Chapter 33
thirty-three
LAILA
It’s not snowy, just cold. The winter air blows down from the north, sharp enough to burn my cheeks, and the former Coloradan in me is thankful I kept stock in foot warmers, gloves, and fuzzy hats.
Ella offered to keep the kids so we could have a “date”. And while I want to spend every second I can with them, I’m not opposed to a little one-on-one time with my handsome baker husband.
I could get used to that word.
We sit on the bench on the edge of Mirror Lake, lacing up our skates.
Apparently, when Mayor Sabrina Gold isn’t angry, she does nice things—like freezing the lake so everyone can enjoy it.
The ice gleams beneath the soft glow of string lights as the last bits of color slip from the sky.
Families and couples glide across the massive rink, classic Christmas songs drifting from speakers on every pole.
Holden is the first to stand, offering his hand. “Ready?”
“Do I have a choice?” I laugh, gripping him as I push to my feet. It’s been a while since I’ve skated, and while it may be like riding a bike, I’m wobbly.
“You never get better at this,” he chuckles. It’s the same thing he said the first Christmas we tried this together.
“Yet you’re amazing at everything you do,” I shoot back with a smile.
“Only because I’ve got you by my side.”
I open my mouth to tell him it’s the cheesiest line I’ve ever heard, then close it again. Cheesy or not, I like hearing it now.
He guides me onto the ice, steadying me with firm hands on my waist. It’s hard to focus on staying upright when all I can think about is how comforting he feels.
Safe.
“Relax, honey,” he says softly. “Trust me.”
“I always do.”
And it’s true. Trusting Holden has never been the problem.
His eyes meet mine, and all the outside noise fades as something deeper settles between us. Then his beautiful face splits into a grin, and he’s skating backward, pulling me with him like he’s done this a thousand times.
We spend a long time simply cruising around the lake.
I’m not sure why we don’t push ourselves to do more of this, because it’s wonderful.
He tells me about how The Magic Crumb is thriving, and all I want to do is listen.
His words crumble into gingerbread warmth I want to pocket, sweet reminders of every ordinary joy I almost missed.
“I know we’ve both been so busy lately, but I really wanted to say thank you. The new schedule we came up with for the bakery truck is working out great, La. Every time we show up, there’s a line waiting.”
We had a whole ten days together, and instead of pushing to cram in all the time together we could—we fit life into little nooks and crannies, and hardly spent time together at all.
Not like this. This version of us learned a better balance, and it gives me hope that we still can, too. I’m not sure how to get him to answer the hundreds of questions in my head, so I say the one thing that can’t be misinterpreted.
“I’m so proud of you.”
“I wouldn’t be here without you,” he says, grinning like the teen Holden I remember so well, and my heart knocks in my chest.
“It’s your talent, Holden. People can taste the heart you put into your food. And you’re so good with people—”
I stop myself before I mention the Gingerbread Trail—something that, for me, happened only yesterday. Is that part of our shared history here? Something similar?
“So are you.” He says. “Laila, you’re the one who exploded our business. Why can’t you take more credit for that?”
In my shock, I trip over a divot in the ice. Holden is fast—catching me before I hit the ice, spinning me into his arms like he planned this all along.
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs.
It feels like the honeymoon we never had…or at least the one I never let myself have. All heat and laughter and familiarity. His gaze burns with the same spark from our teenage years, and I’ve never felt more beautiful.
More seen.
But maybe that’s because in this life, I finally let myself be.
It reminds me of our time in Sweetheart Springs, when he asked me to stop pretending and let us be real. So far, today has felt like a highlight reel, but the difference is that I wholeheartedly believe it took a lot of mess to get here. Nothing about it has been performative. There’s no audience.
There’s just us.
We’re only a breath away from each other. I wouldn’t mind revisiting the kiss from the tree farm, especially without Ella or our children present.
He’s so close…
“Get a room!” a teenager yells as they skate by.
We both burst into laughter. Holden steadies me, and we glide to the edge of the lake.
“Hot cocoa?” he asks with a lifted eyebrow.
“Sounds perfect.”
He flashes me another grin, skates to the exit, and disappears into the crowd. I follow, slower, and nearly collide with someone as I step off the ice.
“I’m so sorry—” I start, bracing myself against the tall stranger.
“No harm, no foul.”
The world is still when I look up. Of course, it’s Sebastian. He offers a steadying hand, the reflection of string lights glinting in his eyes.
