Chapter 8
eight
LAILA
I’m usually a night owl, but with everything I’m juggling, I’m burning the candle at both ends. Annie and I both found a time we both had free—nothing short of miraculous, honestly—and I head toward Ever After Farm while the sun is still rising in the sky.
Silence is probably my least favorite thing in the world, so I turn on background music. It’s too early for something loud, and I completely slept through my first alarm, so I missed grabbing coffee on the way out the door.
Holden came home late last night after all his Homecoming duties.
I skipped going because it’s more than my heart is prepared to handle—present-day pressure is enough without physically wandering down memory lane.
And then I stayed up with Ella in her room at the bed-and-breakfast, working on fake Holly wedding details.
The only way I could squeeze a few minutes in with Holden all day yesterday was to head to his apartment at a ridiculously late hour. And we were both too tired to talk much. We turned on a movie and fell asleep tangled up together on his couch.
I’ve grown so used to texts and video calls and our face-to-face time being so rare that every day since we passed the day three mark has been like opening up an extra present on Christmas morning. We’ve never had this much time together.
I’m greedy for it. And I never imagined that we’d still be doing—whatever we’re doing—years later.
The first time Holden and I really had a conversation beyond mumbled words or a food order at The Magic Crumb, I was around fourteen.
My stepdad, Ella’s father, had only been gone a few months, and it hit me harder than I expected.
After all, he’d only been part of my life for around three years.
In that short time frame, he’d taught me all kinds of things about the farm and life.
We used to sit on the porch and shuck pecans from the trees in a small cluster orchard in a back pasture.
He told me all sorts of stories that I wish I’d paid more attention to.
I remember staring at the blackboard menu that hangs on the back wall for entirely too long, and Holden never pushed. He quietly watched me with a steady, but soft gaze. I recognize that gaze now as one that means he’s feeling me out.
Even back then, he knew to give me space.
My friends didn’t notice the sea of grief I was lost in. Ella would’ve related and probably welcomed someone to cry with—but I didn’t feel like I had the right to be so upset. He wasn’t my father, and she’d lost both of her parents.
Who was I to be upset?
But Holden said none of those things. In fact, he asked if I wanted to sneak out the back door and go have a coffee with him somewhere else.
I don’t know what made me say yes.
It could’ve been the way his crooked smile tugged at my heartstrings. I think it was probably the fact that he knew what I needed without me having to put my feelings into words. That’s always been difficult for me.
It could’ve also been that he wasn’t like any of the other boys at school. They barely knew my name, let alone what I enjoyed. But on that cloudy Thursday afternoon in early September, Holden sat at a table at Once Upon a Brew with me, and he listened.
He absorbed every word, like he was cataloguing notes to save for later. Like he knew that eventually we’d become something more than friends. I’m so grateful he was my best friend before we took the next step.
That Once Upon a Pumpkin latte turned into morning walks through the park.
Holden was always up early working at the bakery, so I’d go into town so we could chat.
It was a pleasant distraction from everything else going on in my life—the way Bridget and I felt fractured because she was never as close to Ella’s dad as I was.
Or the chasm between Ella and me. Our slumber parties in our rooms or under the stars were gone.
My mother locked herself in her office, doing who knows what.
His family was ahead of the curve on the farm stand trend that’s so popular now.
They had one on the outskirts of town so people could go visit it and collect delicious baked goods without having to come all the way into town.
I loved to stop by and take pictures of his food with a note, then leave the photo somewhere for him to find, like a baked good treasure hunt.
We’ve always balanced each other—his quiet to my chaos, his steady to my restless.
I don’t know how it works other than that it does. We do.
Holden slowly filled the cracks in my world with silly movies, long talks, and cookies still warm from the oven. And I like to think I gave him something, too: a reason to keep believing that the small, ordinary moments are the ones that matter.
Maybe that’s why I’m here now—trying to make sure the rest of my life doesn’t shrink to fit around borrowed weekends.
When I turn beneath the Ever After Farm arch, the early morning sunlight catches on the carved lettering.
The whole world feels golden, like sunrise and second chances.
Henry would probably call this a breadcrumb—proof I’m still following the trail home without realizing it.
I’ve done some reading since Henry and I spoke, and he’d be pleased to know that I learned arches symbolize transition and new beginnings.
Which tracks, since there’s a sense of peace as I pass through.
I follow the painted hay bales—pumpkins, sunflowers, and candy corn—to the parking lot.
It’s strange being here in the morning light.
For years, I avoided this place like it held too many ghosts—but today it just feels…
alive. There’s no reason to be nervous, especially since I’m meeting Annie as a favor.
But somehow, I think I know this is bigger than chatting with her about the farm’s social media.
There’s a stirring inside that has me jittery.
She told me to meet her at The Storybook Cafe since it’s closest to the parking lot, so I follow the familiar dirt path to get there. Signs give directions to all the attractions—the apple orchard, the pumpkin patch, the corn maze—and I sigh.
I wish we had more free time to actually enjoy all of this.
“We only have a little while,” Annie says as she meets me halfway. “One of our fairytale princesses called in sick, Gaby’s on the phone with Ella, and I’m about five minutes away from drafting a help-wanted ad for a fairy godmother with managerial experience.”
