Chapter 37
thirty-seven
HOLDEN
The world outside blurs to white, and time seems to follow.
Tree branches bend under the weight, and I can’t see the driveway anymore, let alone the road. I don’t think we’ve ever seen this much snow in our area of Texas before. We’ll probably be here for a while since the town isn’t equipped for this weather.
Hopefully, the power holds so we stay warm.
I’ve been up for hours, fooled once into thinking Laila rolled into me—only to hit the pillow wall. I briefly considered tossing Trevor the pillow into the fire, but even I know that’s excessive.
I’m cracking under the pretense of quiet steadiness when I just want Laila to hear me when I tell her I love her. That she deserves me.
Patience isn’t for the weak-hearted. It’s for the stubborn—the ones who still believe love’s worth waiting for.
I tried reading, but all I could find were Rosalyn’s romance novels, and I have zero desire to read about someone’s happily ever after when mine is blocked by pillows. There’s probably a worn path in these hand-carved wood floors from all the pacing I’ve done.
When I left the bed, she was mumbling something about mistletoe.
I didn’t want to think about who might be in her dreams.
When I can’t stand it anymore, I grab my phone and call the bakery. No one answers, so I try McKenna. The signal flickers briefly before the FaceTime screen loads.
“Is your inner alarm a bread timer? You could’ve slept in,” she says. Her curls are wild, her cheeks are flushed, and flour covers half her hoodie.
“I don’t know what it is about you and flour, but I’m not cleaning whatever mess you made,” I tell her. “What are you doing at the bakery?”
“It got too bad to see to drive to Mom and Dad’s, so I crashed at your place. Imagine my surprise when you weren’t here! Where are you?”
The camera jostles, and Logan appears, way too close to the screen.
“Yeah, where are you?” he echoes. “Laila is unaccounted for, too. Did you guys finally kiss and make up?”
He manages two kissing noises before McKenna smacks him with an oven mitt.
She frowns. “Would you shut up and grow up?”
“Thank you,” I tell her.
“I just think he’s being immature.” Her eyebrow lifts. “Logan’s lack of tact notwithstanding—are you two together?”
“Define together?” I ask. “We are under the same roof, in Logan’s rental.”
Surprise paints both their faces, and then they’re both on the move, rearranging and jostling the camera to the point it makes me motion sick. The result leaves me feeling like a guest on a talk show.
“What did it do this time?” Logan asks. “I love these stories.”
“I feel like I need coffee for this,” McKenna says. “Or tea. Do I need tea? Or does it just need to be a steaming mug? Kermit doesn’t really make it clear in that meme.”
I let out a disgruntled groan.
“You two really are the worst, you know? No, hey Holden—are y’all safe? Are you okay? Just ‘tell me all about the magical house that left you with one bedroom in the whole freaking place’.”
Heavy breaths pant out of me. That felt good, actually.
They both stare back wide-eyed before they lean in closer. “Does that mean one bed?”
“Seriously?”
“It’s classic Hallmark.” When I glare at him, he shrugs. “What? They’re classics for a reason, you uncultured swine.”
“Fine.” McKenna rolls her eyes. “Are you okay? I assumed because you’re not blue with icicles hanging from your orifices like Jack Torrance at the end of The Shining that you’re okay.”
I flatten my mouth into a line. “Sorry, I didn’t freeze to death trying to escape a giant maze.”
Logan smacks a hand on the counter. “There’s a maze now? It never does anything cool like that for me!”
McKenna smacks him again, this time on his head.
“Stop it!” he yells. “That’s unnecessary.”
“You’re a running back for the NFL, Logan, are you kidding me?” McKenna glares at him.
He’s got the audacity to look pained and dramatically rubs his head. “I’m prepared for that, Kenna. I’m wearing pads and a helmet. That doesn’t mean I’m immune to assault by a sibling.”
She rolls her eyes in response.
“Maybe next time, duck,” I suggest.
They both freeze, grinning at the screen like I’ve just confirmed their suspicions.
“I’m so disappointed that I’m missing this,” Logan says, eyes gleaming. “Snowed in, one bed, unresolved tension—this is literally the plot of a Hallmark movie.”
“You’re telling me that Hallmark includes homicidal pillow walls?” I ask.
McKenna at least looks confused.
Logan just continues to grin, ticking off more tropes. “She came back home for the holidays. It’s your second—well, wait—what number chance is this now?”
McKenna laughs. “And you have a bakery—there’s always a bakery.”
I’m about five seconds away from face-palming myself and hanging up.
“I didn’t need moral support. Glad I could provide the entertainment this morning.”
“Okay, sorry.” Another smack with the oven mitt. “We’re done. Are you alright?”
I heave a sigh and glance toward the hall where the bedroom is. A thin strip of light seeps beneath the frame. The quiet behind it feels fragile, like the world holding its breath.
“I don’t know,” I say. “Just… waiting for the storm to clear.”
Logan snorts. “You mean outside or in there?”
“Both,” I admit.
“Power flickered a few minutes ago, so let’s wrap this up. She built a pillow wall? Or were you joking? It’s hard to tell with you sometimes.” McKenna says.
“Literal wall of pillows.”
The screen glitches for a second, then McKenna’s voice filters through. “She loves you, Holden, you know that, right?”
“I know,” I swallow hard. “I just don’t think she trusts it yet.”
The picture comes back, and Logan is sitting there with his typical game face on.
“Then keep showing her, Holden. Don’t let her talk herself out of it.”
“That’s the plan,” I say, though my throat feels tight. If faith is a muscle, I’m using every ounce I’ve got.
McKenna waves. “We love you, but I don’t want to lose the whole battery. We’ll check in later.”
“Yeah,” I tell her and end the call.
For a while, I just stand there in the kitchen, listening to the hum of the heater and the steady tick of the clock over the mantle. It’s quiet, hopefully only temporary.
I turn the coin in my palm, tracing the engravings until they blur with warmth. I don’t know what she dreams about when she whispers mistletoe in her sleep, but I know this—whatever she’s reaching for, I want to be the one she finds when she wakes.