Chapter 19 Jaylynn
Jaylynn
After going with Penn to BJ’s place for his suit fitting, I step through the double doors of the community center and pause, letting the warmth and buzz wash over me. The air hums with chatter and laughter, the kind that floats above the clinking of coffee cups and the rustle of paper bags.
To my left, rows of vendors line the walls, their tables overflowing with knitted mittens, jars of homemade jam, and delicate ornaments that shimmer beneath the twinkling strands of white lights draped overhead.
The faint sound of a carol drifts from the old speakers, scratchy but charming, adding to the nostalgia of it all.
From the adjoining room comes the happy chaos of children’s voices.
I peek inside long enough to see kids bent over paper and glue, little fingers sticky with glitter and ribbons.
The sweet, spicy scent of cinnamon bursts into the air from their craft table, hitting me square in the chest and reminding me of every Christmas cookie my mom ever baked.
I breathe it in, savoring it before drifting toward the cozy café corner tucked against the wall.
“That looks good,” I murmur to Mom and Aunt Maureen, nodding toward the rows of pastries glistening under glass domes. Flaky croissants, sticky buns drizzled in icing, and steaming cups of cocoa topped with whipped cream.
They’ve come simply to shop, their arms already carrying tote bags, while I’m here to keep an eye on things, to make sure the festival I poured my heart into runs smoothly.
Still, my gaze strays to the vendors, to the sparkle of holiday magic on every table, and I think maybe—just maybe—I’ll pick something up.
My shopping is done, gifts wrapped and hidden, but I’d like something special for Penn.
Something that says thank you for everything he’s doing, for all the ways he’s standing beside me when I need him most.
Just the thought of him sends a soft, syrupy warmth through me. I decide then and there to bring Penn and Dad something sweet, maybe coffee and cinnamon rolls, as they work on fixing the nativity set. A small gesture, but one that might make them smile.
“I’m going to check out the knitted sweaters,” Aunt Maureen says, already wandering off, her eye for handmade goods as sharp as always.
Mom lingers, though. She squeezes my hand, her mitten rough against mine. “The festival is going so well, Jaylynn. You’ve done a remarkable job.”
Of course, she’d say that—she’s my mom, my forever cheerleader. But the pride in her voice warms me anyway.
“Let’s just hope the parade goes off without a hitch,” I reply, though a knot tightens in my stomach. Memories of #GobbleGate flicker like a bad movie reel. I know how quickly things can spin out of control.
Mom’s smile widens, unshakable. “It’s going to be perfect.”
And I believe her, because she’s always believed in me. That’s the thing about parents—they’re your safety net when the rest of the world feels like it’s waiting for you to trip. Not everyone is lucky enough to have that.
Which makes me think of Penn. My chest tightens. Dylan was cruel to bring up Penn’s parents, cruel to dig at a wound that never healed. I can’t fathom what it must have been like for him, abandoned, left on his aunt’s doorstep with no goodbye, no promise to come back. Just silence.
But Penn isn’t alone. Not anymore. He has me. He has Dad. He has this community that cheers for him louder than he’ll ever know. He just needs to believe it, to believe in himself. Until then, I’ll believe enough for the both of us.
“Thanks, Mom.”
She gives my hand another squeeze before hurrying after Aunt Maureen, their laughter trailing behind them as they disappear down a row of knit hats.
I take my time wandering through the aisles, pausing to admire the way the fairy lights glow against jars of cranberry chutney, the sparkle of snowflake earrings, the rows of hand-painted ornaments. The energy in the room is alive, festive, the air thick with pine and cinnamon and community spirit.
At one booth, I stop to admire the stockings, each one stitched with care. “Hey, Janice,” I say warmly to one of the town’s long-time crafters. “These are beautiful.”
I lift a stocking patterned with peppermint sticks, the red and white stripes bold against quilted fabric. My fingers trace the stitches, neat and perfect, and a grin tugs at my lips.
Janice nods, her silver hair catching the light. “That one’s been popular this year.”
I can’t help but laugh softly. If anyone should have a peppermint stick phobia by now, it’s Penn. And yet, my grin deepens. “I’ll take two.” Later when I have the time, I’ll personalize them.
Her eyes brighten with curiosity. “For you and your fiancé?”
The word sends a little flutter through me. I nod, returning her smile, though my heart beats faster, skipping like it knows the truth before I’ve dared to say it out loud. “Yes,” I say, voice soft.
