Page 8 of Back to December
“Honey.” He closes the couple of inches between us, the noises in the hall fading until I can only hear my heart pounding. His scent is a contrast to the tin he’s still holding, all sugar and vanilla like his bakery, and his lips brush mine in a quick, but careful kiss.
One that feels like a promise.
The bell for the next class interrupts us, bursting my warm and fuzzy bubble. He hands me my tin of cookies, then steps back with the same crooked grin as before.
Holden gives me hope that love can exist outside of transactions. He doesn’t expect anything of me exceptme.I’m not even sure who that is yet, but he’s patient as I try to figure that out. Steady, like a rock. It scares me to think that I love him, but that has to be what this feeling means.
We’ll have time to figure it out.
A horn blasts, and I lurch forward, bracing myself against the back of the seat in front of me.
“Sorry!” the ride-share driver shouts. “It’s like they don’t know what a crosswalk is!”
“It’s Homecoming week,” I murmur, as the last vestiges of my memory fade away.
“People still need to watch where they’re going,” he grumbles.
I blink, disoriented by the shift in surroundings as we slowly roll through downtown Enchanted Hollow. It hasn’t changed much. In fact, I’m pretty sure it still smells like sugar and second chances.
Every street corner feels like a ghost of who I was, of who I thought I’d become. Haunted by memories, not monsters.
I’ve been counting down the minutes until I could see Holden again, but this is the first time work has to be a priority, and I can’t say that I like it. Our in-person visits are always filled to the brim with time together, and I can’t do that. Not when I have a wedding on the verge of a crisis.
Or at least I think I do.
I’m not actually sure.
My mother has been driving me up the wall about Holly Everheart’s wedding, and I booked a trip here for multiple reasons. To appease my mother, to figure out why in the world Ella is working a wedding when she’s not supposed to be, and to see Holden.
And yes, I’m aware of how screwed up the order of those priorities are. It’s a work in progress.
I take in all the details of Enchanted Hollow in the fall as we crawl down the street. Colorful garlands with yellow,orange, and red leaves spiral around each lamppost. Fall murals and advertisements adorn most store windows, but there’s still a good amount of Phoenix school spirit scattered about. The red and yellow ribbons tied to park benches blend seamlessly with all the fall decor.
Holden has always been the golden part, the steady hue in all my chaos. And I’m back with more chaos than I had the last time I was here.
It’s been a long time since I saw autumn in action here. Twelve years.
Swap all the fall colors for more pine garland than any single town should own, and that’s what I’m used to. There’s also usually a giant tree by the gazebo that everyone gathers to watch the mayor light up, like clockwork. Santa has scheduled visits, and it’s a season where not just Enchanted Hollow magic is in the air.
I don’t hate the difference, but it’s stirring up ghosts long buried.
The square looks the same; I’m the one who changed. Every storefront window is a mirror trying to remind me of who I was.
Since we switched up our annual visits last December to bi-annual, this visit means the only season I’ve missed seeing Holden in person was spring. And that doesn’t stir up ghosts, but it sure adds another layer to how I feel about being here.
I can’t dig into any of those feelings right now, because I’ve got to focus on this wedding.
And Ella.
She’s supposed to be here, settling in and enjoying the small town life. Her last wedding for my mother’s company,Gilded Vows, was only a few days ago. Ella officially turned in her last event; why is she still fielding crises for Holly?
Something doesn’t add up, and Mom’s silence makes it worse.
There’snoreason for her to be planning this one, and unease is slithering under my skin. When I asked my mother about it, she skirts the answer and focuses on how important this wedding is to her company.
Hercompany. Like the three of us—Ella, Bridget, my twin, and I—haven’t worked our behinds off for her for the last decade.
It isn’t about the business. That’s what makes it weird. Mom doesn’t need the publicity from Holly Everheart’s wedding, yet she’s acting like her life depends on it. Her texts sound less like reminders and more like survival tactics, and I can’t shake the feeling there’s something else at play.
