Page 70 of Holiday at Home
“I like the sound of that,” I murmur, then slide my hands up her back and kiss her fully.
The bells above the door jingle and Elizabeth steps in, eyes wide. “Oh! Okay then. Didn’t mean to interrupt.”
Violet laughs against my chest. “Probably best if you just get used to walking in on that. Simon’s going to be spending a lot more time here.”
We spend the day finding a rhythm—how we move around each other, how her focus and my precision fit together like gears in motion. When the bakery is quiet, we huddle over the counter with our notebooks, tossing around ideas for coffee blends and pastries to match them.
“The original idea was Holiday Coffee & Cake,” I say, “but until you have my last name, that seems a little presumptuous.”
“Until, huh?” Violet quirks a brow. “Which of us is being presumptuous?”
“We could always keep it Sterling’s. Honor the tradition.”
“Yeah, but Holiday plays into the theme—seasonal offerings, limited editions…” Her eyes meet mine, bright with hope and possibility. “What were you going to call your coffee shop?”
“Holiday Jitters.”
She blinks. “Holiday Jitters?”
“Yeah. You know, too much caffeine, family stress, the holidays?—”
“Simon,” she interrupts, laughter spilling out of her like sunlight. “Don’t take this the wrong way but that’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”
“What’s the right way to take that?” I flare my hands becauseouch.“That name is clever.”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
“It tested well!”
“Oh, well then,” she teases, throwing her hands in the air. “If it tested well…”
Her laughter rings through the bakery, warm and golden. She’s radiant in this light, cheeks flushed, eyes bright. I grin just watching her.
The bells over the door jingle and in walk Robbie, Nora, and Nash—red-cheeked and bundled tight, looking like a Norman Rockwell painting come to life.
“This looks good,” Robbie says, wagging a finger between us. “The two of you here? It feels right.”
Nora nods. “Looks like we got our Christmas miracle after all.”
Nash turns as the door closes, then runs to the big front window, pressing his nose to the glass. “Mom! Dad! Look!”
We all turn. For a second, I don’t understand what I’m seeing—just tiny white specks catching the sunlight. Then realization hits.
Snow.
Actual snow.
Violet gasps beside me. “Oh my goodness…”
Nora claps her hands to her mouth, laughing. “It’s really snowing! In Florida!”
We rush outside, the chill biting through my sweater, the snow soft as feathers against our skin. The street looks dusted in powdered sugar. Nash tilts his face to the sky, mouth open,trying to catch flakes on his tongue. Robbie spins him in a circle, whooping, and Nora watches, laughing like a child.
I glance at Violet—her hair catching snowflakes, her cheeks pink from the cold, her eyes luminous. “See why I love it?” I whisper.
She smiles up at me. “It’s magic, Si.”
And watching her amazement, I have to agree. This moment?
