Page 91 of Back to December
“You haven’t even spent five seconds with me yet,” I blurt, my breath puffing white between us.
She narrows her eyes, absently patting the baby’s back. “It’s a feeling. Did you sleep well?”
“Why is everyone asking me that today?” I mutter.
Holden appears at my side, sliding an arm around my waist like it's something we do every day. “Ready to get the perfect tree?”
The kids erupt in cheers. His hand stays where it is, and the casual intimacy feels…effortless. Familiar. It’s a gesture I usually only get in snippets, but it never builds to this kind of natural intimacy.
“Yep,” I whisper.
“Go find your cousins!” Ella calls, waving the kids toward the rows of evergreens.
Holden laces his fingers throughmine as we follow. Another quiet, everyday miracle I don’t want to take for granted again.
A husband. A family. Love. Belonging.
“How’s Luke?” I ask, aiming for normal.
“Somewhere out there, arguing with Dean about the barrel car train and the tractor. Something about dried kolache jelly on the seat.”
I laugh—a real, easy sound. Everything about that statement reminds me that this moment is grounded in normalcy, and it loosens the tightness in my chest a little.
“You seem happy,” Ella says. “It’s a good look for you.”
Luna barrels back toward us, colliding with my legs. “Mom, did you see?” She points toward a small booth nestled in the trees. My view is obscured by branches heavy with frost.
“What is it?”
For a split second, I almost believe that this is real. The warmth, the laughter, the simple ordinariness of it all—it feels like the universe letting me peek at what I’ve been too afraid to reach for.
“Mistletoe!” the kids chorus.
Sure enough, a stand waits ahead, draped in garland and twinkle lights, with signs reading ‘Meet Me in the Mistletoe’ and ‘25 cents’.
Ella shoots me a wicked smile. “You two need some luck.”
“We have plenty of luck,” I say. “Maybe you should findyour husband.”
Ella arches a brow. “You’re turning down a chance with mistletoe?”
Alternate timeline Laila? I’d like a word.
“Aunt Laila, it’s tradition,” Lucy insists. “You have to!”
Holden elbows me, his eyes glistening with mischief. “Itisa tradition. Hard to argue with that.”
“You really can’t ignore tradition.” Ella’s smile widens. “Or luck.”
“I’ll remember this,” I mutter as Holden tugs me toward the booth.
Luke’s sister Violet is manning the booth—of course, she is. She practically glows as she grabs a swig of mistletoe. With a bright smile, she swipes her braid off her shoulder and darts around to greet us, mistletoe in hand.
“You know the rules,” she singsongs, stretching on tiptoe to hold it above us. It’s too short, but the gesture counts.
“It’s a good thing I don’tneedmistletoe as an excuse to kiss my wife,” Holden murmurs.
“Then what are we doing here?”
