Page 62 of The Holiday Whoopie
Chest tight for reasons that have nothing to do with breath control, I choose to do both myself and humanity a favor and launch into “Silent Night” as God intended me to—by humming. Softly.
When the last chord fades, the square holds that strange, sacred quiet that happens when a lot of voices agree. Oncue, it starts to snow—powder-fine, a sprinkle-sugar flurry that floats rather than falls. The lights catch it, and everything turns briefly cinematic. It dusts Audrey’s hair and the bridge of her pink nose. She blinks up at it, then at me.
She’s perfect.
In this moment. In this town. In the life she’s building.
She deserves it all—family, roots, and a man without an expiration date buried in the fine print.
WHISKED AWAY
Audrey
“That was more fun than the time Jamie Dornan jumped off Dakota Johnson’s roof into the pool. Naked.” Amanda, skipping beside Portia, brushes my shoulder as I walk beside Jack.
Between the Oscar-nominated actress and the colorful candy maker, I think they downed a jug of spiked cider between them.
“I would’ve rather seen Dakota do that.” Portia links her arm with Amanda’s and grins.
“Same, girl.” Amanda winks. “Same.”
The carols ended on a literal high note—thankfully not Jack’s—then tapered to a hush, programs and stray mittens dotting the brick like winter confetti.
Now with the moon out from behind misty snow clouds, shop windows are haloed in white lights, frostedglass winks with candy-cane reflections, and the peaceful silence settles like fresh snow threatening the skies.
Down the square, The Sweet Shop’s striped awning waits at the corner like a peppermint invitation. The four of us fall in together, forming a loose blockade across the sidewalk, our boots clicking in a syncopated beat.
“Hold up.” Jack points to the community board near a set of benches. “Zoning hearing.” He squints in the streetlight to read. “Sale of the Harbor Clinic building.” Pulling out his phone, he steps back to focus the picture. “Give me sixty seconds—Eli needs this photo.”
“Ooh.” Portia pulls her arm from Amanda’s after spotting a flyer a college student looking for part-time hours left tacked to the board. “Let me double-check this.” She veers off with him to scan the information.
Amanda, unbothered—if the soft look she sends Portia is any indication—links her now-free arm through mine. “It’s too cold to stand still.” She pulls me into motion. “Come on, they’ll catch up.”
Walking arm and arm with a movie star isn’t something I thought I’d get used to, and yet here I am. “So. The movie.” I tilt my chin at the town—fishing nets threaded with fairy lights, wreaths on every door, the glow of the lobster-trap tree pulsing from below the hilltop down by the harbor. “Is Hideaway giving you enough spark and inspiration?”
Her mouth quirks. “Oh, there’s inspiration.” She glances over my shoulder to where Portia laughs at Jack, who’s just slipped on the sidewalk and grabbed a tree trunk for balance and waggles her eyebrows at me. “And definitely spark.”
Warmth that has nothing to do with my coat fights itsway under my skin. I stare straight ahead at my bakery’s painted door across the street.
Amanda bumps her hip against mine, conspiratorial. “And speaking of spark—you and Jack.” Her tipsy smile turns knowing. “I know I stole him from you today for the Santa Fun Run, but I’ll tell him I don’t need him for tomorrow’s library reading.” Her voice dips, gentle. “Portia will be there, and I’m pretty sure if I can handle a pack of paparazzi shouting ‘when did you start wanting to sleep with women and not men’ outside the gate to my house, I can handle a bunch of little kids wanting me to read about Santa’s eight reindeer.”
I steer her out of the lamppost’s path. “It’s really nice how you’ve volunteered for so many of the town’s activities. But don’t underestimate little kids—” I drop my voice like I’m narrating a true-crime documentary. “They’re apex predators. I’ve seen them pull apart a whoopie-pie tower in ten seconds flat.”
“Yeah, but Portia will be there, and she’s packing candy.” Amanda’s smile turns wry. “Besides, with Jack taking on his big new client, I want you two to have all the time you can together before he starts diving back into the Hollywood agent life.”
My laugh comes out thinner than I’d like. “New client?”
“Yeah. Scott Evans.Greatactor.” She looks both ways three times before crossing over Main Street toward my shop.
Although honestly, with my brain having decided to stop working, it could’ve been a busy freeway and I would’ve followed.
“I’d love to work with him myself.” Amanda veers usright to avoid an ice patch. “He’s really made a name for himself in indie films, and he’s poised to have a major breakthrough in mainstream films.”
I pull in a breath so cold it scrapes. “Exciting.”
Something in my voice must draw her attention because she pulls up short in front of the bakery. “You knew, right?” Her eyes bounce between mine, trying to read my expression like a cue card. “I mean, you two have been?—”
“Having fun.” I will my throat to stop strangling my voice. “Nothing serious.” It doesn’t listen.
