Chapter 5
five
LAILA
Instinctively, my hand moves to finger the ring that frequents my left ring finger way more often than it should.
It’s not there, but spinning it is a pure habit at this point.
I grab my phone out of my pocket and quietly film what’s playing out in front of me, instead.
The moment feels too important not to document.
The missing rings started as props, but ended up as souvenirs from a white lie last December, which earned us a honeymoon suite in a snowstorm. Somewhere between now and then, they became a habit.
Maybe even a wish.
The metal always warmed under my thumb, like it remembered something I didn’t.
I’ve never been married, outside of pretending for a weekend. Honestly, I never even entertained the idea until roughly ten months ago. Anytime someone brought it up, I actually insisted—with a lot of enthusiasm—that I didn’t believe in marriage.
But that’s always been a lie.
And standing here in this bridal shop with Ella and Luke? It’s bringing every single memory from that weekend back with a force I can’t reckon with. I actually feel like I’m drowning in it.
I wasn’t expecting to feel this way.
I film weddings and content like this all the time, but it’s not my sister and the man who’s loved her most of his life.
Obviously, they’re finally admitting it to themselves.
We’re probably the only ones who realize this isn’t what it looks like, but I’m well-versed in how it feels to get caught up in a moment.
And how much you’d like to test it out.
I’m also well-versed in the aftermath, and Ella is in way over her head.
Luke fastens a bracelet on Ella’s arm and then presses a kiss to her wrist, murmuring something to her. The emotion of the moment almost brings me to my knees.
Henry would call this modern folklore—love caught on camera, part legend, part proof.
I’m whisked back to a moment on a sleigh ride—a very similar moment—and I stop filming. This feels intrusive. I never used to believe in soulmates until recently, but I can feel within my bones that they’re it.
I have questions for her later about her pen pal and what this new development means for that relationship. She sent letters through the enchanted mail system back when we were in high school. Supposedly, they’re delivered directly to your soulmate. It’s brought a lot of people together.
But if Luke isn’t on the other end of those letters, I’ll quit every social media account I’ve got right now. They’re gone for each other.
Soulmates.
Poor Holly had no choice but to assume they were together if this is how they look all the time. They might as well wear bright neon signs that scream, “I’m madly in love with this person”.
There’s nothing else I can do here, so I head to the place my heart has been trying to pull me this entire time. I quietly whisper my goodbyes to Holly and Susie, the owner of Moonlight and Lace, and head out.
It’s a lovely shop, with light, shimmery walls and a moody floral focus wall at the back. It’s a perfect juxtaposition of light and dark wrapped in elegance. I’d actually love to find out why she started it, or what inspired her.
This is all very messed up.
I’m escaping two people madly in love with each other to chase the way I feel when I’m with Holden. Yet we only see each other once a year—well, until recently.
Like I said. We changed the rules.
That inner voice that I like to think looks a lot like a cartoon version of me—like Lizzie McGuire—is screaming at me right now about not committing already. One thing at a time, little Laila, all right?
One thing at a time.
The bell over the door to The Magic Crumb dings as I swing the door open. I’ve always loved the warmth of all the wood in this bakery, but not more than I love the cacophony of smells that swirl around me. Cinnamon, sugar, pumpkin. It’s like stepping into a warm hug.
When Holden appears behind the counter to greet me, his face brightens tenfold.
“Laila?” he asks. “What are you doing here?”
By the time he ducks around the counter and gets to me, we’re both smiling like two idiots. I don’t even care. All the anxiousness I’ve felt today soothes and settles as he wraps both arms around me.
“Wedding business,” I mumble into his hair.
Holy moly, he smells amazing. He always does, but I think when you love someone, these things are amplified. It’s just an educated guess since he’s the only man I’ve ever truly loved. But it sounds like it could be true.
“This is a great surprise,” he says.
His warm hand grasps mine, and he tugs me toward the back, leading me toward the cramped hall that will dump us at the staircase that leads to his apartment.
My heart rate continues to even out as we walk the path I’ve followed many times. I’m safe here. Like all the things that stress me out on a daily basis don’t exist here.
If home were made of crumbs instead of walls, every trail would still lead here.
Maybe I’m living through rose-colored glasses, but that only happens when I’m with Holden. Anywhere else? I’m a completely different person.
When he swings the door open to his space and I’m surrounded by familiar pieces and all things Holden, the rest of my anxiety dissipates.
The gold light spilling through his window warms everything—it’s the color of what we’ve become: steady, not burning. Part of me wants to dig Gumdrop, the gingerbread plush he won me, out of my bag and set it on his bookshelf—his frosting grin a quiet witness.
“Are you okay? You look stressed.” Holden murmurs, gathering me in his arms.
I bury my face in his chest, the pressure of his embrace like a weighted blanket. Only it smells like fresh bread and sweet dough.
“Not anymore. I’ve needed this since I got out of my Magic Carriage Ryde.”
