Page 54 of Back to December
But you know what’s also amazing? The response to disrupting a ritual. These gingerbread bouquetsthat Violet and I make have blown up. Annie showed me a couple of videos people put on social media. I bet you can find them.
I’ll have to make one just for you when you get back.
Love,
Holden
Laila,
Remember how I told you I wanted us to live life unfiltered? I’ve had to learn to embrace that, too.
Kenna is helping me film behind-the-scenes videos for the bakery because that’s apparently what people enjoy watching in their free time. (Who knew?) It’s a lot harder than it looks, and I have a whole new respect for all the work you put in.
But you know what else? I get it now.
You needed to find yourself, but maybe I did, too. I told you that stories don’t have to be perfect to matter, but everything I make is done with perfectionism in mind. I’ve been so scared to disrupt the rituals because I’m the one who keeps this place grounded.
If I changed things, would it still be okay? But I think it was more than that, La. I think I needed to know that my opinion mattered. That if I told people what I wanted, it would make me look less...everything. Especially if they didn’t agree.
But that’s not true at all.
And in the meantime, I’ve learned that waiting for you and givingyou space doesn’t mean I should stand still. Kenna yelled at me a little about that.
I figured out that it means building a life sturdy enough for two people. So, I’m going to keep figuring things out and working on that.
This letter is a little rambly, but I just want you to know, honey, that I’m here. I’m building our future. And hopefully you’ll find the breadcrumbs I’m dropping along the way—like these letters.
You don’t have to tell me where you are—I know you’ll be home soon. December is right around the corner. It’s our time, Laila.
And I’ll see you soon.
Love Always,
Holden
twenty
LAILA
Love and Lattesis a sweet little coffee shop nestled in downtown Sweetheart Springs, and it smells like toasted sugar and nostalgia.
It doesn’t carry the same magic as Once Upon a Brew, but I like it all the same. A warm place with caffeine is really all I need. I’m pretending to work—half a dozen tabs open, none of them productive—when a familiar voice breaks through the hum of espresso machines.
“Laila?”
I glance up, nearly choking on my gingerbread latte. “Henry?”
He’s exactly the same and somehow older all at once. A dark cardigan, a brilliant red scarf, and glasses on top of his head that he’s probably lost twice today. But the years have added a calm to him, and that’s exactly what I need right now.
“I’ll admit,” he says, crossing to my table, “this is the last place I expected to find one of my favorite people hiding.”
I wrinkle my nose as he settles into a seat across from me.
“I’m not hiding,” I protest.
“Working, then,” he says easily, nodding toward my laptop. “On what appears to be an email draft that’s been blank for ten minutes.”
I snap the lid closed, heat rising in my cheeks. “You’re observant as ever.”
