Chapter 21
twenty-one
HOLDEN
DECEMBER
“Hey, Holden. You’ve been single for a while now, right?” Gus Thompson asks it the way someone might ask the time, innocent, too casual to be accidental. His coffee mug rattles against the counter when he leans back in his chair, eyes twinkling.
“Single’s a funny word,” I tell him. “Pretty sure the definition changes depending on who’s talking.”
He grins, unfazed. “Don’t overthink it, son. Just saying. The town hasn’t seen you with anybody since Laila Mitchell. Shame, too. You two looked good together. Like a postcard you’d find down at the Treasure Trove Trading Company.”
I hide a smile behind my hand. “Appreciate the compliment, Gus.”
“Compliment? I’m just speaking the truth.” He chuckles. “You ever see a man look that smitten and not end up married?”
Before I can answer, Quinn slides behind the counter with her usual tornado-in-lip-gloss energy. “Would you please stop riling up the customers, Gus? You’re worse than one of those little dogs that bark at air. Would you like a refill of that coffee, or a muzzle?”
She bats her eyelashes so sweetly it’s hard to recognize the bite behind her words.
He holds up both hands. “I’m just asking questions!”
“Sure.” She eyes him like a hawk, sizing up a field mouse. “You want your regular?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he blurts.
She smirks like she’s proud of herself and turns to me. “And you? The usual?”
“Extra, extra large.”
Quinn punches the order in, humming under her breath. “So, Linda said Laila called her about a week ago.”
She still hasn’t written me back, but that’s okay. The letters keep disappearing, which makes me think they’re being delivered safely to her. Hopefully not in a trash can.
My pulse stumbles. “She did?”
“Yep,” she says, like it’s no big deal. “She wanted to know about the apartment above the shop. No one’s lived there for years, even before Linda sold me the shop.
In fact, I think the only time it’s ever had residents was that first year she came back, and we were there together for that one weekend. ”
I tap the counter—one finger after another—in a slow little wave while I process.
“Linda told her that the space is hers if she wants it.” Her eyes lift to mine. “And you know Linda; she’s picky about who she lets into her life. She won’t charge her.”
“That sounds like Linda,” I say, smiling faintly. “Always taking care of everyone else before herself.”
“Good timing,” Quinn adds, flipping her rag over one shoulder. “She also mentioned there’s a little leak up there—pipe behind the kitchen wall, I think. She said Sam’s supposed to swing by this week, but who knows when he’ll actually get to it.”
“He will,” I say automatically. “Sam’s basically the town’s Robin Hood these days, always running around fixing things for everyone else.”
Quinn snorts. “All he’s missing is the tights.”
I laugh under my breath. “Please don’t give him ideas.”
“Between his handyman heroics and Logan’s Airbnb guests, I’m surprised either of them sleeps,” she says. “Didn’t Sebastian just stay out there?”
“Yeah,” I murmur. “That man’s everywhere lately.”
The thought lingers—quiet, but heavy. Enchanted Hollow has a way of weaving people together right before everything shifts.
Quinn wipes her hands on a towel, then leans her hip against the counter. “Linda didn’t say why she called, did she?”
“Even if she did, Linda wouldn’t share that,” I say. “But someone who plans on never coming back doesn’t ask about places to plant roots.”
“Exactly,” Quinn says, softer now. “She’s probably just coming home the long way.”
And it kills me she won’t let me help pack what she needs or toss what she doesn’t. I know she can do things alone, but she shouldn’t have to.
“Don’t worry, though,” she adds, almost as a quiet afterthought. “You know everyone will look after her when she gets back. No one will let anything happen. And if the rumors are true, Sebastian is on her side. That’s got to make you feel better, right?”
In a weird way, it sort of does. I saw the way Sebastian went toe to toe with Charlotte without even a flinch. They were too far away for me to know what was happening or being said, but I’m a pretty excellent observer of body language, and he got under her skin.
If he’s capable of rattling Charlotte, I’ll feel better once she’s back here and no longer in enemy territory.
I force a smile that feels like it might crack. “Yeah,” I drawl. “Guess if she’s got the town and Sebastian on her side, she doesn’t need me worrying.”
She studies me, something soft creeping into her grin. “Just don’t make me be the flower girl at your second-chance wedding. I hate pink.”
That pulls a genuine laugh out of me, quiet but genuine.
Gus chuckles into his coffee. “She’s right, son. We all saw how you looked at that girl. The whole town did. She’ll find her way back.”
I nod once, unable to trust my voice.
While Quinn works the espresso machine, I wander to a table by the window. I’m not sure what’s worse. Fall ushering itself out, or Christmas creeping in. Usually, I’m counting down until her arrival, but I don’t know when that’s going to be this year.
It should feel cheerful. It mostly feels like waiting.
I check my phone even though I shouldn’t. A photo from Dreamy Pines Farm, with the caption: It’s not the same.
She sends crumbs.
I send pages.
It would probably be easier to text, but somehow I thought letters were more old-fashioned and romantic. Like you put your heart on the page and trust it to find its way.
Quinn drops my to-go cup on the table with a muted thud. “I give you the good stuff. It’s like therapy, but cheaper.”
“Anything is cheaper than therapy,” I murmur.
She leans on the chair across from me, lowering her voice. “You know, if you’re not sleeping, I’ve got Violet’s bedtime tea behind the counter. Works better than prayer and melatonin combined.”
