Chapter 22
twenty-two
LAILA
The storm of October passed, leaving a hush behind. I tried outrunning it–to Colorado, then up to Sweetheart Springs–but quiet followed me anyway. The sort that settles in after people stop holding their breath. In this case, “people” is actually me.
The replay of that day has slowed to a less monotonous loop, so it feels a little lighter. Not gone, not fixed. But quieter.
I haven’t heard from my mother since the wedding.
Not directly, anyway.
Bridget said Charlotte left some luncheon early, looking like she’d bitten into bad citrus, and Sebastian made sure whatever papers she was clutching went exactly where they belonged—somewhere far from us.
I didn’t ask for details. I don’t need to.
For the first time in years, her silence doesn’t scare me.
Maybe that’s what freedom sounds like—when the ghost stops rattling its chains and you finally stop listening for them.
It’s only been a few weeks since I was here last, but Enchanted Hollow still greets me like it missed me.
The first flakes of winter drift from the sky, and I have to wonder if I brought Colorado back with me, or if Mayor Gold is upset again.
Either way, it’s a cozy detail against the blinking fairy lights in shop windows.
The Christmas tree lighting is either today or tomorrow, which will make downtown even more festive.
As I take a deep inhale of the sweet air, like someone infused it with sugar from The Magic Crumb or The Spellbound Scone, it’s easy to remember why leaving never sticks.
The smell reminds me of those soft sugar cookies Holden pretends to hate—the ones with frosting thick enough to count as insulation.
Nostalgia, powdered in confectioners’ sugar.
But this version of Laila isn’t the one who left a few weeks ago. I’m no longer a wedding planner for Gilded Vows or a famous social media influencer—at least not for the account that I poured years of my life into.
Sweet Treats is still a work in progress, but it’s the only thing left that’s mine.
That feels important. I did what I set out to do while I was back in Colorado, although that puts me into a whole new category of life I haven’t seen in a while.
Under construction.
Bridget and Ella would probably say that’s a slight exaggeration, especially since my social media “project” isn’t new. But it feels accurate at this stage of life.
The cushy job I had no longer exists, I don’t know what to say on social media right now, and worst of all—I don’t know where Holden and I stand.
I’m scared he won’t want this wrinkled-around-the-edges version of me, even though my heart says that’s stupid.
I just don’t know what I have to offer anymore.
I was more than ready to wheel my things into the tiny apartment I rented from Quinn over Once Upon a Brew, but I got a text from her on the way here that there was a leak.
So now I’m dragging myself into the Enchanted Hollow Bed-and-Breakfast, wishing on a prayer that Sam Jackson has room at the inn.
Preferably not the honeymoon suite.
“The Reindeer Games are part of the farm’s Christmas Festival. Yes, ma’am—Ever After Farm. Ah, no, it’s family games? You’re not racing actual reindeer,” Sam says into the phone, one hand over the receiver while he mouths ‘sorry’ so dramatically I have to stifle a laugh.
Last time I was here, fall splashed across the lobby and the cozy living area at the front of the building. Now, it reminds me a lot of The Sweetheart Inn.
I can almost hear Henry’s voice narrating it—one of his folklore stories about travelers who find their way home by following the scent of cinnamon.
Deep green pillows, red knit throws, a lit garland on the staircase, and a roaring fire in the historic fireplace. Books stuff the old bookshelves in the same way I hoard memories. The combination loosens the tension in my shoulders.
A well-worn spine catches my eye—The Enchanted Hollow Bedtime Collection by Aurora Thorne. I saw it once at Second Star from the Right, tucked between stacks of fairy-tale retellings. Seeing it here feels a little like running into an old friend in a new chapter.
Sam hangs up and winces. “I’m so sorry, Laila. With all the Christmas activities here in town and on the farm, we’re full. For weeks.” He rubs a hand across the back of his neck, staring at his computer screen.
I have to admit; it warms my heart a little to see this big man so worried about finding a place for me.
