprised how extra cash around the holidays really helps motivate the teenagers running the YMCA. After a few hours of skating, the five of us come back to Violet’s, put Nash to bed, then open a bottle of wine.
The ornament I gave her is in a place of honor on the tree, front and center, sparkling in the low light. The one holding the picture of us as teenagers—the one she placed at the bottom back of the tree the day we decorated—now hangs next to it. Candles line the mantle, flickering among the long line of cards I left for Violet each morning.
While I’d chosen to emulate The Twelve Days of Christmas to help Violet refresh her holiday spirit, I wonder now if maybe it was the secret truth of the second line that called to me.
…my true love gave to me…
Did I know, on some level, what the next couple weeks would bring?
