Chapter 39
thirty-nine
HOLDEN
NEW YEAR’S EVE
The world looks different now that the storm has passed.
Not just the one at Wanderlust Refuge—but the one we weathered between us.
I’m surprised Laila hasn’t randomly dropped to one knee already.
Ever since we were snowed in, she hasn’t stopped talking about the life she saw—her little Ghost of Christmas Future moment, as she calls it.
She talks about it like it was real, like she can still feel those little hands in hers.
And honestly? I believe her. I wish I could’ve seen what she did—especially the part with our kids.
But despite her full-fledged want to burst straight into that future, I want to make sure we do it right.
Moments matter.
Maybe that’s why I kept the old coin in my wallet. A reminder that sometimes magic’s just another word for patience.
I’ve never had an issue with Laila making a living online. She’s brilliant at what she does. She sees magic where most people scroll right past it. These days, her Sweet Treats posts feel different—less about perfect pictures, more about the people who make them.
I think it started with Holly’s wedding—the first story she told like it mattered more than the algorithm.
Somewhere between the vows and the fairy lights, she stopped curating and started believing again.
She lost her way for a bit, but my lásko found her way back.
That’s when I knew she’d finally found the kind of magic you can’t fake—the kind that tastes like home.
It just mattered that she was doing it for herself this time—for joy, not survival.
And I think she’s finally found that groove.
I watch as she chats with Ethel about her greenhouse, her cheeks rosy in the cold air. She’s laughing, hands animated, her energy spilling out like sunlight.
There’s a light around her now that she used to keep just for me—but now she shares it with everyone.
It’s a beauty to behold.
The edge of my old gray sweatshirt peeks out beneath her coat. She still hasn’t given it back, and I hope she never does.
And she’s mine.
I glance around until my eyes land on Ella and give her a slight nod. Her smile widens, and she turns to Luke, rising on her tiptoes to whisper that it’s time.
Laila’s never been great at hiding things. I found the rings in the same little velvet pouch she used to keep tucked behind my flour bins when she baked with me in high school. Some habits don’t change.
“Sorry to interrupt,” I say, stepping up beside Laila and pressing a kiss to her cheek. “But I need to borrow this beautiful woman for a few minutes.”
She leans into me, her laugh puffing white in the cold.
“You two go right ahead.” Ethel’s grin is downright diabolical—she might as well have a neon sign flashing You’re about to get proposed to.
“Thank you,” Laila breathes out. “She’s the sweetest woman, but I was worried my ears might fall off.”
“Consider me your knight in shining armor, then.”
“You usually are.” She sighs, her hand slipping into mine as we start toward the tree field.
“Ready to settle into the new year?” I ask.
“I’m ready to find a place to live.” Her voice drops to a whisper as she leans closer. “Ella and Luke are sickening as newlyweds.”
I chuckle. I know she’s loving every minute—Ella’s happiness, the sister time, the sense of home she finally let herself have again.
“I’m sure your time at the farm is only temporary.”
She’s got peppermint sugar cookies cooling at the café already, though she still insists the ones from the store taste better than mine. I told her she’s objectively wrong. She says I just hate losing.
But really, I just love the banter between us. I’m not going to interfere with the rose-colored glasses that affect her love for nostalgia, even if the cookies don’t have flavor and the icing tastes like Play-Dough.
“It is,” she says, grinning. “I finally got the apartment over Once Upon a Brew finally the way I want it, so I’m moving in this week.
” She nudges me with her elbow. “I’m even turning the little sunroom into an office for Sweet Treats.
Figured it’s time my business had a real home base.
It might be six years late, but better late than never. ”
The pride in her voice hits me square in the chest. I remember offering to help her find that space once—even if we shoved a desk into my own apartment—back when she wasn’t ready to believe she deserved roots. Hearing her claim it now feels like the last piece sliding into place.
Laila lets out a soft laugh, then freezes when she sees the wishing tree. The lights glint off the ornaments and photos, her grip tightening in mine. This is where everything changed (or at least started to) for us—it felt right to bring her back here for this.
I let her move forward, hanging back so our hands stretch between us.
Photos and notes from the people of Enchanted Hollow hang from the branches, their messages swaying in the breeze. She won’t have time to read them all, but I hope she catches enough to feel it—the love she’s poured into this town reflecting right back at her.
Each business owner’s note holds a letter, strung together into a crooked sign that reads: “You celebrated us. Now we celebrate you.”
A crowd gathers behind us, voices rising in unison as they count down to midnight.
Snow drifts lazily from the sky, catching in her eyelashes. She looks like something out of the story she didn’t think she belonged in.
“Hey, La—”
“What is this?” she asks, tears brimming in her eyes as she turns to face me.
“Your happily ever after.”
“That’s so cheesy,” she laughs through tears.
“But you love it,” I grin, tugging her close. I brush her tears away with my thumbs, slow and careful, like I can hold this second still.
“I do love it.”
“Do you still feel lost, honey?”
She shakes her head, pressing her lips together as she tries not to cry harder. The fairy lights shimmer in her hazel eyes, soft and golden.
“I knew back in high school you were it for me,” I manage, my throat tight. “The absolute chaos to my quiet. You’re my home, La.”
Our foreheads rest together, and for a second, the world hushes.
I take her hand, thumb brushing her pulse.
“You once told me you weren’t sure marriage could last. That you were afraid of building something that might crumble.
” I smile faintly. “But love’s just another word for rebuilding, isn’t it?
” I pull the little velvet pouch from my pocket, its fabric still faintly dusted with flour.
“Maybe it’s time these found their way home. ”
“You’re mine too,” she whispers, curling a hand around my neck.
“Marry me,” I whisper. “Let’s build that family you keep talking about and—”
Before I can finish, her lips are on mine.
“Yes,” she breathes between kisses. “As soon as possible. I want to marry you.”
Those words will be etched in my memory forever.
“I love you,” I murmur against her lips.
“I love you too.”
The crowd erupts as fireworks burst overhead, a kaleidoscope of color painting the snow-white world gold.
For a second, the gold flares against the dark remind me of her prophecy—the one where she thought she’d end up alone.
Guess prophecies can change when you start believing in love instead of fear.
Somewhere in the crowd, I catch a glimpse of Henry, leather journal in one hand and his camera in the other, that familiar knowing smile on his face. I can almost hear his voice already—“Rituals remind us that stories aren’t just told, they’re lived.”
Later, when I see him scribbling notes in that journal, I wonder how he’ll tell this one. Maybe he’ll say it was about finding your way home—about how even the lost can follow a trail of gumdrops and stories back to where they belong.
I think he’d be right.
Her sisters reach us first—laughter, squeals, arms everywhere. Ella’s crying, Bridget’s shouting something about finally, and Laila’s laughing through all of it.
It’s not exactly how I pictured this moment all those years ago when I first fell for Laila Mitchell.
It’s better. Real. Ours.
And I can’t wait to see how our ever after unfolds.
Somewhere between breadcrumbs and gumdrops, she found her way home—and took me with her.