“It’s okay, Sam,” I say, and mean it. “I’m happy you’re full. That’s amazing! Slightly disappointed that I can’t race real reindeer, though. What kind of place are you running here?”
“A place that avoids insurance nightmares like that one,” he shrugs, a smile playing around his lips. “I can offer everything—but a room—that comes with the Holly Jolly Holiday Escape, though.”
“Save all of that for your guests, Sam. I’m just fine.”
Except that I’m not. I’ve already done this once before, only I wasn’t alone. With the distance I put between us, I kind of figure Holden won’t be up for a repeat.
“Unless,” he says, holding up a finger, “you want to share a room with the Anderson twins? But fair warning, they snore in harmony.”
“As appealing as that offer sounds, Sam, I think I’m going to have to pass.”
There’s a solution if I want it. One that would let me breathe and feel safe. All I have to do is walk over to the bakery and ask.
But for the first time in twelve years, I question whether or not I should.
Holden would tell me to stay, perhaps even give up his entire apartment and go stay with his parents if he needed to, but I can’t let him do that for me. Not when I still have so much work to do. He deserves more than old habits and my failures.
I shake my head, clearing my thoughts like an Etch-A-Sketch.
Focus, McFly.
There will be other options—I just have to find them. At second glance, I realize the bed-and-breakfast isn’t the only thing that’s changed—Sam has changed, too.
He looks different somehow.
Facial hair.
Ever since teasing Ella about men with beards—particularly Luke with a beard—it’s all I see now. That weird effect where you’re not looking for something and suddenly it’s everywhere. Like Volkswagen beetles.
Sam rubs his jaw with a grin. “I grew it for ‘no-shave November’ and I kinda like it. Thought I’d give it a more permanent test drive.”
“Saw me staring, huh?”
“It’s a new look. I’m not offended.”
“It’s not a bad look,” I shrug.
Facial hair is an instant upgrade, if you ask me. Just look at Steve Carell. That and the whole ‘silver fox’ look. But that doesn’t apply here.
Still, this isn’t really about beards. It’s about time—and how it keeps moving, even when I can’t. Everyone is moving forward, and I’m standing still, tracing the same old breadcrumb path I swore I’d outgrow. Maybe the trail was never meant to lead me back—it’s supposed to point me forward.
Sam studies me like I’m a problem he can fix. I wish it were truly that easy.
“What if I call Mom? She’d find you a place at the farmhouse in a heartbeat.”
Warmth and panic collide in my chest. “I couldn’t impose, Sam.”
“You wouldn’t be, Laila. You’re already family—and we take care of our own.” His voice is gentle and sure.
His words land and magnify the ache in my chest. I know that wasn’t his intention, but I’ve never felt this lost before–and this aware of it–before. My heart always leads me back to the same place, and I can’t keep following the same breadcrumb trail.
I swallow and nod because I don’t trust my voice, then drift toward the window that faces Main Street.
You can’t hear the noise much from in here, but I can picture it as groups drift past on the sidewalks, mouths open in laughter that only comes when you’re truly happy.
Wide-open mouths and people tipping toward each other in happiness.
That was me just two months ago.
I catch my reflection in the glass and barely recognize her—the ghost of a girl still waiting for permission to rest.
I don’t know how to get back to that person, though. Anger bubbles up when Holly’s wedding replays in my mind, unbidden and unwelcome. How do you move past that kind of betrayal? How do you piece your life back together and find a way back to anything that resembles normalcy?
The only person who could help me do that is the last person I want to drag into this. My mother was so angry when I quit my job, hurling insults like javelins. Not that I was surprised. It still hurt more than I expected—like alcohol on a fresh wound.
I told myself I’d protect him from her, and that’s what I have to do.
My phone rings, a cheery Christmas tune floating in the air.
“I’m here,” I say before Ella can ask.
“Did Sam have a room?”
I glance back over at him, smiling when he immediately pretends to be busy. “No such luck.”
