Chapter 22
Violet
Simon pulls to a stop in a parking spot at the YMCA.
I turn to him, confused. From gifts on my porch every morning for weeks, to festive dinners at rehabilitated lighthouses, from making sure I decorated my house, to skipping his family’s ski trip to take care of me, he’s been nothing but romantic and sweet and thoughtfully grandiose.
I’m not sure what I expected tonight, but the YMCA isn’t it.
“Do you trust me?” he asks.
Implicitly, says my heart while my mind dutifully conjures up a snapshot of me, standing by the tree in Town Square one fateful Christmas Eve, phone pressed to ear, heart in my stomach, tears wavering in my eyes.
“With tonight,” I reply.
Simon sets his jaw and climbs out of the car.
We meet on the sidewalk and stroll arm in arm up a palm-lined walk towards the entrance.
A beautiful wreath with pinecones and frosted boughs adorned with a red ribbon hangs on the door.
Sleigh bells jingle as we step in. A lone teenager mans the front desk as people mill about, some heading for the gym, others the pool.
It smells of sweat and chlorine. Even the music is sterile, piped in Muzak boring the poor young man at the desk to tears.
He glances up from his phone as we approach. “Help ya?”
“We’re with the Holiday party.” Simon brandishes his most charming smile and the young man sits up straighter, placing his phone face down on the desk.
“Oh, yes. Everything’s ready for you Mr. Holiday.” He points to a door behind him. “Go right in whenever you’re ready.”
And suddenly everything bland and strange about the YMCA feels magical and mysterious.
“The Holiday party?” I mouth, looking up at Simon who silently places a hand on my lower back and leads me towards the door.
We stop in front of it, and he hits me with a smile as warm as the rum-soaked ciders we had all those weeks ago, then pushes through and holds it open for me to join him inside the ice-skating rink.
The second I cross the threshold, I forget how to breathe.
The rink is empty and dressed in soft gold light that glows against the glass.
Strings of twinkle lights spiral overhead like stars caught mid-fall, their reflections scattering across the ice until the whole place shimmers.
A Christmas tree towers near center ice, its ornaments glinting in silvers and sea-glass blues, as if the ocean itself decided to celebrate.
The air smells faintly of pine and peppermint, and the speakers hum a low, familiar carol that seems to pulse right through my chest.
Nora, Robbie, and Nash stand a few feet inside, their arms wrapped around each other. “Surprise!” they call and Nash runs up to wrap his little arms around my legs.
A quiet rush of air ripples through the rink, and suddenly, it’s snowing.
The flakes float in lazy circles, catching the glow from the Christmas tree and spinning like glitter.
I reach out to catch one, and it lands soft as silk against my palm.
It doesn’t melt, just flutters away, a sliver of paper that’s gone before I can find it again.
A laugh slips out of me before I can stop it, half wonder, half disbelief.
Simon’s hand finds mine, warm and steady. When I look up, flakes cling to his hair and lashes, reminding me of the flour fight we had at the bakery. “I couldn’t give you skating in Rockefeller Center. Not yet and not on such short notice. But I hoped maybe this would do.”
For a second, the whole world narrows to the two of us, together, Simon delivering the impossible and my heart yearning for more, more, more and then Nora and Robbie join us. Tears well in my eyes as I take in the people around me.
“What are you doing here?” I ask my sister. “Did Simon…?”
“He’s good,” Nora says. “But not that good. We were worried about you here all alone and thought we’d surprise you by coming in early.”
“But we were the ones who got a surprise, right Uncle Simon?”
As Nash recounts a wild story involving shoes, pillows, and a bare-chested Simon, emotion swells so suddenly it steals my breath.
I look around the room at the four people I love most in the world—all of them taking time out of their lives to make sure I’m okay—and my vision blurs.
I press a hand to my heart as tears sting my eyes.
I’ve spent so long feeling lonely, convinced that everyone else had someone while the people I had were taken from me.
But how can I believe that now? Not when I’m surrounded by proof that, no matter how empty my life once felt, no matter how far my people scattered, I was never truly alone.
