Page 109 of Back to December
“Because you’re learning what it feels like to have a partner. You’re finally figuring out you don’t have to do it all alone.”
His words settle in the space between us, soft and steady. Holden through and through. The storm outside hisses against the window, but inside, everything is still.
“It feels… new,” I admit. “Like standing somewhere I’ve never been before.”
“Most good things do,” he murmurs.
He doesn’t move to fill the silence, and for the first time in forever, the silence isn’t too loud. I always needed noise to drown out all my overthinking. Is the quiet because I said too little? Too much? Now, it just feels like peace.
I tuck my head under his chin and let the rhythm of his heartbeat steady mine. It reminds me of us falling asleep on the couch after a full day of working together as parents.
The choosing.
The staying.
The learning how to be brave together.
“Thank you for not giving up on me,” I whisper.
“Never,” he says simply.
He presses a kiss to the crown of my head, and I don’t think anything has ever felt so sweet. Not the kind of sweet that feels like a trick—more like the kind that feels like home. Maybe that’s all I ever needed to learn: I just had to follow the gumdrops to get here.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, the ghosts are quiet. The walls fall. And for the first time in a long time, I stop bracing for what comes next.
The bridge at Sweetheart Springs promised we’d find our way back. Maybe it never meant the same bridge, just the same hearts.
The world outside has transformed, just like me.
The storm is calm now; the wind is subdued to a whisper. Snow still glitters across the porch rails, soft and thick like frosting. It’s no longer overcast; the faintest strips of gold line the clouds, sunlight stretching over the yard in quiet ribbons.
It feels like a reset for both the weather and me. A second chance at a new day.
I push open the door that leads onto the porch outside the kitchen. The hinges creak and yawn like they’re coming out of a deep sleep. I’m glad I grabbed the blanket off the bed for warmth. The air is frosty, with a bite I’d forgotten Texas winter has. But it also smells clean, like wood smoke, snow, and a drift of freshly brewed coffee from inside. Instinctively, I pull it tighter around myself.
Holden is out by the woodpile, stacking the last of the firewood into his arms. For a moment, I just stand there, watching him through the light. He looks up, catches sight of me, and smiles. It’s soft and familiar and so heartbreakingly real that my knees go a little weak.
The haze that used to glimmer at the edges of those glimpses is gone, and I’m relieved that part is over. I appreciate what the first one showed me—a life I never let myself hope for—but the second left me shaken.
I’ve always known Holden was home, but I didn’t realize how deep my roots already spread. We started a life together long before I ever recognized it, tangled up in a way I never want to undo.
“I just needed to be sure you were real,” I say when he steps onto the porch.
He sets the wood down with a soft thud and closes the space between us. “Oh, I’m real, honey. You’re stuck with me.”
His hands snake beneath the blanket to find mine—warm, callused, steady—and I open the blanket enough for him to step closer. I wrap the blanket around both of us, and when he presses his lips to mine, the rest of the world blurs out of focus.
He’s gentle, and my entire body is alive, humming with newfound clarity. I tangle my hands in his hair, tugging him closer as the kiss deepens—no fear, no holding back, no tentative dance. Only promises, hope, and golden light.
Every kiss with Holden rocks my world, but there’s a new element to this one. One laced with promises and hope and golden light that makes it all so much brighter. There’s no holding back, no tentative dance, no ‘we’ve been married for years’.
All of that is etched on my heart forever.
But now I want to etch new memories. Build a new future.
If it looks like the one I left, I can’t imagine anything better. But it could be even better.
We’re finally in the same place, and with the firm grip of his hands on me, like he can’t hold me tight enough, I’m on cloud nine. Ella’s foot-pop theory has nothing on the magic between us right now.