“Did you do this?” I ask, sinking onto the bench.
He shrugs, faint amusement tugging at his mouth. “Technically, it was all you. I just…added a nudge.”
“So what is this?” I gesture at the scene around us, the life that feels so real but isn’t mine.
“A glimpse of what could’ve been,” he says. “Or could be. Depending on how you look at it. I’m sure you’ve put two and two together by now, but in this life, you and Holden have been together for a long time.”
Across the lake, a little girl in a red coat clutches a gingerbread plush. For a blink, I swear it’s Gumdrop—and the sight tugs something deep in my chest. Holden said I’d thank him one day for that silly prize. Turns out he was right. Love doesn’t have to be perfect; it just has to stay.
“This could still happen?” I swallow.
“Not by my hand,” he says. “This life is completely yours and Holden’s. It took a lot of work—and love—for you to get here.”
“I’m not afraid of work,” I glance toward where Holden is buying us warm drinks.
“You’ve never been afraid of work,” Sebastian says quietly. “You’re just afraid of this.” He touches his heart. “It’s a scary thing.”
“It feels so real,” I whisper.
“It’s not permanent, Laila. Guess Dickens knew a thing or two about ghosts and second chances. His methods were a little old-school, but a glimpse is sometimes enough to prove the point—even to the most lost people.”
“How long do I have?”
“It varies. It all comes down to a decision. Free will can be such a bother sometimes.” He sighs. “But once you discover whatever you’re looking for…”
Maybe the bedtime story was right. Maybe the gumdrops were never about finding a way out—they were just sweeter breadcrumbs, leading me home.
“So I could have a future like this, or things stay the same?”
“Yes.” His dark eyes gleam in the golden Christmas lights. “But you won’t forget. Be sure that you can live with that.”
Golden reflections ripple across the ice. For the first time, I see what color love could be—and it’s not red at all. It’s this.
Warmth. Light. Holden.
How could I just snap back to real life knowing this could exist?
But that’s just it. This is magical. It’s not real.
This could all shift and disappear, and I could go home to find that Holden’s patience has finally run out. He’s shown me time and again that he wants this, us, but how long can someone keep loving from outside the walls I built?
Maybe one day he’ll find someone who doesn’t mistake being chosen for losing herself—someone who doesn’t flinch at being loved.
Someone who doesn’t second-guess what she already has.
And that’s the part that terrifies me most.
I never wanted to get so lost in love that I disappeared inside it. But somewhere along the way, keeping myself safe turned into keeping him out.
My one-weekend-a-year plan started as a way to find myself without Holden. I could love him fully for that one weekend and work hard the rest of the year. I didn’t have to “lose myself” in a relationship, and I could still create a life independent of his.
I tried to convince myself it was enough, because I didn’t want to depend on anyone or be defined by someone else.
Mostly, I didn’t want to be like my mother.
The bench shifts as Holden drops beside me. “Are you okay, honey? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“You’re not too far off,” I murmur, taking the cup from him.
“What do you say we grab cookies before we head home? Preferably ones we don’t have to share with kids and I don’t have to make.”
I lift an eyebrow. “Like store-bought sugar cookies.”
“You know how I feel about those, La.” He groans dramatically, mostly for effect.
“Well, if you don’t want to bake them, then the ones with the frosting are the only ones left.” I shrug.
His mouth hardens into a line, but an edge twitches in laughter. It’s an age-old argument—something else grounded in who we are in real life. And I’m hanging on for dear life.
“That icing tastes like Play-Doh, Laila.”
“Then we’ll get the kind from the refrigerated section,” I say. “Those don’t have icing. The Christmas trees or the snowmen?”
He sighs. “Let’s go with the trees. And we’ll grab some Reese’s too. You polished off the bag hidden at the back of the fridge last week.”
My heart squeezes.
Holden has always shown me how much he loves me—how much he pays attention. And I can’t help but wonder how many times he’s done things like that and I simply just absorbed them, rather than focused on how important they are.
I’ve gone quiet again. Which isn’t normal where Holden is concerned, but nothing about today is normal. Not really.
He studies me but doesn’t press. “One more lap before we grab the kids from your sister?”
I nod, letting him pull me to my feet.
Skating with hot cocoa sounds like a recipe for disaster, but I let him guide me, slow and steady. If this is only a glimpse, I’ll savor every golden second—because when I wake, I plan to make it real.