Page 102 of Back to December
My breath shudders out. Ella and Luke finally moved into the farmhouse.
Ella: Colt says to bring the tree topper. You still have it, right? They insist that ‘Aunt Laila’ needs to put it up again this year.
My heart cracks down the middle.
I don’t know how many kids my sister has. I’m an ‘aunt’ to children I don’t even know anymore, or never even knew at all.
Bridget: Don’t forget cookies for the exchange at TheStorybook Cafe. Holden dropped his off already, and he said you’re not allowed to bring the cookies with the trees on them again from the store.
Bridget: He muttered something about blasphemy.
“But they’re nostalgic,” I say to no one. “It doesn’t matter if they taste good.”
A memory slips into my mind, unbidden and mostly unwelcome: Holden's arms around my waist, teasing me after he walked in the door to a fresh pan of thoseexactcookies. Only they were pumpkins and ghosts, not Christmas trees or snowmen, because it was only two months ago.
I truly feel for Ebeneezer Scrooge at this point. That man was avictim.
The bedroom is where I fell asleep last night. Two nights ago? I’ve got no clue how time passage actually works in this instance.
Unease settles in my belly because I’ve got no clue what’s waiting for me once I get to Ella’s farm. Sebastian’s words whisper along the air:It all comes down to a decision. Free will can be such a bother sometimes.
I yank a drawer open, plucking a sweater out to get dressed. Underneath is Holden’s sweatshirt—the one I stole in September. I drop the sweater to the floor and hold it to my nose, desperate for proof he still exists.
But it only smells like laundry—like a life scrubbed clean of us.
“I made a decision,” I whisper. “I said I wanted to stay there, and I told him I loved him. What more do you want from me?”
It’s a good thing I’m alone because I can only imaginehow unstable I must look, talking to a ghost that won’t even show his face.
With more hostility than my pants deserve, I yank the denim material over one leg. Then the next. As I smooth them out, my hand brushes across the outline of something in my pocket, so I reach in to see what’s there.
Sebastian’s coin.
My stomach drops. Holden tucked it into my bag before I left in October, somehow creating a magical thread between us—one that let his letters always find me. Letters I still can’t bring myself to talk about, because they were one more thing I didn’t know I needed from him.
But I gave it back to him on my first day home. Iwatchedhim put it into his pocket. There’s no logical explanation for how it’s back in mine.
Somehow, magic always circles back when I least expect it.
I squeeze my eyes closed, rubbing my thumb across the engravings, wishing to get back to my time with everything I’ve got. When I cautiously open one eye to no change, I grunt in frustration.
“More magic that makes no sense,” I mutter, shoving it back in my pocket.
The drive to Ella’s farm is too long.
Questions weigh heavily on me, and there’s no one to answer them.
I turn into her driveway, the sign for Ever After Farm in the distance.
It’s quiet here, too perfect. The colors are brighter, and the white barn in the pasture gleams in the sunlight. Perhaps it’s because the people who live here are living out their dream life.
They get the full range of the visible light spectrum.
But it’s still off, still wrong.
There’s no breeze, no laughter spilling out of the house. Just silence.
I park beside a line of cars in the grass and climb out, tucking my hands further into the sleeves of Holden’s sweatshirt. He probably won’t be here—but if he is, I guess I’ll have to explain my wardrobe choice.
