Chapter 11
Violet
For the first time in a long time, I wake up feeling…
rested… happy… at ease. Instead of the pressure of exhaustion clinging to my edges, begging me to close my eyes and go back to sleep, I simply open my eyes and grin at the ceiling.
Being with Simon’s family? The chaos and energy?
The Christmas tree lit up and twinkling? It was medicine. Plain and simple.
And then there was Simon.
Smiling, listening, joking, bantering. Part of me came to life again, sitting next to him.
Then we kissed. And it was just as good as it always was. This instant connection. This clench in my heart, the awakening in my body, this knowing that he is for me and I am for him…
Except that’s where things fell off the rails. He made it painfully clear three years ago that I am not for him.
But, even knowing that, my heart is lighter. My smile feels easier.
I guess Simon Holiday will always feel like home.
Which is exactly why what happened last night can never happen again.
Sighing, I draw the blankets around my chin, snuggling into the warmth and replaying the kiss over and over. But then my second alarm blares and I sit up, throwing the covers off me and swiping my phone off my bedside table.
“I get it, I get it,” I mumble, stabbing the “off” button. “The bakery waits for no man.”
After I’ve been to the bathroom and brushed my teeth, I find myself standing in front of my closet, displeased with basically everything I’ve been wearing lately.
I pause when I find a festive sweater Mom bought me last year.
Bright red and white plaid with a giant Christmas tree emblazoned across the front.
Tempting, but a tad over the top. I flip through the hangars back to my standard black, long-sleeved tee to pair with black jeans and boots.
I dress, pull my hair back and do my makeup, then head downstairs with a bit of pep in my step.
After a quick cup of coffee, I step out into a chilly morning, then freeze. Right there in the middle of the porch is a large coffee cup with a card resting against it, my name scrawled in big block letters.
What the…?
Leaning over the edge of the railing, I glance up and down the darkened street, but see no one, not even a hint of a shadow cast in the pools of light left by my neighbor’s decorations and the streetlamps lining the walk.
Turning back to the cup, I pick it up like it might bite. It’s still warm. I barely missed whoever left this here. One sniff tells me I’m holding a peppermint mocha, one of my absolute favorites. Simon used to make…
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I murmur, a smile starting at my toes and working its way into my heart. I set the coffee on the porch rail, tear open the envelope, and pull out the card. It’s handwritten in Simon’s still-familiar scrawl.
On the first day of Christmas…
Inside is a hastily drawn picture of him brewing the coffee.
I press the card to my chest, give a little shimmy-shake of delight, then take a long drink, my eyes rolling back in pleasure as the taste hits my tongue.
It’s beyond good. The perfect amount of chocolate and peppermint. The coffee is strong, cutting through the sweetness. Instead of a sugar bomb, this is a sophisticated nod to a holiday favorite.
“Damn that’s good,” I mutter, then take another long drink.
Simon always had a thing for coffee—a talent for it, even. For something as simple as hot water poured over beans, he manages to turn it into an art form.
I basically float down the sidewalk on my way to the bakery, clutching my delicious coffee, enjoying its warmth against my palms as the sun peeks over the horizon, little scrolls of pink and gold sneaking up toward the darkened sky.
It’s quiet, just the sound of my feet on the sidewalk.
It’s one thing I’ve always loved about the morning: this moment of stillness before the world comes to life. The calm before the storm.
And what a storm it is.
The bakery is busy.
I do my best to channel my parents, remembering bits and pieces of each person’s story as they stop in to pick out their favorite treat.
The hours fly by. In the quiet moments, I consider bringing Simon some gingerbread cookies as a thank you for the coffee.
I even set some aside for him—just in case—then argue with myself for the rest of the day.
His gesture was sweet and deserves something in return.
However… it’s the actual sweetness of the gesture that warns me to keep my distance.
Simon’s trouble.
Trouble that’s leaving in a few days.
Best not to get too involved.
And yet, here I am at the end of the day, standing on his porch, knocking on his door with a bag of gingerbread men and two cinnamon rolls I set aside specifically for him when it looked like I was running out.
Simon opens the door, a look of confusion bleeding into pleasure when he sees me. “Hi, Violet.”
“Hello to you, too.” I hold up the bag of treats and give it a jiggle. “I brought you a little something to thank you for the treat I found this morning.”
Simon frowns. “Treat? What treat?”
“The coffee on my front porch, silly.”
“Violet… that wasn’t me.”
He’s joking. I know he is. But still, part of my brain picks up the idea and runs with it, conjuring stories of stalkers crouched in darkness, or a romantic gesture from a would-be lover sitting on the wrong person’s porch.
But… I’m not buying it.
“Well okay then.” I lower the bag of treats. “Looks like I owe these gingerbread cookies and cinnamon rolls to someone else.” I shrug, painting on a look of apologetic innocence. “I’m sorry to bother you.”
Simon moves as if to swipe the bag out of my hand but pulls back, eyes glimmering. “Nope. Sorry. That was definitely me,” he finishes, wiggling his fingers in a gimme gesture.
I hand him the bag and he peers inside, inhaling deeply before sighing in contentment. “Sorry, if the coffee thing was silly—”
“Silly? You made my morning.” And my last night, and my whole day, I think but don’t say. “It was still warm when I picked it up. I must’ve just missed you.”
“Come on, Vi.” Simon gives me a knowing look. “You act like that wasn’t part of the plan. It’s pretty easy to predict your pattern when it hasn’t changed since we were kids. It was more fun for me, watching you figure it out.”
“You were there?” I quickly replay my reaction and blush at the memory of me pressing the card to my heart and wriggling with happiness.
Simon’s grin suggests he’s remembering the same thing. “Oh, I was there.”
“So, my fear of a stalker hiding in the darkness wasn’t that far off.”
“If you wanna call watching you from behind your neighbor’s tree stalking…” He grins. “Do you want to come in? It’s just me today. Much quieter than last night. Promise.”
Yes! screams my heart. I don’t want to spend another night alone.
“No, I should probably go.”
Because you broke my heart once but now you’re doing all these nice things, adds my mind.
“I was out late the last two nights. I need to get to bed early. You know, baker’s hours.”
And I don’t know what to make of how easy it feels around you.
“Besides, I don’t want to encroach on your evening. I know you have stuff to do before you leave for Colorado.”
And I don’t trust you not to hurt me again.
Simon waves his hands like none of that matters. “Encroach. Please.”
I pause because the thought of spending more time with him is intoxicating, but then he continues. “But… I definitely don’t want to get in the way of your beauty rest.”
I snort. “Beauty rest? Yeah, right.”
Simon puts a finger to my chin and lifts my gaze to his. “Don’t do that, Violet,” he says. “You’re a beautiful woman. Always have been, always will be.”
My cheeks go red like I’m seventeen again, totally enamored and unsure of what to say…
Except I’m not seventeen and I know exactly what to say.
So I smile politely and step out of reach, indicating the bag in his hands. “If you end up accidentally eating all of those, you know where to find more. Goodbye, Simon.” I smile then turn to leave, waving over my shoulder.
As soon as my feet hit the walk, Simon calls, “Hey! Have you decorated yet?”
I shake my head. “I’ll probably do it closer to Christmas.”
“Unacceptable. I can’t let you live like that.”
“You can’t let me?”
“Nope. This whole dark house, dark clothes thing? It’s just not you. Get some rest tonight because tomorrow, after the bakery closes, I’m coming over, and we’ll decorate together.”