Chapter 24
twenty-four
LAILA
Ever After Farms has its own magical feel.
Not that I frequent farms, but since it’s Christmas, my brain immediately draws comparisons between Dreamy Pines up in Colorado and this one. They’re both cozy and perfect, but maybe I’m a little biased about this one because it’s here in Enchanted Hollow.
There’s more history here—some written in ledgers, most in hearts.
Snowflakes drift lazily from the sky, not exactly aligning with Holden’s warning to watch the weather. But I’m also aware of how quickly it can change. Either way, the air feels a little charged. Like the calm before a storm.
“I’ve got to drop some things off for the bakery,” Holden says.
“Do whatever you need to do. I know my way around.”
He nods, then mutters something that sounds suspiciously like, “I don’t understand how they can be short on gingerbread”.
I understand the sentiment because I know he probably baked enough to feed a small army.
But then again, I know just how delicious his food is, so maybe everyone else realizes it, too.
Families bustle around the property, beneath lights strung between sections of pre-cut trees.
It’s overcast, so they’re on, casting a lovely glow as we pass through.
Signs point toward the U-cut section, and other areas of the farm like the Storybook Cafe or the gift shop.
The scent of warm chocolate wraps around me like a hug—warm, rich, and a little spicy.
It might be out of season now, but I might cave if they’re still making the Wicked Witch Brew. It’s more of an autumn drink, but Mexican hot chocolate could easily turn this gray day golden.
I wander toward The Gingerbread Trail, chuckling at the names and vibrant labels.
The trail started a few years back as part of the farm’s winter festival, a way for families to “follow the sweets” to the heart of the farm.
Locals say that if you walk the Gingerbread Trail with someone you love, you’ll always find your way back to them.
After visiting The Nutcracker Bakery—or the cafe—they can head to The Candy Cane Cottage, an adorable little booth overflowing with sweets.
Giant candy canes and peppermint swirls line the path, each stop featuring trivia questions about gingerbread, Hansel and Gretel, and Christmas traditions.
It feels childish and comforting all at once, like the universe left a trail of sugar to remind me that sweetness still exists, even when life doesn’t.
My fingers itch to pull out my phone. This is exactly the sort of thing I want to share on my Sweet Things account. But I rarely post about anything in Enchanted Hollow. At first, it was because I didn’t want to lead my mother here.
Clearly, that was a wasted effort.
I turn in a circle so I can take in everything about the environment, and a new realization dawns on me.
Ever After Farms is dripping with nostalgia.
So is Enchanted Hollow. I feel sure my subconscious knew this long before today, and that’s why I always find my way back.
Holden is an enormous factor—the biggest—but this place gives me something nowhere else can.
Peace.
I always viewed the fact that the cell service here is spotty at best as a pain, but it’s a blessing when you want to escape the daily grind. Or the assault of information that floods the nervous system as soon as I open an app.
If I post about this place, I’m letting people in on a secret that feels like it belongs to me. But it doesn’t, not really. Sweet Things was supposed to be a fresh start, but maybe it was really a map back to the sweetness that doesn’t need filters.
There are people here who could use my help, just like Holden told me six years ago. The town and farm do well for themselves—but how many lives could I change if I stopped keeping Enchanted Hollow to myself?
I’ve drifted over to the Christmas-tree field before I realize how far I’ve walked. More signs point to other attractions around the farm, and little mischievous gingerbread men cutouts pop out of evergreens. The sharp green scent of pine cuts through the air.
“You seem lost.”
“Story of my life.”
I turn to find the definition of tall, dark, and handsome standing a few away. Sebastian Gold’s exact image could go in a reference book for that phrase—dark hair, dark clothes, and dark eyes. A quiet broodiness with an even more unreadable expression.
Ebeneezer Scrooge with better cheekbones. Or Bucky Barnes if he traded a suit for his mechanical arm.
Although that seems a lot less intriguing.
“Just taking a breather in the trees,” I gesture around me. “You’re not out here looking for Jacob Marley, are you?”
He barks out a laugh, catching me off guard.
“Super-soldier serum?” I try again.
“I forgot how clever you are.”