I blink. “That was a lot of information before caffeine.”
“Sorry.” She laughs, pressing a warm cup of coffee into my hand. “Magic Mirror Macchiato, extra charm. Drink it before I crown you out of spite.”
The warmth of the cup seeps through my fingers as she steers me inside.
The cafe is cozier than I remember. It’s newer—this space didn’t exist when I lived here in high school.
Fairy lights swoop through beams and the tables, both in and out, are all mismatched in a way that feels intentional.
Holden’s handiwork in on display as soon as you enter, little gingerbread people purposefully decorated for fall in baskets for little hands to grab.
Toward the back, more treats fill a glass display.
But to the left, there’s an area that’s clearly an expansion—but it’s framed by crafted branches reaching toward each other—another arch.
As I wander through, I can’t help but think it feels like stepping through the looking glass.
There’s a whole other world waiting inside.
Dark walls with constellations painted on them, faux clouds near the ceiling.
Cozy lighting near reading nooks with books piled high and artisan candles for sale.
But what truly catches my eye is the gleaming sign in the back corner: The Second Star to the Right.
“I didn’t realize you’d finally created a physical shop,” I murmur.
We’ve talked about this for years, but it’s inspiring to see it brought to life.
“There’s still a lot online,” she says, setting her clipboard down. “Roselyn, Gaby, and I decided to stop waiting for perfect. It’s close enough, which around here is basically a miracle.”
“And these are Aurora Thorne’s books?” I run a finger along the spines.
Annie nods. “Yes. We’ve carried her books for a long time, but this gives them a new home. Her last one sold out in three days—it’s a new treasury of stories floating around here. I’ve also got a handful of other authors on preorder.”
It sits on the shelf, with a beautifully embossed spine. Just like an ordinary fairytale, but with a title that gleams: The Enchanted Hollow Bedtime Collection.
“Oh, wow.” The words slip out before I can stop them.
It’s strange—familiar, but new. I’ve heard pieces of these stories my whole life, little bedtime versions Ella’s dad used to tell and swear were local folklore.
Seeing them all together like this makes them feel…
real. Enchanted Hollow finally has its own storybook on display.
“It’s been a huge hit,” Annie agrees. “I can’t believe no one has done it before.”
“Gaby helps with stock, right?” I ask.
“She comes across quite a few unfamiliar names filling the Little Libraries.”
“This feels like a place you’d go when you don’t know what you’re looking for. You’ve truly captured a magical, timeless essence here.”
“Jax wasn’t quite this eloquent when he stopped by,” Annie says dryly.
“He said it looked like the kind of place you wander into after one too many rounds at The Tipsy Toad—‘a touch of magic, a touch of melancholy,’ his words. Claimed he was just here for coffee, but I’ve learned to take that with a grain of salt. ”
Her cheeks turn a deeper shade of pink, and I tuck that away for later.
“You should hire him for marketing. You’d have me sold.”
She rolls her eyes, laughing. “Absolutely not. He’s too grouchy and allergic to charm. But you—you could spin this place into a fairytale and make people believe in it. That’s why I asked you here.”
“Me?” I blink.
“Yes.” She nods. “I saw what you’ve been filming for Holly’s wedding.”
I blow out a breath. It’s an experiment, really—a way to tell a story about a couple before their wedding video.
It seems silly to wait for that love story.
I film who they are as people, how they fell in love.
I’ve filmed pieces of the planning process too, but with the nostalgic angle that Henry suggested.
“I just posted that at midnight,” I whisper. “We already had this set up.”
“We did, but I already noticed you leaning in that direction.”
“But,” I start, “how did you notice that? I didn’t even know that’s what I wanted to do.”
She gives me a look that reminds me remarkably of her mother, Molly. “Look, I may not be the oldest, but I’m definitely the one with both eyes open. Dean and Rosie would’ve burned the farm down twice if I hadn’t kept an extinguisher handy.”
Her teasing earns a laugh from me, and I’m surprised at how much lighter I’ve felt since I came back. It’s not just this farm or Annie. It’s the whole town and the people that fill it.
Her expression softens. “Say yes. You’ve got a gift—you make people feel something real. Around here, that’s rarer than magic.”
Her words hit somewhere deep. “I‘m not sure where to start.”
“You already started,” she says, nodding toward my phone. “But if you’ve got a minute, take a few shots for our socials? I swear this place gets prettier when you look at it.”
I glance down at the device in my hand, my reflection framed by the words Second Star to the Right glinting behind me.
For the first time in a long time, I don’t feel like I’m pretending.
Maybe that’s the point.
I snap a photo of the sign, artistically framed by the faux clouds, the lighting sending a burst of light across the room, and text it to Holden with two words: feeling inspired.
The little text bubbles appear on his side of the conversation, and my heart rate escalates as I wait for his response.
Holden
I knew you’d find some.
Proud of you.
I stare at his reply until the screen fades to black, my reflection replacing his words. Maybe Second Star to the Right isn’t just a magical name for an incredible shop.
Maybe it’s what happens when the past stops haunting you and starts lighting the way instead.
Maybe it’s a promise—that somewhere beyond fear and old stories, there’s a new one waiting for me to begin.