He chuckles. It’s an interesting name for the local ride-share company, I’ll give them that.
He presses his lips to the top of my head, and while I’m normally fine with his tenderness, that’s not what I want right now.
I pull away from him just enough to tip my head back.
He’s wearing glasses today, which means he probably forgot to order his contacts again.
It’s not unusual for him to get so caught up in his work that he forgets appointments.
I’d fuss at him forgetting to pick them up, but I like this sexy, nerdy look he’s got going for him. I always have.
I usually make him a calendar for his fridge so that all his appointments are in one place. Since I wasn’t here last year, I tucked one into his suitcase. My heart squeezes when I glance over and see it fastened to his fridge with various mismatched magnets.
He’s also got a digital calendar I put together for him that syncs with every device the man uses, complete with reminders. But I think it’s too “out of sight, out of mind” for him.
“It’s good to see you.” His mouth hitches up in a grin, and I raise up on my toes to kiss him.
His lips are soft and warm, moving against mine in a tender dance of reacquaintance. It’s less hurried than it usually is when we’ve gone a whole year between seeing each other. This time it’s only been a few months.
We agreed last December to change things up: a weekend in July, Sunday morning brunch dates. But the problem with seeing him more is that it’s never enough. Once a year certainly wasn’t. I’m hungry for all the domestic nuances we fall into when we get together, but every day.
It’s that holiday-love ache that never grew up, just waited for us to catch up.
The admissions we made to each other last Christmas unlocked a piece of me I didn’t know existed, and ever since, I’ve compiled a mental wish list of all the things I want with this man.
His large hands tighten against my back, gripping me like he’s afraid I’ll slip away, and I wish I could reassure him I won’t.
I don’t want to.
“It’s really good to see you, too,” I whisper against his mouth.
Our foreheads stay pressed together, like we want to make sure the other is still here.
“What’s your sweet today, honey?” he asks.
“I got a pumpkin spice latte from Quinn.”
He grins. “That trumps me?”
“You know how I feel about pumpkin and caffeine…”
He presses another kiss to my lips, and I can’t help but smile. The obvious answer, especially on the first day we see each other, will always be him. But I don’t want to let that get to his head either.
“You’re here for Holly’s wedding? I thought Ella was handling that.”
I tip my head back so I can look at him. “What do you know about that?”
“Well, the wedding is at the farm. I take food out to the Storybook every day—it’s all anyone is talking about these days. More than the festival.”
“Is everything okay with the wedding?” I chew my lip.
His brows draw together. I want to press a thumb there and smooth it all away.
“I think so. No one has said anything.”
I nod, even though it doesn’t match my gut. Something is wrong.
“How can I help?” he asks, the first hints of worry seeping into his tone. “Is it your mom?”
“Probably,” I say. “Ella was supposed to be done working for her when she came here. It makes no sense, Holden. There’s no reason for her to oversee this wedding.”
“Maybe your mom thought she would be the best person for the job.”
Sweet innocent Holden. That’s exactly what worries me.
“She hates this place,” I whisper, frowning. “You know that.”
I’ve never forgiven her for moving us during my sophomore year of high school. That probably seems like a long time to hold on to something, but I can easily separate pieces of myself based on that one event. Before the move and after. It’s something Bridget, Ella, and I bonded over.
“I know.” He tugs me close again, and I squeeze my eyes closed. “Tell me how to fix it, honey.”
I sigh. “That isn’t why I came here. I’m not even sure what’s wrong to fix.”
“But you can feel it?”
“It’s a terrible feeling,” I murmur against his shirt. “It feels like that autumn all over again.”
Old ghosts don’t haunt me with chains—they whisper reminders of what I almost lost.
He’s silent, tightening his grip on me like I could vanish again.
I was so blissfully ignorant back then. My whole life revolved around Friday Night Lights, school, friends, and Holden. Life was one giant social gathering, and my happiness lived on a silver platter.
We weren’t overly wealthy, but I didn’t want for a lot either.
Ella did, and I was willingly oblivious to that part. Mostly because I didn’t know what to do about it. She was a sore spot with Mom, so I simply avoided it altogether.
I hate that the last time I was here in the fall was such a negative experience.
I was angry at Ella for something completely unrelated to her to begin with, and I’m not proud of that.
Those emotions sent me straight to Holden, and I let down my guard with him.
One of the few times I’ve ever truly let him see who I am behind the curtain.
And then, life as we knew it changed forever.
I felt the storm brewing then, just like I do now.
My life feels like one detour after another; one storm after another. Some metaphorical, some real. First, it was my mother, then the snowstorm that detoured us to Sweetheart Springs. They both changed my life irrevocably with Holden.
“You’re safe with me,” Holden murmurs into my hair. “I’ve got you.”
I know he believes the words. And I want to believe he’s capable of doing exactly what he says. My mother has a history of leaving a destructive wake behind her, though, and I’m just not sure he knows what he’s up against.
This time, I’m not sure I am either.