Chapter 15
Eve
The snow falls like powdered sugar on gingerbread rooftops, dusting the town in something so perfect it almost makes me want to cry.
I chuckle thinking of the way Luke would groan and grumble at the sight.
And I almost bet it… Holly Ridge is obnoxiously picturesque.
Children are building snowmen by the gazebo, Christmas carols are playing from the speakers near the café, and I’m about two peppermint mochas away from believing in magic again.
Oh, who am I kidding? I’m already there, I think with another lingering sip of my delicious Christmas coffee.
My phone buzzes in my purse, pulling me from my thoughts and I scramble, shuffling items into my other hand to search for it. The LA number that lights up my screen makes my stomach plummet.
With a gulp, I swipe my thumb across the screen and offer a tentative, “Hello?”
“Eve,” my old boss’s voice chirps through my phone. “How are you?”
I freeze on the sidewalk outside the bakery, peppermint mocha and bag of cookies in one hand, my phone pressed to my ear with the other.
“Uh, wow—hi, Kelly. I’m fine. Just… back home for the holidays. How are you?”
“I’ve been following your Instagram posts about the Christmas festival. Holly Ridge looks like some place straight out of a snow globe. You really captured something special.”
I smile despite the dread creeping up my spine. “Thanks. It’s, um, been fun.”
“Well, turns out that little photo dump of yours caught the attention of Wander your real life is here, in your hands, in the snow.
But no. The words from my old boss buzz in my head, insistent and bright as a neon sign: Wander & Nest. Feature the festival. Full-time. Los Angeles.
I try to picture it: my crappy, old apartment in Los Angeles with the leaky sink and the birds-of-paradise outside my window.
The endless, urgent traffic that promises at least an hour commute to just about anywhere in the city.
The way Southern California never quite got cold enough for sweaters but always managed to feel bitter anyway.
The coffee shop where I worked weekends to make up for my withered paychecks.
And my nine-to-five, where in the white-walled offices, even the air smelled like ambition.
I try to fit the girl I am now back into that life, but it’s like trying to zip a suitcase over a wardrobe you don’t remember buying. The things I thought I wanted—-no, needed—-are suddenly foreign, like a language I used to study but now only recognize in fractured, forgotten phrases.
But with a job like this, everything could change for me. It’s the massive break I had been waiting for for nearly a decade. The sort of offer that could lead to bigger and better things. Some people work their whole lives for an offer like this and never get it.
And I do want it. This job, it’s still my dream. Even if I don’t love Los Angeles anymore. Even if now my dream is fractured, split between the fault lines of wanting this show, this position… while still wanting to be home again with my parents.
Right here, right now, I’m clutching a bag of Christmas cookies on Main Street and my phone still feels warm in my hand from Kelly’s voice. The world is too bright and too loud and every carol on the speakers needles at my nerves. I can feel my breath fogging around me, uneven, sharp.
I wonder if I should run up the hill and tell Mom and Dad. I wonder if I should call Luke, or if that would just send the whole thing careening off the rails. I wonder if it’s wrong to look at the snowy, happy town and wish it would all just freeze for a second so I could catch up to myself.
I wonder if anyone else has ever been so split in two over something that should feel like a triumph.
The snow keeps falling, kids keep laughing, and I suddenly feel like I don’t belong in any of it.
I shake the intrusive thoughts from my head. I have tasks to do today. There’s still a festival to win. Still my parent’s inn to save. Still a grumpy reindeer farmer who’s counting on me to help him prep all the reindeer for the festival later today.
The little bell above the general store door jingles as I step inside, the blast of cold following me in.
I stomp the snow from my boots and pull my knit hat tighter over my ears, scanning the holiday chaos.
Rows of glittering tinsel, ceramic Santas, and miniature wreaths line the shelves like soldiers in a Christmas army.
I’m here for more ribbon—something with a pop to add to the douglas firs we have outside the inn.
But before I can even make it past the “Season’s Greetings” welcome mat, I’m spotted.
“Eve Winters, sweetheart!” Mrs. Crawley practically sings, waddling over with her basket of pine-scented candles. “Or should I say, Eve Dawson?”
I laugh—too loud, too fake. “Uhhh… it’s definitely still Winters.”
“Oh, but not for long!” she says, her eyes twinkling like she knows something I don’t. “That kiss at the tree lighting! Half the town saw it. Honestly, I haven’t felt such romantic electricity since the hayride scandal of ‘98!”
“Scandal?” I echo weakly, caught somewhere between amused and mortified.
She leans in conspiratorially. “Let’s just say Sam Laphire got a little too cozy with his nanny under the hay and a full moon.”
I smile and nod as I edge away with a mumbled excuse about “glitter emergencies.” But the moment I think I’m in the free and clear, grabbing a roll of ribbon, I’m ambushed again.
“Oh my stars,” coos someone behind me. “You and Luke are going to make the cutest babies. Can you even imagine the dimples?”
I freeze, mid-reach. Slowly, I turn to find Mrs. Timms from the library, clutching a bag of cinnamon sticks like they’re popcorn for the drama unfolding.
She sighs wistfully. “Big, strong reindeer farmer. Gorgeous, spirited city girl. It’s like a movie. We’ve all been rooting for this for years.”
“Years?” I repeat, stunned.
She pats my shoulder. “We’ve been waiting for frosty Luke to thaw. And now that he has? You better not break him again, honey. That boy barely survived the last time.”
The smile drops off my face like a brick. “The… the last time? But Luke and I…we never dated before.”
“Yes, but we all knew he was desperately in love with you. That boy skulked around town for nearly the whole year after you moved to Los Angeles!”
I don’t know how I escape the conversation other than murmuring something about ornament hooks and aisle four—-but the air feels heavier now. Suffocating. Suddenly every plastic snowflake and peppermint garland seems to be watching me.
You’re responsible now, they seem to whisper. Don’t screw this up.
I turn the corner and run straight into a wall.
Well, not a wall.
Gemma.
Her arms are crossed, her expression tight and unreadable. “They’re calling you the ‘future Mrs. Dawson’ now?”
Here we go.
I straighten my shoulders. “Apparently. Don’t worry, I didn’t start it.”
She snorts. “No, but you’re not exactly denying it.”
“I’m not confirming it either.”
Her eyes narrow. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing?”
The temperature between us drops faster than the night of the blizzard earlier this week.
“I’m picking out ribbon,” I say, holding it up. “For the contest.”
Gemma steps closer. “No, I mean with Luke. You blew into town again with your charming one-liners and oversized Christmas sweaters, and now he’s walking around like someone lit a candle inside him.”
My heart stumbles a beat. “And that’s... a bad thing?”
“It is if it doesn’t last,” she snaps. “I’ve been here waiting for him to be ready for a relationship for almost ten years.
I’ve brought him casseroles with vegetables I’ve grown in my home garden to show him that I know how to handle crops.
I’ve brewed him strong coffee with a little pinch of nutmeg, just how he likes it. ”
I blink, fully surprised. “Luke likes nutmeg in his coffee?” I could’ve sworn he took it black.
“Yes,” Gemma snaps. “And I’ve been biding my time for years, waiting for him to realize I’m the perfect match for him. And then you just swoop on in like the nor’easter you are and ruin years of my hard work.”
I swallow hard. “It just… happened. Neither of us meant to hurt you. Which is more than I can say for what you did to me years ago—”