Page 98 of Back to December
His hand lets go of my wrist, only to drag hisfingers down my arm and disappear around my waist. Both arms wrap around me, squeezing me closer in a way that makes the world tilt and blur.
When we finally pull apart, Luna collapses again. “Daddy, you have frosting in your hair, too.”
He grins, lazy and perfect. “Totally worth it.”
I step away from Holden and take in the scene around us. The kitchen looks like a snow globe exploded, flour still hanging in the air and glittering in the twinkle lights wrapping the garland above the cabinets. I laugh so hard my chest aches.
It’s a mess, but it’sours.
Normally, I’d get straight to work cleaning, but I soak it up, memorizing this picture in my mind. There’s more space between us now, but Holden’s arm still circles my waist. Henry and Luna spin in circles, and the scents of ginger and sugar hang in the air.
The artist we loved back in Sweetheart Springs—Piper, the one who paints the most beautiful stories—could paint this exact picture. And she’d call ithome.
I used to think it was a place or a plan—I’ve spent years trying to chase it. Or something I had to earn once I figured myself out. My job, my future, my life. But maybe it’s this. It’s chaotic and whimsical and so full of love I could burst. Love used to scare me because it burned too bright. But this? This kind of love glows—it lasts.
It’s belonging. It’s me.
Holden glances down at me. “You okay?”
“Better than okay.”
He drops his arm only to grasp my hand. “Good. Because La, we may find sprinkles until Easter.”
“Maybe we should start a new tradition.”I shrug.
He chuckles, brushing something from my cheek. I don’t know if it’s more flour or a stray hair or sprinkles, but I just breathe him in.
Maybe Henry was right about stories needing new endings because the old ones no longer fit. Maybe this is where ours changes.
“Let’s go get bath time started,” he says, with one last squeeze. “Before the kids decide the sprinkles belong in their beds.”
I follow him out of the kitchen to herd kids and fall into a routine I never knew I wanted. The house hums with the tired magic of the perfect day—laughter echoing from the bathroom, music from one of Holden’s mix CDs, and Christmas lights filling the house with a warm glow.
He still makes them, even now. Maybe that’s his way of leaving little love notes I can’t delete.
If this is a dream, maybe I don’t want to wake up after all. But dreams end. And when they do, you either follow the crumbs home—or stay lost.
thirty-five
LAILA
We taketurns cleaning the kitchen and the kids until Holden calls it good enough for now. We all pile into the living room, this time in pajamas that match all four of us.
Our newly decorated tree twinkles softly in the corner, and I cover both Luna and Henry in warm, fuzzy blankets in various shades of plaid.
Maybe plaidisplaid after all.
Holden holds up a stack of Christmas DVDs and grins. “We’ve got Elf, Home Alone, The Grinch, and The Muppet Christmas Carol.”
“No Scrooge. Scary.” Henry pulls his blanket up so only his eyes are showing, and I open my arms so he can scramble into them.
“He can be,” I agree, glancing up at Holden. “Michael Caine really committed to that role.”
“On second thought, ghosts before bed might be a bad idea,” he whispers.
“I know Santa!” Henry shouts, grinningup at me.
“Do you?”
