Page 111 of Back to December
Moments matter.
Maybe that’s why I kept the old coin in my wallet. Areminder that sometimes magic’s just another word for patience.
I’ve never had an issue with Laila making a living online. She’s brilliant at what she does. She sees magic where most people scroll right past it. These days, her Sweet Treats posts feel different—less about perfect pictures, more about the people who make them.
I think it started with Holly’s wedding—the first story she told like it mattered more than the algorithm. Somewhere between the vows and the fairy lights, she stopped curating and started believing again. She lost her way for a bit, but my lásko found her way back. That’s when I knew she’d finally found the kind of magic you can’t fake—the kind that tastes like home.
It just mattered that she was doing it for herself this time—for joy, not survival.
And I think she’s finally found that groove.
I watch as she chats with Ethel about her greenhouse, her cheeks rosy in the cold air. She’s laughing, hands animated, her energy spilling out like sunlight.
There’s a light around her now that she used to keep just for me—but now she shares it with everyone.
It’s a beauty to behold.
The edge of my old gray sweatshirt peeks out beneath her coat. She still hasn’t given it back, and I hope she never does.
And she’s mine.
I glance around until my eyes land on Ella and give her a slight nod. Her smile widens, and she turns to Luke, rising on her tiptoes to whisper that it’s time.
Laila’s never been great at hiding things. I found the rings in the same little velvet pouch she used to keep tuckedbehind my flour bins when she baked with me in high school. Some habits don’t change.
“Sorry to interrupt,” I say, stepping up beside Laila and pressing a kiss to her cheek. “But I need to borrow this beautiful woman for a few minutes.”
She leans into me, her laugh puffing white in the cold.
“You two go right ahead.” Ethel’s grin is downright diabolical—she might as well have a neon sign flashingYou’re about to get proposed to.
“Thank you,” Laila breathes out. “She’s the sweetest woman, but I was worried my ears might fall off.”
“Consider me your knight in shining armor, then.”
“You usually are.” She sighs, her hand slipping into mine as we start toward the tree field.
“Ready to settle into the new year?” I ask.
“I’m ready to find a place to live.” Her voice drops to a whisper as she leans closer. “Ella and Luke aresickeningas newlyweds.”
I chuckle. I know she’s loving every minute—Ella’s happiness, the sister time, the sense of home she finally let herself have again.
“I’m sure your time at the farm is only temporary.”
She’s got peppermint sugar cookies cooling at the café already, though she still insists the ones from the store taste better than mine. I told her she’s objectively wrong. She says I just hate losing.
But really, I just love the banter between us. I’m not going to interfere with the rose-colored glasses that affect her love for nostalgia, even if the cookies don’t have flavor and the icing tastes like Play-Dough.
“It is,” she says, grinning. “I finally got the apartment over Once Upon a Brew finally the way Iwant it, so I’m moving in this week.” She nudges me with her elbow. “I’m even turning the little sunroom into an office for Sweet Treats. Figured it’s time my business had a real home base. It might be six years late, but better late than never.”
The pride in her voice hits me square in the chest. I remember offering to help her find that space once—even if we shoved a desk into my own apartment—back when she wasn’t ready to believe she deserved roots. Hearing her claim it now feels like the last piece sliding into place.
Laila lets out a soft laugh, then freezes when she sees the wishing tree. The lights glint off the ornaments and photos, her grip tightening in mine. This is where everything changed (or at least started to) for us—it felt right to bring her back here for this.
I let her move forward, hanging back so our hands stretch between us.
Photos and notes from the people of Enchanted Hollow hang from the branches, their messages swaying in the breeze. She won’t have time to read them all, but I hope she catches enough to feel it—the love she’s poured into this town reflecting right back at her.