“Come stay here then! It’ll be like old times’ sake—”
“I can’t do that,” I say, memories making my voice small. “You need your space.”
“There’s no space here, Laila. There are Jacksons everywhere. And Molly is begging to feed you.”
She’s exactly where she’s supposed to be, and I love her—all of them—for the sentiment. There’s a gentle tug in my heart to agree. Once upon a time, we all played together on their farm. All of us girls had sleepovers.
Nostalgia tightens its grip on me, and I wonder if sharing a room with Ella, even temporarily, might fix this ache. But it could also drag down her impending wedding joy, and I can’t be responsible for that. It’s been a long time coming.
I love that Ella is happy; that she finally found her place. But I wasn’t expecting how lonely I’d feel when she did. My twin Bridget has echoed the sentiment. We’ve both noticed the massive hole in our lives since Ella came home.
Home.
I wish I knew what that looked like for me now.
“Tell Molly I’ll be by soon,” I say.
“Good. Love you!”
She hangs up, her voice leaving behind an echo of happiness you can’t fake.
The front door bursts open in a flurry of snow and cold air. A figure cloaked in wool and winter stomps the snow off his boots, and unwraps the scarf covering his face. A familiar lopsided smile turns my way, and the cord I can’t seem to sever snaps into place.
Time and distance haven’t even made a difference, so I’m not sure why I thought it would change this time.
“Did you bring Colorado home with you?” he asks.
Butterflies erupt in my belly as I take in this new, rugged version of him. When I saw him only a few weeks ago, he only had whispers of scruff.
He’s all warm light now—nothing burning, just steady gold.
I told Ella that beards remove all logic. So, I refuse to be held responsible for the way my heart skips beats like it’s playing hopscotch.
“Sam says you need a place to land. Temporarily.”
Sneaky matchmaking future brother-in-law.
Sam doesn’t even look remotely sorry as he scurries out of the room. “Sorry! Laundry to fold. You know how it is with a full house.”
“Traitor!” I call after him. “This is not how you treat family!”
Although this is exactly how you treat family. He’s looking out for me, even if I’m not a huge fan of the way he’s going about it.
I turn back to Holden, trying to avoid inhaling the warm bakery smell that always clings to him. Vanilla and sugar are the last things I need right now. The snow on his coat melts in the warmth, little slivers of silver that shine in the firelight.
It’s physically hard to keep myself from stepping into him like I always do.
Fear says, stay still. Love says, step forward.
I’m still deciding which voice to listen to.
He wouldn’t mind—but I’m trying to keep the distance for myself.
If anything, I’m more worried about my mother’s antics now than I was in October.
Going home to turn in my resignation and pack up things in my apartment basically stirred up a hornet’s nest. Bridget will probably follow suit, but she’s busy planning her wedding to her long-term boyfriend, Andrew.
I keep telling myself that things will settle. And then, we can pick things back up. But until I’ve found myself, until Sweet Things picks up and I have something to contribute, I can’t.
As much as I love Holden, I can’t let him pick up the pieces of my life and work to support both of us. I can take care of myself. My identity can’t disappear into his.
“Come on,” he murmurs. “You can tell me how you’ve got it all figured out after you eat.”
“I’m not hungry.”
That’s a complete lie, and my stomach betrays me by letting out an embarrassingly loud rumble. Fine, I am hungry. But the thought of keeping a sliver of normalcy in a world that no longer feels like mine is so much worse than hunger.
He smiles then, steady and sure. Like always.
I once believed love was burning red. Tonight it feels golden.
I don’t want to lose him. I can’t imagine my life without him in it—and that’s terrifying. But I don’t know how to find myself with him either.
That’s a path I’ve never taken. I wish I knew how to let him walk it with me.
Outside, the snow keeps falling—soft and certain—like the world outside is encouraging me to try.
He steps closer. “It’s just brunch,” he says. “It’s not forever.”
“Okay,” I whisper. “Brunch it is.”