I hate that she isn’t wrong. A stranger could pack a vacation in the bags under my eyes. I always sleep better when Laila is close—that body doubling sort of thing, maybe?
Or maybe it’s just because I love her.
I’ve never had trouble sleeping when she leaves. I’m chalking this up to not knowing when she’s coming back. If she is.
A crooked smile is about all I have the energy to muster. “I’ll grab some tomorrow when I drop off the delivery.”
She nods, then straightens. “Good. Because I’m not dealing with you showing up here half-alive again. You scare the tourists.”
“Appreciate your concern.”
“Concern?” She grins. “No, this is self-preservation. And part protection—these people don’t show up to dine with a zombie. Halloween was over a month ago.”
Before I can fire back, a smooth voice cuts in, low and amused. “Don’t tease him too hard, Quinn. The man’s clearly haunted enough.”
Sebastian Gold slides into the empty chair across from me like he’s been here all along. Sometimes I wonder if a mere mention of his name summons him, sort of like saying Beetlejuice one too many times.
“Morning to you, too,” I say.
He glances after Quinn as she excuses herself and hurries away. “Eavesdropping again?”
“I have ears everywhere.” A faint smile curves his mouth. “But I don’t need them to know who’s on your mind.”
I shake my head. “You all really need new hobbies.”
“Love stories make better conversation than politics,” he says. “And yours has everyone quietly rooting for a happy ending.”
Something tightens in my throat. “Yeah, well. She wanted space. I’m giving it to her.”
Sebastian studies me for a long moment. “You’ve done something.”
It’s not a question.
“Yeah.”
“You don’t have the coin anymore, do you?”
I don’t know how he knows—except he’s the one who slipped it to me in the first place. Fascinating problem for another day. “Nope.”
His eyes narrow, curious. “You gave it to her?”
“The night she left. But I didn’t exactly hand it to her like you did with me… I tucked it in her bag.”
Sebastian is a hard person to read on a regular day. But now, when my emotions feel like they’re tumbling around in a roulette wheel, it feels nearly impossible.
He leans forward slightly. “Why?”
I exhale, thumb worrying the edge of my coffee sleeve.
“Why did I give it to her, or why did I put the coin in her bag?”
He smiles. “I’d be interested in both answers.”
“I gave it to her since it helped me when we were snowed in last December.”
He nods slightly, but stays quiet. So I keep going.
“I put it in her bag because I knew she wouldn’t stay until morning. We’d already more or less said our goodbye—I felt it. And I wanted to test a theory of my own.”
“And has it proven anything yet?” he asks softly.
“I don’t know. The whole point was to see if the enchanted letters would work for us. She always talked about Ella’s fascination with them, and I could hear the yearning in her voice when she did.” I shake my head. “You wouldn’t get it,” I mumble.
“You’d be surprised,” Sebastian says. “Please continue.”
I sigh. “I always make her these mixed CDs every year—and I give her a new one every Christmas. Songs that reminded me of her all year. We still watch DVDs when she’s here.
I thought maybe letters would make a bigger impression than texts—you know?
That it would appeal to the hopeless romantic in her that always gravitates toward the simpler things? ”
“You hoped the coin would provide a sort of link between the two of you so it would send them straight to her,” he murmurs.
“I mean, yeah. Sort of like—”
“A path straight to you. No bypasses or wrong turns.” The corner of his mouth lifts in a cautious smile. “No accidents.”
“Right. But I don’t know if it’s working.”
A glimmer of something—sympathy, maybe understanding—passes through his expression. “That’s the thing about old magic. It’s patient.”
“Patience, I’ve got,” I say. “Silence is what’s slowly killing me.”
He stands, adjusting his cufflinks with that maddening calm. “Then don’t mistake quiet for absence. Sometimes it’s just the sound of someone learning how to speak.”
Before I can reply, he tips his head toward Quinn at the counter. “Put his drink on my tab.”
She snorts. “You don’t have a tab.”
He grins. “Then start one.”
By the time I look up, he’s gone.
I stare out the window, thinking about that night—the way the coin warmed in my hand before I tucked it into the small pocket inside her bag. It was the right thing to do.
Either way, I keep writing.
Because when she’s ready, she’ll know where to send her words. Or mine will bring her home.
I stare out at Main Street, thinking of that night—the coin warming in my palm before I slid it into the small pocket inside her bag. It was the right call. Either way, I keep writing. When she’s ready, she’ll know where to send her words.
Or mine will bring her home.
My phone dings—Sam. For half a second, I wonder if this is about the apartment leak Quinn mentioned earlier. The town’s timing borders on the supernatural sometimes.
Sam
I need a favor.
Sure. What’s up?
Sam
You know how Laila did that feature around the wedding?
Yeah…
Sam
I’m all booked, and she’s here.
My palms go damp.
At the B&B?
Sam
Yes, and I’ve got nothing.
What about your brothers’ place? Is it booked?
I know it isn’t—they were just remarking this morning how weird this lull is, especially before the holiday rush. An uneasy pinch settles between my shoulders.
It’s wide open.
Sam
Can you come get Laila? Take her out there?
Maybe swing by the farm first. Ella’s chomping at the bit.
The Magic Carriage app isn’t pulling any rides either.
And didn’t Sebastian just leave there? The timing hums too perfectly, like the magic’s been one step ahead of me all day.
I’ve gotta run by the bakery. Be there in a few.
Sam
I owe you.
He doesn’t. But this might be my last clean shot to show Laila we belong together. I’ve got to make it count.
No more wasting time.