Page 26 of Back to December
Sam texted to check on her, so I think we’re all noticing that she’s pushing extra hard. I’m sure that planning a wedding for someone like Holly Everheart isn’t a walk in the park—there’s a strain on everyone involved. We’ve catered many weddings, and our part is plenty stressful.
But I’m half convinced she’s trying to offset the frayed nerves where her mother is concerned by working so hard on her side project. Charlotte is on a terror streak a mile wide—I only know because I see the notifications light up her phone like Morse code. There’s a steady rhythm that doesn’t stop—like a warning.
Out the front window, new banners hang around thesquare—“Congratulations, Holly & Colt!”in elegant gold script. The whole town’s getting its fairytale, and for the first time, I believe we might still get ours, too.
But Laila is doing everything she can to cushion the blow for Ella.
It’s one thing I love most about her, becausemostpeople’s impressions of Laila aren’t exactly compatible with the word ‘soft’.
But that’s exactly who she is when she’s settled. Safe.
She finally told me the name—Sweet Treats—and I can’t shake how deeply it affected me. It sounds small, but it’s her heart in two words. Nostalgic, a little messy, honest. Like she’s remembering that sweetness doesn’t have to be polished to matter. Knowing that our little tradition to check in on each other inspired whatever happiness she’s feeling is honestly a little life-altering.
“What if you did cookie decorating boxes?” Her eyes lift to mine. “Just as a trial.”
“Explain.” I plant both hands on the counter and give her my full attention.
She draws her lip into her mouth, flicking her eyes down to her tablet, then back up to me.
“We can take a pre-order. Set the number at whatever you want it to be: however many boxes come from one batch, if that’s all you want to do. Include some icing bags, things like that. Choose a date for pickup. Or we could put them at the farm stand. Simple.”
Nothing about that sounds simple. And I’m already fulfilling baked goods at an alarming rate for the Jackson’s little cafe on their farm. The farm stand is busier than she realizes.
So I’m not sure why I’m even considering this, except that it sounds intriguing.
“Tell me why I need to do this again?”
“A lot of families are busy during the holiday season—but they want to hold tight to tradition. It’s tough when you don’t have time to bake cookies or decorate them. And sugar cookies can be time-consuming because a lot of time they have to sit in the fridge. That’s multiple steps, and when time is precious, sometimes it’s two too many.”
She watches me like she’s asking for permission and accuracy all at once. I simply nod her on.
“We could test it with Halloween cookies, and if it works well, then we will do it again at Christmas. But you’ve got something amazing here, Holden. People just need to know how good your food is. It could become a holiday staple and be a solid extra source of income for the bakery.”
I nod, considering. But I’m mostly snagging on her usage of the word ‘we’.
Twice.
She spoke more freely about the future last Christmas on our fake honeymoon, but it feels more and more rare. The beauty of the way she speaks about it now is that it’s more instinctual, like she’s making plans she fully intends to be here to see through.
McKenna is always complaining that she wants to do more around here. I probably shoulder more than I should, but that’s because I know how to do it.
It’s something Laila and I have in common.
Maybe shifting some of that load—like I’m always asking Laila to do—would be helpful to the bakery.
“I don’t know where to source any of this,” I say. “What do I even need to do this? Boxes, right? What else?”
“I can take care of that part. I think it could be a great way to get people in the door for the heart of what’s here: the kolaches and all the other amazing food. You’re not exactly close to the Kolache Trail, but I think yours are the best.” She pauses, her eyes widening. “You know what? I’m sorry. I’m not trying to take over your business. You know what you’re doing, and you’re already doing amazing.” She frowns and slides off the counter.
My brain is trying to catch up to everything she just said and her sudden shift in attitude. She’s sitting here dishing out incredible marketing advice to me, in the middle of everything else she’s got going on, and she thinks I’m mad about it?
“Whoa.” I take steps two at a time to catch up to her as she heads to the kitchen, toward the back exit. “What just happened there, La?”
She shakes her head. “Nothing, I just realized that I am way overstepping here. You’re already so busy, and I’m sure Ever After Farm is already bringing you a lot of business. You don’t need more suggestions.”
There it is again—the instinct to pull back before she’s told she’s too much. Love makes her brave; fear makes her backpedal.
“What are you talking about?” I ask gently. “I appreciate everything you’re throwing at me, honey. But you’re tossing a lot at me I need to process, so my silence isn’t a bad thing. I’m just trying to imagine everything you’re saying.”
