Page 24 of Back to December
Holden slowly filled the cracks in my world with silly movies, long talks, and cookies still warm from the oven. And I like to think I gave him something, too: a reason to keep believing that the small, ordinary moments are the ones that matter.
Maybe that’s why I’m here now—trying to make sure the rest of my life doesn’t shrink to fit around borrowed weekends.
When I turn beneath the Ever After Farm arch, the early morning sunlight catches on the carved lettering. The whole world feels golden, like sunrise and second chances. Henry would probably call this a breadcrumb—proof I’m still following the trail home without realizing it. I’ve done some reading since Henry and I spoke, and he’d be pleased to know that I learned arches symbolize transition and new beginnings.
Which tracks, since there’s a sense of peace as I pass through.
I follow the painted hay bales—pumpkins, sunflowers, and candy corn—to the parking lot. It’s strange being here in the morning light. For years, I avoided this place like it held too many ghosts—but today it just feels… alive. There’s no reason to be nervous, especially since I’m meeting Annie as a favor. But somehow, I think I know this is bigger than chatting with her about the farm’s social media. There’s a stirring inside that has me jittery.
She told me to meet her at The Storybook Cafe since it’s closest to the parking lot, so I follow the familiar dirt path to get there. Signs give directions to all the attractions—the apple orchard, the pumpkin patch, the corn maze—and I sigh.
I wish we had more free time to actually enjoy all of this.
“We only have a little while,” Annie says as she meets me halfway. “One of our fairytale princesses called in sick, Gaby’s on the phone with Ella, and I’m about five minutes away from drafting a help-wanted ad for a fairy godmother with managerial experience.”
I blink. “That was a lot of information before caffeine.”
“Sorry.” She laughs, pressing a warm cup of coffee into my hand. “Magic Mirror Macchiato, extra charm. Drink it before I crown you out of spite.”
The warmth of the cup seeps through my fingers as she steers me inside. The cafe is cozier than I remember. It’s newer—this space didn’t exist when I lived here in high school. Fairy lights swoop through beams and the tables, both in and out, are all mismatched in a way that feels intentional. Holden’s handiwork in on display as soon as you enter, little gingerbread people purposefully decorated for fall in baskets for little hands to grab. Toward the back, more treats fill a glass display.
But to the left, there’s an area that’s clearly an expansion—but it’s framed by crafted branches reaching toward each other—another arch. As I wander through, I can’t help but think it feels like stepping through the looking glass. There’s a whole other world waiting inside. Dark walls with constellations painted on them, faux clouds near the ceiling. Cozy lighting near reading nooks with books piled high and artisan candles for sale. But what truly catches my eye is thegleaming sign in the back corner:The Second Star to the Right.
“I didn’t realize you’d finally created a physical shop,” I murmur.
We’ve talked about this for years, but it’s inspiring to see it brought to life.
“There’s still a lot online,” she says, setting her clipboard down. “Roselyn, Gaby, and I decided to stop waiting for perfect. It’s close enough, which around here is basically a miracle.”
“And these are Aurora Thorne’s books?” I run a finger along the spines.
Annie nods. “Yes. We’ve carried her books for a long time, but this gives them a new home. Her last one sold out in three days—it’s a new treasury of stories floating around here. I’ve also got a handful of other authors on preorder.”
It sits on the shelf, with a beautifully embossed spine. Just like an ordinary fairytale, but with a title that gleams:The Enchanted Hollow Bedtime Collection.
“Oh, wow.” The words slip out before I can stop them. It’s strange—familiar, but new. I’ve heard pieces of these stories my whole life, little bedtime versions Ella’s dad used to tell and swear were local folklore. Seeing them all together like this makes them feel… real. Enchanted Hollow finally has its own storybook on display.
“It’s been a huge hit,” Annie agrees. “I can’t believe no one has done it before.”
“Gaby helps with stock, right?” I ask.
“She comes across quite a few unfamiliar names filling the Little Libraries.”
“This feels like a place you’d go when youdon’t know what you’re looking for. You’ve truly captured a magical, timeless essence here.”
“Jax wasn’t quite this eloquent when he stopped by,” Annie says dryly. “He said it looked like the kind of place you wander into after one too many rounds at The Tipsy Toad—‘a touch of magic, a touch of melancholy,’ his words. Claimed he was just here for coffee, but I’ve learned to take that with a grain of salt.”
Her cheeks turn a deeper shade of pink, and I tuck that away for later.
“You should hire him for marketing. You’d have me sold.”
She rolls her eyes, laughing. “Absolutely not. He’s too grouchy and allergic to charm. Butyou—you could spin this place into a fairytale and make people believe in it. That’s why I asked you here.”
“Me?” I blink.
“Yes.” She nods. “I saw what you’ve been filming for Holly’s wedding.”
I blow out a breath. It’s an experiment, really—a way to tell a story about a couplebeforetheir wedding video. It seems silly to wait for that love story. I film who they are as people, how they fell in love. I’ve filmed pieces of the planning process too, but with the nostalgic angle that Henry suggested.