“Classic me,” I joke. “I’m quite the clever girl.”
That phrase, unfortunately, reminds me of the scene in Jurassic Park where the trainer knows he’s being hunted. Hopefully, it’s not a metaphor.
He hums for a moment. “More clever than you believe, it appears. Tell me, why are you out here by yourself? I imagine Ella is happy to see you again, with all the wedding planning underway.”
The way he said it made me think of Ella’s stories about magic debts and trades that cost more than you planned to pay.
It occurs to me a little that I don’t remember Sebastian much from when we lived here before. Maybe I wasn’t paying enough attention—to him, to Ella, to anything outside my little bubble.
Water under the bridge, I remind myself.
But even then, the Golds are hard to miss. His family is well known here, between the rumors, the mayor, and the bank.
Henry would probably call this a retelling—the girl leaves the forest, and finds herself instead of the candy house.
I should remember more about him.
Despite his family’s penchant for strange, quiet deals, he strikes me as someone more misunderstood than menacing. Especially if I remove my mother and her need to manipulate those around her. If anything, Sebastian is an opportunist.
“For the sake of not reliving it—let’s call it family fallout.”
“I imagine so.” His chuckle earns a glare from me.
“Then you can understand that I needed to put some distance between us. Colorado doesn’t feel like home anymore, so I’ve been sort of—”
“Looking for a place to land?” he finishes before I can.
I blink. “Actually, yes.”
We fall into step between the rows of trees, snow crunching underfoot as we walk.
“The tricky part,” he says, “is that you’re searching for breadcrumbs to lead you there. Maybe you shouldn’t be.”
I almost laugh, but bite it back. There’s no need for me to search for breadcrumbs—they’re everywhere. They always have been.
The path to Holden is a trail I could follow blindfolded. He’s in every baking display I see, every Tim Curry movie (especially Home Alone 2), every flannel shirt, every Christmas song. Every sprig of greenery—especially garland. He’s impossible to escape, and I can’t say that I even want to.
I just can’t lose him to my mother’s antics.
Once upon a time, I followed sugar and spice; now I follow faith and memory.
“Then what do you suggest?” I huff out, realizing a beat too late that he’s probably the wrong person to ask that question.
“Sometimes you need to get lost to find where you belong,” he answers.
“Believe me, I’m lost.” My laugh is sharp and unnatural. “What I need are directions or caution signs. Maybe even warning labels. Bright neon signs you can’t miss: This guy’s is a waste of time. This friend won’t stab you in the back. This job won’t break you.”
Maybe he’s right. Maybe ghosts aren’t here to haunt you—maybe they’re here to point you home.
We’ve wandered deep into the tree field.
A whimsical watchtower reaches into the sky—wooden beams wrapped in ivy and Christmas lights.
They also follow the angles of the roof and weave around greenery on the stairs and onto the treehouse balcony.
Lantern’s glow at the base, showcasing more gingerbread men.
Warm light spills from the windows, painting the snow gold.
I don’t need breadcrumbs. They follow me wherever I go.
“That kind of shortcut removes a lot of life lessons,” Sebastian says.
“Maybe,” I sigh. “Or maybe it just saves time.”
“I think you know a lot more than you realize, Laila. Enjoy your afternoon and stay warm.”
He heads back the way we came. I linger, letting myself absorb the quiet before I go meet up with Ella and her family. Later, we’ll walk the trail with Lucy, laugh our way through the trivia, and collect cookies and special moments.
More memories made with Holden, when nothing has changed. He still belongs here. I just wish I did.
I glance back toward the Gingerbread Trail, the candy-colored posts gleaming through the trees.
Of course, it ends here.
Maybe that’s what the Gingerbread Trail really is—not just a path of sugar and spice, but proof that sweetness can lead you somewhere worth finding.
I turn to go, and a sign catches my eye: Welcome to the Wishing Tree.
Somewhere, Aurora Thorne probably wrote about this—girls who stand beneath trees and wish for second chances.
Perfect. I just made multiple wishes out loud in front of Sebastian Gold. Awesome.
Guess that makes me the kind of girl who still believes in them.