Chapter 3
three
LAILA
“I think you have this a little backward.”
There’s a tin sitting on the shelf in my locker, one that I know is filled to the brim with something Holden whipped up at his parents’ bakery. The scent hit me as soon as I opened the door, warm pumpkin and cinnamon, like he packaged up autumn just for me.
He leans on the locker beside mine, his shaggy hair covering his eyes. “What? There’s a rule that members of the dance team can’t get cookies?”
“I’m sure there’s a football player absolutely forlorn that he’s not getting cookies.”
“Then he needs better friends,” Holden says, reaching past me to retrieve his gift. His arm grazes mine, just enough to send a shiver through me. He pops the lid open, and sugar and spice puff between us.
“You’re a terrible influence, Holden Lockwood.”
The side of his mouth hitches up in a grin, like he’s about to share a secret with me.
“You didn’t complain when I left you those pumpkin-shaped Reese’s.”
He’s right, I didn’t. They’re my favorite, and he’s the only one who doesn’t tease me when I insist they taste better than the regular ones.
“I probably should,” I say, trying to force casualness into my voice despite how hard my heart is pounding. “Dance outfits aren’t very forgiving, Holden. I have to watch everything I eat.”
That and my mother reminded me on the way out the door that I was looking “a little soft” and she’d leave room in my afternoon schedule for time on the elliptical.
He studies me for a beat, his dark eyes fixated on mine. For a second, I can’t breathe. Then he shakes his head, his voice soft. “You’re beautiful, Laila. From head to toe. I’ll just keep reminding you, zlato.”
“What does that mean again?” I whisper. It doesn’t really matter, because it makes me feel warm and fuzzy when he says it. That makes it important.
“Honey.” He closes the couple of inches between us, the noises in the hall fading until I can only hear my heart pounding. His scent is a contrast to the tin he’s still holding, all sugar and vanilla like his bakery, and his lips brush mine in a quick, but careful kiss.
One that feels like a promise.
The bell for the next class interrupts us, bursting my warm and fuzzy bubble. He hands me my tin of cookies, then steps back with the same crooked grin as before.
Holden gives me hope that love can exist outside of transactions. He doesn’t expect anything of me except me. I’m not even sure who that is yet, but he’s patient as I try to figure that out. Steady, like a rock. It scares me to think that I love him, but that has to be what this feeling means.
We’ll have time to figure it out.
A horn blasts, and I lurch forward, bracing myself against the back of the seat in front of me.
“Sorry!” the ride-share driver shouts. “It’s like they don’t know what a crosswalk is!”
“It’s Homecoming week,” I murmur, as the last vestiges of my memory fade away.
“People still need to watch where they’re going,” he grumbles.
I blink, disoriented by the shift in surroundings as we slowly roll through downtown Enchanted Hollow. It hasn’t changed much. In fact, I’m pretty sure it still smells like sugar and second chances.
Every street corner feels like a ghost of who I was, of who I thought I’d become. Haunted by memories, not monsters.
I’ve been counting down the minutes until I could see Holden again, but this is the first time work has to be a priority, and I can’t say that I like it. Our in-person visits are always filled to the brim with time together, and I can’t do that. Not when I have a wedding on the verge of a crisis.
Or at least I think I do.
I’m not actually sure.
My mother has been driving me up the wall about Holly Everheart’s wedding, and I booked a trip here for multiple reasons. To appease my mother, to figure out why in the world Ella is working a wedding when she’s not supposed to be, and to see Holden.
And yes, I’m aware of how screwed up the order of those priorities are. It’s a work in progress.
I take in all the details of Enchanted Hollow in the fall as we crawl down the street.
Colorful garlands with yellow, orange, and red leaves spiral around each lamppost. Fall murals and advertisements adorn most store windows, but there’s still a good amount of Phoenix school spirit scattered about.
The red and yellow ribbons tied to park benches blend seamlessly with all the fall decor.
Holden has always been the golden part, the steady hue in all my chaos. And I’m back with more chaos than I had the last time I was here.
It’s been a long time since I saw autumn in action here. Twelve years.
Swap all the fall colors for more pine garland than any single town should own, and that’s what I’m used to.
