Chapter 25
twenty-five
LAILA
Maybe Sebastian doesn’t actually grant wishes. He’s not a genie, so my emotional word dump probably just flew right over his head.
Or maybe it only counts when you know that you’re making actual wishes. The whole nothing is what it seems truly applies to Enchanted Hollow. I know I’ve still got a lot to learn about how this place—and my heart—work.
Luke never loved magic, and I can see why. It’s tricky and confusing.
Where’s the line between playful and overstepping? Is there one?
I kind of wish that I’d had that conversation with just about anyone else except Sebastian.
Holden joined us for part of the Gingerbread Trail, and it only tangled up my feelings more.
He joked and laughed with Lucy all the way through, his laugh carrying across the Christmas music like memory itself.
I’ve never really seen him through anyone else’s eyes before—certainly not a child’s—and now that I have, it’s impossible to un-see.
He looks like “home” pretending to be ordinary.
The sound of his laugh carries over the Christmas music piped through the farm.
We tag-teamed a few times to give Luke and Ella tiny pockets of private moments, and it was easy to forget for a heartbeat that we aren’t us.
That I don’t actually know what we are. My phone is full of photos from today that likely won’t ever go anywhere except into a shared album between my sister and me—minus the photo I made Holden take on the Peppermint Path.
He humored me, and again, it felt like before.
I’m trying to ground myself before he gets back from Once Upon a Brew with yet another warm beverage.
My emotions are getting tugged right back down the rabbit hole of ‘what if’.
I practically voiced those thoughts out loud to Sebastian, and now I’m wondering if I should be wary of all food and drink from here on out.
Not that I expect to mysteriously change in size.
“Is she layered enough?” Ella’s gaze goes between Luke and her soon-to-be stepdaughter before she crouches to tug Lucy’s beanie further down over her ears.
“She’s fine.” He chuckles.
Lucy reminds me a little of a cherub, with baby fat still clinging to her rosy cheeks. With her cup of hot cocoa and her puffy marshmallow winter coat, she looks perfectly jolly to me.
“Her little nose looks like Rudolph! I don’t want her to be sick for our wedding.”
“It’s just a little cold air, Ella. It’ll be fine.” Luke tugs Ella to his chest, and the tension practically melts from her body. Her laughter fogs the space between them before it disappears into his coat.
“It seems a bit uncharacteristically cold,” I admit. “Holden made it sound like the winter weather sort of—stuck?”
His blue eyes meet mine, and I can’t miss the worry there—the kind that has nothing to do with temperature.
“It’s been a bit more unpredictable since the incident,” he says. “Not sure what put Madame Mayor in such a mood, but I wish she’d defrost a little and let us thaw out.”
“But then you’d miss out on a white Christmas,” I insist. “That has a magic of its own.”
He practically growls at the mention of magic, and yanks Lucy a little closer to him as well.
Maybe magic is an easy enough thing to overlook when you’re not used to it. When I was here in October, it was a gentle hum that grew a little stronger as Ella and Luke let down their walls.
Now, the air crackles with it.
I’d love to know why, but maybe it’s as simple as the season—the time when belief feels closer to the surface. I have to stifle a laugh picturing Santa swapping snowdrifts for a starlit lake and barbecue.
A story forms—Santa in disguise, hiding good deeds in plain sight.
Henry would say I’m rewriting the myth again—finding new meaning in the old breadcrumbs.
What a wild twist that would be—Santa swapping snowdrifts for a starlit lake and barbecue.
I’ve done well for myself, but it came at a price. People see curated rectangles and videos, not the person behind them. Deep down, I’ve always wanted to do more than sell things—I wanted to tell about them.
Stories, not hauls. Truth, not filters.
Holden saw that in me before I did, and that seed never really stopped growing.
Now I keep circling the same what-if. What if I’d leaned into storytelling sooner? Would I still feel this restless?
I’ve done well, sure—but it came at a cost. People see a highlight reel, not the girl behind it.
Somewhere between proving I could stand on my own and proving I wasn’t my mother, I stopped creating for joy.
And the cruel part? I told myself it was to protect Holden.
All it really did was haunt us both.
“Maybe the snow will stick around for our wedding,” Ella sighs, tipping her head back to look at Luke. “My parents had snow.”
“If it doesn’t, we’ll ship in snow if that’s what will make you happy,” Luke murmurs, leaning closer.
They meet in a kiss, and I have to look away.
It’s not the PDA—it’s the missing piece in my chest, like someone used a hole punch in my heart. Being back here for Ella’s wedding just makes it ache. The urge to fill that emptiness is usually what sends me running to the one person who can bandage the wound and make me feel whole again.