I’ve always mattered. I’ve always been loved.
“You guys are the absolute best,” I manage through a thick throat, then turn to Simon. “How did you even manage this?”
“You’d be surprised how persuasive I can be when I want something.”
Nash tugs at my hand. “Can we skate now, Aunt Violet?”
I nod. “Let’s skate.”
My nephew lifts a fist in celebration and races over to his parents.
Simon leads me to a bench where two pairs of skates wait, one for him and one for me.
We lace up and hit the ice, him stepping onto the rink with a measure of confidence while I hover at the entrance, hesitant to step off the safety of the carpet.
“I’m gonna fall.”
“I won’t let you.” Simon extends a hand and with a deep breath, I take it, then slowly carefully step onto the ice.
And immediately lurch backwards.
Simon wraps an arm around me, holding me tight until I’m safely back on my feet.
“I told you I’d fall,” I say, breathless.
“And yet you didn’t.” His eyes meet mine with an intensity that makes my heart skip a beat. “I got you, Violet. Trust me.”
It sounds less like a statement and more like a plea.
Slowly, patiently, Simon shows me how to push off my skates until I’m stable enough to move on my own.
Nash skitters and slips, his feet looking almost cartoonish in their frenzy while his parents keep him from falling, Nora holding one hand, Robbie holding the other.
Eventually, we all find our rhythm and glide around the ice while music plays, lights twinkle, and paper snow falls in the center over the tree.
“Thirsty?” Simon asks, and I nod. He skates us to the far side of the rink, the ice whispering beneath our blades, then helps me step onto the carpet.
My fingers stay tucked in his as he leads me to a small table laden with snowflake cookies dusted with glittering sugar, cupcakes crowned in white frosting like tiny drifts of snow, and two steaming carafes with mugs waiting beside them.
In the center sits a single gift, wrapped in gold paper and tied with a bow so big it could outshine the tree.
“We’ve got cocoa and coffee,” he says. “The baked goods won’t hold a candle to yours, but I did what I could with what I had.”
I rest my head against his shoulder, overwhelmed. “You’re amazing. This is amazing. I don’t even know where to begin to thank you.”
His voice softens. “Your smile is enough.” He picks up a mug, his breath visible in the cold air. “Now, I’d recommend half cocoa, half coffee—but you do you.”
I nod, watching as he pours a little from each carafe, adds a candy cane, and hands it to me. The mug is warm against my palms, the scent rich and sweet. I lift it to my lips, take a sip, and sigh. “It’s perfect.”
And I don’t just mean the drink.
I mean tonight.
And the night before.
And every night since the bakery reopened.
I mean Nora’s laughter echoing across the ice. Nash’s bright voice carrying through the music. The shimmer of lights dancing in the glass. The faint hum of carols that feel like hope.
And him. Always him.
When the season started, I didn’t know how I’d make it through, but now, I’m so filled with holiday cheer, I can barely remember the woman I was just a few weeks ago.
Simon cups my face in his gloved hands, the blue of his eyes catching the glow of a thousand tiny bulbs. “It really is,” he murmurs, and I close my eyes, leaning into the warmth of his touch.
He presses a kiss to the top of my head, inhaling like he’s memorizing the moment. When I open my eyes, he’s holding out the gold-wrapped box, that boyish smile tugging at his lips.
“Since I didn’t get to leave you one this morning.”
“Waking up to you felt like a gift,” I whisper, my voice raw with truth. With wanting. With yearning for this to be my life, my forever.
Simon smiles and I swear, even though I know he’s leaving soon, he feels the same. “It was for me anyway.”
I place the mug on the table and accept the present, tearing through the paper and opening the box to find a glass ornament inside. I lift it and the lights catch in the cuts, shining and reflecting. I peer closely to read the engraving.
You are the light that beckons me home.
I meet his eyes, confusion knitting my brows, and find nothing but truth and vulnerability waiting for me.
“Simon, I—”
He presses a finger to my lips. “Don’t overthink it. Just let it be what it is. You mean the world to me, Violet. You always have.”