There’s also usually a giant tree by the gazebo that everyone gathers to watch the mayor light up, like clockwork.
Santa has scheduled visits, and it’s a season where not just Enchanted Hollow magic is in the air.
I don’t hate the difference, but it’s stirring up ghosts long buried.
The square looks the same; I’m the one who changed. Every storefront window is a mirror trying to remind me of who I was.
Since we switched up our annual visits last December to bi-annual, this visit means the only season I’ve missed seeing Holden in person was spring. And that doesn’t stir up ghosts, but it sure adds another layer to how I feel about being here.
I can’t dig into any of those feelings right now, because I’ve got to focus on this wedding.
And Ella.
She’s supposed to be here, settling in and enjoying the small town life. Her last wedding for my mother’s company, Gilded Vows, was only a few days ago. Ella officially turned in her last event; why is she still fielding crises for Holly?
Something doesn’t add up, and Mom’s silence makes it worse.
There’s no reason for her to be planning this one, and unease is slithering under my skin. When I asked my mother about it, she skirts the answer and focuses on how important this wedding is to her company.
Her company. Like the three of us—Ella, Bridget, my twin, and I—haven’t worked our behinds off for her for the last decade.
It isn’t about the business. That’s what makes it weird. Mom doesn’t need the publicity from Holly Everheart’s wedding, yet she’s acting like her life depends on it. Her texts sound less like reminders and more like survival tactics, and I can’t shake the feeling there’s something else at play.
The conception of Gilded Vows is already questionable at best. When she moved us to Colorado twelve years ago, the company was already established and waiting.
Holly Everheart is her biggest bride to date, so I understand the need for it to be picture-perfect.
I just don’t understand the need for control. Her reputation is already stellar.
It feels like more than potential bruised pride if something goes wrong. Something worse.
“I can just get out right here,” I say, eager to walk off my nerves.
“You sure?” he asks.
“Definitely.” I pass him a wad of cash after the car comes to a stop, and let myself out the door, tugging my carry-on with me.
He takes off as soon as my door closes, and I let the full sensory experience of the town wash over me. That doesn’t help the nerves.
It’s like this town infuses cinnamon straight into the air. I know it’s a popular spice between fall and Christmas, but it makes me only think about Holden.
Focus Laila.
Find Ella, figure out what’s going on, and then you can surprise Holden.
Work, then play.
I can do this.
People bustle around me as they explore what downtown Enchanted Hollow offers them. No one is paying attention to the woman standing outside the bed-and-breakfast with a suitcase and anxiety flitting around in her chest.
Smiles paint their faces as they sip on their fall-themed goodness from Once Upon a Brew, popping in and out of shops or making wishes in the town wishing well. The heavenly scent of grilled food floats in the air from The Grotto, only a couple of blocks away overlooking the lake.
My first instinct is to reach into my pocket and film. The culture here is something to be studied—after being away so long, it’s nearly impossible to ignore the hum of magic in the air.
I glance in the opposite direction toward the path that I know would lead me to The Magic Crumb, to Holden. One touch, one kiss, that’s all it would take to soothe all of this. To have a clear mind again.
My phone dings, and I glance down at the succession of text messages from my mother as they pile in.
Mom
Make sure you get her back on track.
I will not tolerate a single misstep in this wedding.
It’s important that we cover as much of this as possible. It could be life-changing for the business.
Remind Ella what’s at stake.
And just like that, my brain snaps back to the first priority: finding Ella.
Checklist: find Ella → assess Holly → contain Mom → then Holden. Fear would answer Mom’s texts and love would run straight to him.
But duty wins. For now.
I’ve dug through every inch of this wedding, and Ella is going above and beyond for Holly. The woman literally adores my sister, like most brides she interacts with. She’s amazing at what she does, and that’s not even me being biased. The feedback she gets after weddings agrees.
So what am I missing? Why is my mother being so relentless about Ella getting it right?
I pull up Ella’s contact on my phone and send off a quick text, asking where she is.
She hasn’t answered me since I demanded she answer my video call after the bomb she dropped in our sister chat, and it’s making me antsy. She’s probably off having coffee, mooning over Luke—she may be in denial, but I called that setup years ago.
I’m glad she’s finally acting on it.
She deserves to be happy.