Page 90 of Back to December
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to kiss his face off.
NO.
“What do you have planned for today?” I ask.
He sighs. “It’s a pretty extensive itinerary. Lots of things.”
“Like tree farms and sleigh rides and hot cocoa?” I whisper.
His eyes flash playfully. “How did you know?”
“I had a feeling.”
“So what would you like to start with?” he asks.
“All of them. Let’s pack this day full.”
He pushes to his feet, and I gasp. Not gonna lie. I wasnotexpecting that. I also don’t expect the way my cheeks heat as he gazes down at me.
“That’s the perfect answer, Mrs. Lockwood.”
I could swear the house hums in approval. Or maybe it’s just my heart.
Either way, I’m going to take this for exactly what it is. A lesson. One tastes a little like gingerbread and hope.
thirty-two
LAILA
Ever After Farmsdoesn’t look much different as we pull into the entrance. The fall décor from my last visit is gone, replaced by garlands and bright red bows that make the whole place hum with quiet anticipation. The Christmas lights glow faintly against the overcast sky—like they’re waiting for night to give them permission to shine.
Holden follows the winding dirt road to the parking lot, gravel crunching beneath tires, and I push open the door before he’s even shifted into park.
It smells like home.
Pine and wood smoke, sugar and spice from The Storybook Cafe. Scents that wrap around me like a warm blanket.
“Daddy—gingerbread!” Henry shouts from his car seat.
“Coming, little man,” Holden chuckles.
I open the back passenger door, where Luna waits, her big eyes trained on me. We haven’t spent much time together yet, but I’ve already noticed two things: she may look like a tiny version of me, but inside she’s all Holden—quiet, watchful, kind. When Henry got fussy atbreakfast, she simply slid her bacon and a second pancake onto his plate.
“You look pretty today, Mommy.” Her voice is matter-of-fact, her gaze steady.
“Thank you. So do you.”
“You look different.”
I freeze halfway through unbuckling her. “Do I? How?”
“Dunno.” She shrugs. “Can I get hot chocolate? And one of Daddy’s cookies?”
Different how? What does she see that I don’t?
“We’ll ask him,” I say carefully.
“You do look different,” Ella calls, and relief floods me—until I actually see her. She’s got a navy beanie pulled low, a baby strapped to her chest, two more kids darting at her feet, and an older Lucy at her side.
