Page 11 of Back to December
But I’m concerned about it because of the warpath my mother seems to be on.
I’ve got some things I need to take care of today. Can we touch base tomorrow about farm stuff?
Annie
Yeah, you do.
I snort. Annie knows about Holden and me from my annual visits. But like everyone else in this town, it’s a secret she quietly keeps. I don’t know why they do this for me, but someday, I’ll repay them for their kindness. If I can only figure out how.
I’m here for Holly’s wedding.
Annie
We’ve switched code names? I’m making a note right now.
No code names. I’m really here for Holly’s wedding.
Annie
Sure.
Fine. You’re on your own with the new algorithm for Hollow Hub.
Annie
Swing by early, and I’ll save you a donut before Dean eats the evidence.
And a Magic Mirror Macchiato?
Annie
Done. I’ll even throw in extra apple drizzle if you promise not to film my 5 a.m. eye bags again.
You’re the best.
If nothing else, at least I have a plan for breakfast tomorrow. Not that I’d need one. Holden never lets me go hungry.
How long was it that time: two minutes?
I heft out a sigh and head toward the bed-and-breakfast. I’ll beg him for a room and go get a coffee from Quinn at Once Upon a Brew. Then I’ll head to The Spellbound Scone and follow the breadcrumb trail that will lead me to my sister. I’ll tell her that plans have changed and we’re going to have to play stronger offense where my mother is concerned—and figure outwhythis needs to happen in the first place—then I’ll wrap everything up in a pretty little bow in about a week.
But deep inside, I know there’s no way it’s going to be that simple. Not when I can’t stop thinking about Holden for longer than five seconds at a time.
Once the wedding is done, there’s no reason to rush back to anything. Notreally. I’ve already been chewing on what happens at the end of our December weekend this year. Do I leave again? And why would I?
But there’s one question that weighs the heaviest: what happens if this is the time I finally stay? I don’t need magic; I need a compass. Find Ella, follow the trail, and trust that the pull in my chest will always lead me to him.
four
HOLDEN
The thing about small towns,especially last-minute Homecoming meetings, is that they’ve got a way of dredging up ghosts.
Laila Mitchell is mine.
Not literally. Enchanted Hollow has magic, sure—random bridge trolls, wishing wells, enchanted letters, fairy godmothers—but no one comes back from the dead.
I’m simply haunted by memories. The kind that don’t rattle chains, just stir the air like ghosts of Christmas past—or autumn past. They’re flickers of who we were, reminding me of everything we need to be.