I’m not unfamiliar with this feeling, though it’s usually not so strong. The ache spreads like cold beneath my coat, and for one long beat, I imagine what it might be like to let myself lean on him again. I promised myself I’d stop treating him like my personal oxygen tank.
But the truth slips in—ugly but honest—no matter how hard I fight it, like a finger slip that opens the front-facing camera by accident. Being in the same place as Holden again makes it easier to breathe. To exist.
Maybe that’s what love is supposed to do—steady your pulse instead of set it on fire.
I once believed love was burning red.
But standing here in the snow, it feels golden.
“Are you okay?” Ella’s voice is soft, almost swallowed by the north wind.
“I’m fine,” I mutter, pulling my coat tighter around me. “Just cold.”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
“My best quality,” I try.
She wraps me in a hug—warmth cutting through cold like sunlight through snow.
“We’ve already weathered the worst of it,” she says, wrapping her arms around me. “You can’t make it worse.” Her warmth hits me like sunlight through snow, reminding me what lasting love looks like.
I know she believes that. For her sake, I hope she’s right. If anyone deserves a happily ever after, it would be Ella, soon-to-be Jackson. Maybe when the wedding is over, I’ll talk to her about all the choices I’m carrying, but until then, my lips are sealed.
“I’m fine,” I insist. “Get over there with your hunky future husband and his adorable child and enjoy your time together.”
She gives me a loud kiss on the cheek, and I pretend to cringe, like I absolutely hate it. But her over-the-top gesture reminds me that only part of my family splintered—not this one. Not the one that counts.
“I’m not letting this go,” she says.
I fidget with my beanie. “You know, I really miss that backward cap thing Luke had going on.”
Ella rolls her eyes. “Fine. I’m going.”
The snow isn’t quiet and lazy anymore. Now it falls in fat flakes, fast enough that they blur the lights of the Christmas tree into a beautiful watercolor. Holden glances up at the sky with a furrowed brow and concern etching his handsome face.
After a moment of consideration, he closes the distance between us.
“Hey,” Holden says, nudging my elbow with his. The scent of cinnamon and cloves washes over me before his words do. “We should probably get a move on soon. This looks like round two.”
“Round two?”
Please let that have actual caffeine this time.
His grin is quiet, but it warms me from the inside out. “Yeah. The way it’s escalating reminds me of our detour last Christmas. We lost an entire weekend last time.”
Memories flip through my brain like a slideshow—a sleigh ride, mistletoe, hot cocoa, firelight. Promises that felt like forever.
“Whatever you think,” I manage.
He goes quiet, but presses the cup from Once Upon a Brew into my waiting hand, our fingertips barely brushing with the pass off.
“I thought you might like your usual.”
“Does it have caffeine this time?” I ask.
He smiles again, wide and genuine and utterly Holden. “Yes. I thought you could use some after how busy you’ve been today.”
“My hero.” I angle the cup and center it in front of the massive lit tree. Habit creeps in since my phone is already in my hand. “The cutest to-go cup I’ve ever seen,” I murmur.
“I’m glad you’re still capturing moments like this,” he says, quiet amusement lacing his voice. Not a judgement—just a memory.
“It’s not something I can just turn off.” I snap one picture, but I keep my phone out. “But I don’t want to either. I like that I can scroll through memories.”
“I know you do,” he says. “But don’t forget the messy memories too.”
Maybe that’s what he never understood: messy is what I avoid sharing, not what I forget.
My heart trips over his words. That photo was definitely way too curated and perfect. I may not like where my life is at the moment, but it’s definitely messy. And maybe once I find my way out of this, I’ll want these memories too.
Instinct takes over, and I slide my camera back open before I step into Holden. With one quick motion, I flip the camera so we’re centered in the frame. We aren’t the same people we were a year ago, or even two months ago. But that’s okay.
Growth comes from pain, right?
My gut tells me this is a moment I need to remember.
Holden's eyes flicker in surprise before he sets a hand on the small of my back, and that’s right when I snap the picture. There’s a flash of the old Laila in that moment, right when he touched me in that steady, familiar way of his.
For good measure, I turn my phone horizontal and flip the camera once more, taking a more artistic shot so that Ella, Luke, and Lucy only take up the right third of the photo. It’s not perfect, but it’s an extension of my happy place.
My sweet for today. All my favorite people, during one of my favorite months.
Snow drifts even heavier around us, accumulating now in piles as high as the curbs. I clutch the cup tighter and tuck my phone into my pocket.
If this really is round two, maybe it’s not a storm to survive—maybe it’s a story to finish.