Page 25 of Back to December
“I just posted that at midnight,” I whisper. “We already had this set up.”
“We did, but I already noticed you leaning in that direction.”
“But,” I start, “how did you notice that? I didn’t even know that’s what I wanted to do.”
She gives me a look that reminds me remarkably of hermother, Molly. “Look, I may not be the oldest, but I’m definitely the one with both eyes open. Dean and Rosie would’ve burned the farm down twice if I hadn’t kept an extinguisher handy.”
Her teasing earns a laugh from me, and I’m surprised at how much lighter I’ve felt since I came back. It’s not just this farm or Annie. It’s the whole town and the people that fill it.
Her expression softens. “Say yes. You’ve got a gift—you make people feel something real. Around here, that’s rarer than magic.”
Her words hit somewhere deep. “I‘m not sure where to start.”
“You already started,” she says, nodding toward my phone. “But if you’ve got a minute, take a few shots for our socials? I swear this place gets prettier when you look at it.”
I glance down at the device in my hand, my reflection framed by the words Second Star to the Right glinting behind me.
For the first time in a long time, I don’t feel like I’m pretending.
Maybe that’s the point.
I snap a photo of the sign, artistically framed by the faux clouds, the lighting sending a burst of light across the room, and text it to Holden with two words:feeling inspired.
The little text bubbles appear on his side of the conversation, and my heart rate escalates as I wait for his response.
Holden
I knew you’d find some.
Proud of you.
I stare at his reply until the screen fades to black, myreflection replacing his words. Maybe Second Star to the Right isn’t just a magical name for an incredible shop.
Maybe it’s what happens when the past stops haunting you and starts lighting the way instead.
Maybe it’s a promise—that somewhere beyond fear and old stories, there’s a new one waiting for me to begin.
nine
HOLDEN
I’m usedto the busyness of what Laila refers to as the ‘-ber months’. Between the food I supply for Ever After Farm and the traffic that comes in for Autumn Enchantment, the annual fall festival there, I usually only get a few hours of sleep a night. Then I got dragged into the chili cook-off tasting, and I genuinely feel half-zombie.
Now? I’m getting even less.
But it’s a trade-off I’m willing to make, because we’ve passed our usual three-day limit, and we’ve officially spent more time together in the last week than we have in twelve years.
It’s putting the life I’ve always wanted with her front and center under a spotlight, and it’s all I can think about. Every late night, every half-finished cookie tray, feels like leaving a breadcrumb back to the life I’ve always wanted—a simple, steady one with her in it.
She’s perched on my bakery counter, her hair tossed up in a clip while she chews on one of my pumpkin gingerbread men. The exhaustion she showed up with a week ago hangslooser on her now. Instead of heaviness, she’s simply tired from being on the go all the time. Now and then, she’ll pause mid-scroll and jot a note in the little notebook that’s beside her on the counter.
Ever since the text she sent Saturday morning, she’s been living up to its words.
Feeling inspired.
When she showed up again last night, I finally asked why she’s bothering with a room at the bed-and-breakfast. She joked she needed a “second star to the right” of her own—somewhere to sleep that wasn’t too close, but not too far either. I didn’t tell her she’s already got one. She somehow finds her way to me every night, and even if we sleep in separate rooms, I’m convinced we both sleep better this way.
She was so tired that I tucked her under a blanket on the couch and turned on a movie, then moved to the kitchen to warm some pumpkin bisque. By the time I was done, she was softly snoring, and I didn’t have the heart to disturb her.
