Page 69 of Back to December
“I imagine so.” His chuckle earns a glare from me.
“Then you can understand that I needed to put some distance between us. Colorado doesn’t feel like home anymore, so I’ve been sort of?—”
“Looking for a place to land?” he finishes before I can.
I blink. “Actually, yes.”
We fall into step between the rows of trees, snow crunching underfoot as we walk.
“The tricky part,” he says, “is that you’re searching for breadcrumbs to lead you there. Maybe you shouldn’t be.”
I almost laugh, but bite it back. There’s no need for me to search for breadcrumbs—they’re everywhere. They always have been.
The path to Holden is a trail I could follow blindfolded. He’s in every baking display I see, every Tim Curry movie (especially Home Alone 2), every flannel shirt, every Christmas song. Every sprig of greenery—especially garland. He’s impossible to escape, and I can’t say that I even want to.
I just can’t lose him to my mother’s antics.
Once upon a time, I followed sugar and spice; now I follow faith and memory.
“Then what do you suggest?” I huff out, realizing a beattoo late that he’s probably thewrongperson to ask that question.
“Sometimes you need to get lost to find where you belong,” he answers.
“Believe me, I’m lost.” My laugh is sharp and unnatural. “What I need are directions or caution signs. Maybe even warning labels. Bright neon signs you can’t miss:This guy’s is a waste of time. This friend won’t stab you in the back. This job won’t break you.”
Maybe he’s right. Maybe ghosts aren’t here to haunt you—maybe they’re here to point you home.
We’ve wandered deep into the tree field. A whimsical watchtower reaches into the sky—wooden beams wrapped in ivy and Christmas lights. They also follow the angles of the roof and weave around greenery on the stairs and onto the treehouse balcony. Lantern’s glow at the base, showcasing more gingerbread men. Warm light spills from the windows, painting the snow gold.
I don’t need breadcrumbs. They follow me wherever I go.
“That kind of shortcut removes a lot of life lessons,” Sebastian says.
“Maybe,” I sigh. “Or maybe it just saves time.”
“I think you know a lot more than you realize, Laila. Enjoy your afternoon and stay warm.”
He heads back the way we came. I linger, letting myself absorb the quiet before I go meet up with Ella and her family. Later, we’ll walk the trail with Lucy, laugh our way through the trivia, and collect cookies and special moments.
More memories made with Holden, when nothing has changed. He still belongs here. I just wish I did.
I glance back toward the Gingerbread Trail, the candy-colored posts gleaming through the trees.
Of course, it ends here.
Maybe that’s what the Gingerbread Trail really is—not just a path of sugar and spice, but proof that sweetness can lead you somewhere worth finding.
I turn to go, and a sign catches my eye:Welcome to the Wishing Tree.
Somewhere, Aurora Thorne probably wrote about this—girls who stand beneath trees and wish for second chances.
Perfect. I just made multiple wishes out loud in front of Sebastian Gold. Awesome.
Guess that makes me the kind of girl who still believes in them.
twenty-five
LAILA
