Page 67 of Back to December
I nod once, the simplest truth I can give her. “That’s enough believing for both of us.”
Maybe magic never lived in the metal. Maybe it lives in the ones who stay—the steady hands, the open doors, the letters that always find their way back, the gumdrops that mark the path home.
Snow drifts between us, catching the streetlight—tiny, glowing crumbs leading each of us back to where we’re meant to be.
I nod toward the square. “You know the gingerbread bouquets I wrote you about? The ones Violet’s been helping me with? They’ve been selling like hotcakes.”
That earns me a genuine smile. “I might’ve seen a post or two about them on Hollow Hub.” She’s quiet for a moment, then continues. “Someone took a lovely photo of the farm stand—very nostalgic with the lights and the little gingerbread men with chef hats.”
I don’t point out that Ella helped me figure out an app called Pinterest, or showed me some of Laila’s boards. She’s definitely got a vibe she searches for when she looks. It’s apparently a pastime she’s got when she needs an escape.
I just paid attention and offered her gumdrops—or breadcrumbs—to light her way back. And I like that she noticed.
But that doesn’t mean I have to runeverythingI want to tell her through a filter. Just the things I know she’s not ready for.
“Returning the coin doesn’t mean I’ll stop believing in us,” I say. It feels like I’m straddling a fine line here, but I promised Kenna I’d be more open. “Just so we’re clear.”
She flinches like that lands and then lets out a breath that sounds like surrender to honesty, not to me. “That’s not why I returned it.”
I don’t ask, and she doesn’t offer. We just face each other while the snow accumulates. Nearby, a shop door jingles. Kids shriek with excitement at the uptick in snowflakes. There are fifty things—easy—that I could say to her right now.
But I choose the one that will still give her the space she needs.
“Ella’s on the farm all afternoon if you want to meet her there,” I say. “I need to make a delivery, so it’s no trouble.”
I wince, hating how we orbit each other. It all feels—off.
Normally, she’d grab my arm and ask when I was taking her to walk through the evergreens. Or for coffee. Or demanding those disgusting supermarket sugar cookies they put out every holiday.
“I do,” she says. “I won’t have a moment of peace and quiet until I go.”
“That’s fair.” I tip my chin toward the square. “They’ll light the tree tonight. If you want to go—I know it’s one of your favorite things.”
Something in her eases, like a knot giving way. “I think Ella, Luke, and Lucy have plans to come. Maybe we can all go together?”
It’s the smallest olive branch—but I greedily accept it.
twenty-four
LAILA
Ever After Farmshas its own magical feel.
Not that I frequent farms, but since it’s Christmas, my brain immediately draws comparisons between Dreamy Pines up in Colorado and this one. They’re both cozy and perfect, but maybe I’m a little biased about this one because it’s here in Enchanted Hollow.
There’s more history here—some written in ledgers, most in hearts.
Snowflakes drift lazily from the sky, not exactly aligning with Holden’s warning to watch the weather. But I’m also aware of how quickly it can change. Either way, the air feels a little charged. Like the calm before a storm.
“I’ve got to drop some things off for the bakery,” Holden says.
“Do whatever you need to do. I know my way around.”
He nods, then mutters something that sounds suspiciously like, “I don’t understand how they can be short on gingerbread”. I understand the sentiment because I know he probably baked enough to feed a small army. But thenagain, I know just how delicious his food is, so maybe everyone else realizes it, too.
Families bustle around the property, beneath lights strung between sections of pre-cut trees. It’s overcast, so they’re on, casting a lovely glow as we pass through. Signs point toward the U-cut section, and other areas of the farm like the Storybook Cafe or the gift shop. The scent of warm chocolate wraps around me like a hug—warm, rich, and a little spicy.
It might be out of season now, but I might cave if they’re still making the Wicked Witch Brew. It’s more of an autumn drink, but Mexican hot chocolate could easily turn this gray day golden.