“Will you be going back to Boston with him?”
The question lingers heavy, and I nod automatically, though the truth is murkier.
Boston isn’t a certainty. Not with him, at least. Maybe I’ll be in the stands, cheering for Penn when the Bucks hit the ice, especially if the PR position comes through.
Maybe we’ll still be friends. The future feels like a snow globe that hasn’t settled yet—everything swirling, glittering, but impossible to see clearly.
What do you want, Jaylynn?
That part I know, at least in the secret corners of my heart. But what Penn wants? That’s the real question, and the one that keeps me up at night.
After I pay for the stockings, I slip back into festival mode. Row by row, I check in with vendors, making sure their tables are stocked, their cocoa warm, their smiles genuine. Everything about this reminds me why I love this community. But despite that, the big city is still calling.
When I push through the door into the back room, the hum shifts. The air is sticky with glue and glitter, the tables a kaleidoscope of craft paper and pipe cleaners. Laughter bounces off the walls, full of joy.
“Where’s Penn?” Little Liam pipes up, his eyes shining with the kind of hero-worship only a child can give.
I grin, my chest softening. Somehow, between hockey and hot glue guns, Penn has become a local celebrity. “He’s working on the nativity set.” I lean down to peek at Liam’s project. “What are you making?”
“It’s for the tree.” He holds up a crooked but dazzling ornament—a hockey stick drowning in glitter.
“It’s perfect,” I say with conviction, because it is. His toothy grin makes me laugh, and I ruffle his hair before drifting on to chat with a few more kids, their sticky hands leaving smudges of sparkles everywhere.
By the time I return to the main hall, the crowd has doubled. The air is alive with energy—boots stamping snow from the entryway, voices overlapping, the faint jingle of a bell from one of the volunteers by the door. I glance around, pride swelling in me at the turnout.
And then I see her.
Sloane.
My stomach knots. Because where Sloane is, Dylan usually lurks nearby, and the last thing I want right now is a forced conversation with my ex.
Especially knowing in two nights’ time, after the parade and tree lighting, Dylan will be front and center in the community center’s kissing booth.
Good for fundraising, sure. Great for the children’s hospital.
But the only thing I’m certain of is I won’t be lining up to pucker up.
Sloane lifts her head, as if she can feel my gaze tugging at her.
She smiles, but it’s brittle, sliding across her face without reaching her eyes.
Something about it makes me hesitate. I could turn away, bolt for the café and bring Penn and Dad their well-earned coffee and snacks.
But my gut tugs me in the opposite direction.
I weave through the crowd, the scent of cinnamon and pine clinging to my coat. Up close, Sloane looks… different. Her makeup isn’t flawless, and for the first time, her phone isn’t glued to her hand, documenting her every move. Instead, she stares down at the merchandise on the table.
“Hey, Sloane,” I say, careful to sound casual. “Are you enjoying Snowberry?”
Her voice is flat. “It’s okay.”
“Dylan not with you today?”
She shakes her head, a small movement that seems to take effort. “No, he said he had some business to deal with. I thought I’d come over here and check things out.”
There’s a shadow about her, a loneliness that feels heavier than all the glitter in the room combined. Before I can think better of it, words tumble out. “I’m just about to bring Penn and my father some coffee and snacks. They’re out in the cold fixing the nativity set. Want to help?”
Her head jerks up, eyes sparking. “Really?”
“Sure.”
For the first time since I spotted her, Sloane smiles, an actual smile that reaches her eyes, softening her entire face. “I actually didn’t think you liked me,” she admits shyly.
To be fair, maybe I just hadn’t given her a chance. “Of course, I like you, come on.” I gesture toward the café, and she falls into step beside me, close enough that her shoulder brushes mine.
“What did you buy?” she asks, her tone lighter now, almost curious.
I can’t help but grin as I pull the bag open. “Oh, this is the first Christmas Penn and I are spending together here in Snowberry, so I grabbed us matching stockings.”
She peers inside, her hand brushing mine as she tugs the fabric gently. “They’re so cute.” Then her voice dips, almost wistful. “I don’t even have a stocking at Dylan’s parents’ place.”
The ache in her words surprises me. Sloane, with her million followers, her curated perfection, suddenly seems… alone.
“They have more,” I say quickly, my heart tugging. “We can go back.”
She gives a quick, almost violent shake of her head. “No. I don’t think so.”