Page 65 of Back to December
Although this isexactlyhow you treat family. He’s looking out for me, even if I’m not a huge fan of the way he’s going about it.
I turn back to Holden, trying to avoid inhaling the warm bakery smell that always clings to him. Vanilla and sugar are the last things I need right now. The snow on his coat melts in the warmth, little slivers of silver that shine in the firelight.
It’s physically hard to keep myself from stepping into him like I always do. Fear says, stay still. Love says, step forward. I’m still deciding which voice to listen to. He wouldn’t mind—but I’m trying to keep the distance for myself. If anything, I’m more worried about my mother’s antics now than I was in October.
Going home to turn in my resignation and pack up things in my apartment basically stirred up a hornet’s nest. Bridget will probably follow suit, but she’s busy planning her wedding to her long-term boyfriend, Andrew.
I keep telling myself that things will settle. Andthen, we can pick things back up. But until I’ve found myself, until Sweet Things picks up and I have something to contribute, I can’t.
As much as I love Holden, I can’t let him pick up the pieces of my life and work to support both of us. I can take care of myself. My identity can’t disappear into his.
“Come on,” he murmurs. “You can tell me how you’ve got it all figured out after you eat.”
“I’m not hungry.”
That’s a complete lie, and my stomach betrays me by letting out an embarrassingly loud rumble. Fine, Iamhungry. But the thought of keeping a sliver of normalcy in a world that no longer feels like mine is so much worse than hunger.
He smiles then, steady and sure. Like always.
I once believed love was burning red. Tonight it feels golden.
I don’t want to lose him. I can’t imagine my life without him in it—and that’s terrifying. But I don’t know how to find myselfwithhim either.
That’s a path I’ve never taken. I wish I knew how to let him walk it with me.
Outside, the snow keeps falling—soft and certain—like the world outside is encouraging me to try.
He steps closer. “It’s just brunch,” he says. “It’s not forever.”
“Okay,” I whisper. “Brunch it is.”
twenty-three
HOLDEN
Downtown smells like cinnamon,cold air, and second chances. Or at least what I think that might smell like if you know one was right in front of you.
I’m sure there’s an argument against actually being able to smell “second chances”, but people say they can’t smell “cold” either.
Ludacris nonsense.
Laila is quiet as we walk, her hands deep in her coat pockets. It’s almost like she’s afraid of touching me, or she’s worried we’ll be drawn to each other like magnets. Like we always are.
Snow freckles the street, catching on garland and the big wreath over Once Upon a Brew. I know she hates silence, but I don’t know what to say. I try to fill the silence, anyway.
“Quinn says she tweaked the Gingerbread Wishes Latte,” I offer, nodding toward the café. “Says it’ll change my life. Again.”
The corner of her mouth tips. It’s not a full smile, but it’sreal, and I’ll take it. “She says that about every new drink she comes up with.”
“Only the ones with whipped cream,” I say. “Besides, you’re not one to talk. We both know how you get about a Mistletoe Mocha.”
I pull open the oversized wooden door, noting the shift in the stained-glass window at its center. There’s usually a plain steaming cup of coffee in the center, but now there’s a little Gingerbread man in the center of the cup, complete with colorful gumdrop buttons.
For a second, the glass almost glows. It makes me think of her story, the one about the trail of gumdrops that never stopped shining. Maybe that’s what she’s been doing all along—leaving little lights to find her way back.
I usher her in before me, eager to step into the warmth. The weather hasn’t been quite right since a few days before Holly’s wedding, and we’re all suspicious the mayor has something to do with it, since she’s known for providing a frigid blast when she’s miffed.
Quinn sees us and does that not-subtle-not-loud grin that says she’s cheering without using pom-poms.
