Page 93 of Back to December
It’s not snowy,justcold. The winter air blows down from the north, sharp enough to burn my cheeks, and the former Coloradan in me is thankful I kept stock in foot warmers, gloves, and fuzzy hats.
Ella offered to keep the kids so we could have a “date”. And while I want to spend every second I can with them, I’m not opposed to a little one-on-one time with my handsome baker husband.
I could get used to that word.
We sit on the bench on the edge of Mirror Lake, lacing up our skates. Apparently, when Mayor Sabrina Gold isn’t angry, she does nice things—like freezing the lake so everyone can enjoy it. The ice gleams beneath the soft glow of string lights as the last bits of color slip from the sky. Families and couples glide across the massive rink, classic Christmas songs drifting from speakers on every pole.
Holden is the first to stand, offering his hand. “Ready?”
“Do I have a choice?” I laugh, gripping him as I push tomy feet. It’s been a while since I’ve skated, and while it may be like riding a bike, I’m wobbly.
“You never get better at this,” he chuckles. It’s the same thing he said the first Christmas we tried this together.
“Yet you’re amazing at everything you do,” I shoot back with a smile.
“Only because I’ve got you by my side.”
I open my mouth to tell him it’s the cheesiest line I’ve ever heard, then close it again. Cheesy or not, I like hearing it now.
He guides me onto the ice, steadying me with firm hands on my waist. It’s hard to focus on staying upright when all I can think about is how comforting he feels.
Safe.
“Relax, honey,” he says softly. “Trust me.”
“I always do.”
And it’s true. Trusting Holden has neverbeen the problem.
His eyes meet mine, and all the outside noise fades as something deeper settles between us. Then his beautiful face splits into a grin, and he’s skating backward, pulling me with him like he’s done this a thousand times.
We spend a long time simply cruising around the lake. I’m not sure why we don’t push ourselves to do more of this, because it’s wonderful. He tells me about how The Magic Crumb is thriving, and all I want to do is listen. His words crumble into gingerbread warmth I want to pocket, sweet reminders of every ordinary joy I almost missed.
“I know we’ve both been so busy lately, but I really wanted to say thank you. The new schedule we came up with for the bakery truck is working out great, La. Every time we show up, there’s a line waiting.”
We had a whole ten days together, and instead of pushing to cram in all the time together we could—we fit life into little nooks and crannies, and hardly spent time together at all.
Not like this. This version of us learned a better balance, and it gives me hope that we still can, too. I’m not sure how to get him to answer the hundreds of questions in my head, so I say the one thing that can’t be misinterpreted.
“I’msoproud of you.”
“I wouldn’t be here without you,” he says, grinning like the teen Holden I remember so well, and my heart knocks in my chest.
“It’s your talent, Holden. People can taste the heart you put into your food. And you’re so good with people?—”
I stop myself before I mention the Gingerbread Trail—something that, for me, happened only yesterday. Is that part of our shared history here? Something similar?
“So are you.” He says. “Laila, you’re the one who exploded our business. Why can’t you take more credit for that?”
In my shock, I trip over a divot in the ice. Holden is fast—catching me before I hit the ice, spinning me into his arms like he planned this all along.
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs.
It feels like the honeymoon we never had…or at least the one I never let myself have. All heat and laughter and familiarity. His gaze burns with the same spark from our teenage years, and I’ve never felt more beautiful.
Moreseen.
But maybe that’s because in this life, I finally let myself be.
