Page 63 of Back to December
A well-worn spine catches my eye—The Enchanted Hollow Bedtime Collectionby Aurora Thorne. I saw it once at Second Star from the Right, tucked between stacks of fairy-tale retellings. Seeing it here feels a little like running into an old friend in a new chapter.
Sam hangs up and winces. “I’m so sorry, Laila. With all the Christmas activities here in town and on the farm, we’refull. For weeks.” He rubs a hand across the back of his neck, staring at his computer screen.
I have to admit; it warms my heart a little to see this big man so worried about finding a place for me.
“It’s okay, Sam,” I say, and mean it. “I’m happy you’re full. That’s amazing! Slightly disappointed that I can’t race real reindeer, though. What kind of place are you running here?”
“A place that avoids insurance nightmares like that one,” he shrugs, a smile playing around his lips. “I can offer everything—but a room—that comes with the Holly Jolly Holiday Escape, though.”
“Save all of that for your guests, Sam. I’m just fine.”
Except that I’m not. I’ve already done this once before, only I wasn’t alone. With the distance I put between us, I kind of figure Holden won’t be up for a repeat.
“Unless,” he says, holding up a finger, “you want to share a room with the Anderson twins? But fair warning, they snore in harmony.”
“As appealing as that offer sounds, Sam, I think I’m going to have to pass.”
There’s a solution if I want it. One that would let me breathe and feel safe. All I have to do is walk over to the bakery and ask.
But for the first time in twelve years, I question whether or not I should.
Holden would tell me to stay, perhaps even give up his entire apartment and go stay with his parents if he needed to, but I can’t let him do that for me. Not when I still have so much work to do. He deserves more than old habits and my failures.
I shake my head, clearing my thoughts like an Etch-A-Sketch.
Focus, McFly.
There will be other options—I just have to find them. At second glance, I realize the bed-and-breakfast isn’t the only thing that’s changed—Sam has changed, too.
He looks different somehow.
Facial hair.
Ever since teasing Ella about men with beards—particularly Luke with a beard—it’s all I see now. That weird effect where you’re not looking for something and suddenly it’severywhere. Like Volkswagen beetles.
Sam rubs his jaw with a grin. “I grew it for ‘no-shave November’ and I kinda like it. Thought I’d give it a more permanent test drive.”
“Saw me staring, huh?”
“It’s a new look. I’m not offended.”
“It’s not abadlook,” I shrug.
Facial hair is an instant upgrade, if you ask me. Just look at Steve Carell. That and the whole ‘silver fox’ look. But that doesn’t apply here.
Still, this isn’t really about beards. It’s about time—and how it keeps moving, even when I can’t. Everyone is moving forward, and I’m standing still, tracing the same old breadcrumb path I swore I’d outgrow. Maybe the trail was never meant to lead me back—it’s supposed to point me forward.
Sam studies me like I’m a problem he can fix. I wish it were truly that easy.
“What if I call Mom? She’d find you a place at the farmhouse in a heartbeat.”
Warmth and panic collide in my chest. “I couldn’t impose, Sam.”
“You wouldn’t be, Laila. You’re already family—and we take care of our own.” His voice is gentle and sure.
His words land and magnify the ache in my chest. I know that wasn’t his intention, but I’ve never felt this lost before–and this aware of it–before. My heart always leads me back to the same place, and I can’t keep following the same breadcrumb trail.
I swallow and nod because I don’t trust my voice, then drift toward the window that faces Main Street. You can’t hear the noise much from in here, but I can picture it as groups drift past on the sidewalks, mouths open in laughter that only comes when you’re truly happy. Wide-open mouths and people tipping toward each other in happiness.
