1. Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

LAILA

six years ago

E veryone has different ideas about what makes the perfect Christmas.

Mine is sitting on Holden’s lumpy second-hand couch in his little apartment over the bakery with Home Alone on the television, a plate of his freshly baked cookies, and my legs tossed over his. It’s cozy and safe and one of my favorite traditions we have.

Maybe one weekend we’ll be able to go cut a Christmas tree together, but he’s always got the perfect tree waiting when I arrive. Along with boxes of ornaments that have mysteriously grown with every visit.

Traditions aren’t really something I do, unless I’m here. Something about Holden makes me want that consistency. Those memories.

I shift under the oversized throw I bought him for Christmas that says ‘Oh, snap!’ with a cartoon gingerbread man and a broken leg. He laughed before giving me a kiss so long it made me blush. I’ve got an entire list of things I want to give him now.

“Are you uncomfortable?” he asks, laying a hand on my leg.

“Nope. I just need to rotisserie every once in a while.” I flash him a grin and turn my attention back to the movie.

Just watching Home Alone makes me cold, watching Kevin trudge home from the grocery store in all that snow. Christmas is a little more special when it’s white, but it doesn’t have Holden. So I’ll take the warmer, brown version Enchanted Hollow gives us.

When I moved to Colorado my sophomore year, I thought my heart would break. There’s approximately 850 miles between my home there and his home here in Enchanted Hollow, Texas. So the moment I managed to get back here, I took it.

What started out as a trip to get closure has turned into a yearly getaway, full of baked goods and odd little traditions that I treasure. Six years of weekends were cram packed to fill a year’s worth of time together.

He pulls one of my legs closer, then presses a thumb into the arch of my foot. It’s absolute bliss, and I have to swallow a moan.

“You work too hard,” he murmurs.

“I love what I do,” I say a sigh, closing my eyes.

Between my long hours during the fall wedding season, and all the traveling I do in my spare time to work on my social media portfolio, I’ve been on my feet a lot. My step-sister Ella fusses at me for the same thing.

“Let me rephrase. She works you too hard, La. Have you thought about coming here? Starting your own business?”

Of course I have.

But my mother would never allow it. I work for her wedding planning company with both my sister and step-sister and I mostly love it. There are things I want to do someday, but I don’t dare write them down anyway, let alone say them out loud.

Leaving Holden is the hardest thing I do every single year, but what kind of name can I make for myself here? I’m just getting experience under my belt. There’s still so much to learn. And a town where I have to sit on Holden’s ancient balcony overlooking the park off the square to get an extra bar of cell phone service can’t really offer me that.

We’re technically only together for the one weekend I come here around Christmas, though we still stay in touch throughout the year. If it were up to Holden, we’d be more, but I’ve stayed firm in my boundaries.

“Do we have to do this right now?” I ask, squinting at him through one eye.

“It’s the perfect time to do it.”

I shimmy up on the couch so I’m sitting rather than leaning, pulling my knees close. It’s the smallest separation, but it might as well be a chasm. He flinches the second I pull away, but I can’t think if he’s touching me.

“We have a good thing going, Holden.”

His breath hitches as he twists to face me more squarely. “This is a good thing? Getting you one weekend a year?”

“It’s what we agreed on?—”

“No.” He shakes his head. “You decided this is what we’d do, and I went along with it because I’d take you however I could get you.”

My heart squeezes in my chest. He’s not supposed to feel this way.

One weekend .

Big feelings can’t exist from only one weekend. That’s what I gave myself this one weekend every year. It’s a cheat code to feeling less alone, but without the commitment of a relationship.

I shouldn’t be surprised he’s pushing this. I know Holden. He wants a family, roots, emotional depth. But, I can’t exist to be in a relationship. There’s so much more to me than that. So many more things I want to accomplish.

“Then you know why I can’t move here,” I whisper.

“I don’t know. Tell me, La. Let me in. What are you so afraid of?”

Words threaten to spill out, and I don’t want them to. If I’ve learned nothing from my mother, I’ve learned that words are weapons. Whatever I say can and probably will be used against me.

He scoots forward, taking my hands in his.

“I’ve been thinking about this. What if we set you up in an office? I’ve got the room. If you need to build a portfolio, I’ve got some solid baking skills.” He flashes a smile that softens my resolve. “There’s plenty of businesses around here that could use the help to figure out social media. There’s the farm. You’d have no shortage of things to do.”

Even as he says it, I can see it.

But I’m still learning, and the people of this town deserve someone who knows what they’re doing. Right? What if I hurt their business? How would Holden feel then?

“Nobody needs help with their social media,” I reply, smirking a little.

His smile softens in response. “Gus and Jack might need help selling barbecue spices out of the hardware store. And what about Ethel and Evergreen Enchantments? Her greenhouse needs you, honey.”

“Don’t do that.” A giggle escapes as he leans forward, like he’s about to kiss me. “You’re not playing fair.”

“What if Quinn needs help with her Gingerbread Wishes Latte or her Mistletoe Mocha?” His lips are only inches away now.

“Mistletoe Mocha, huh?”

He nods seriously. “There are red and green sugar crystals on the whipped cream.”

“Sounds like we need to get coffee, then.”

“I just—I need to do one thing first,” he says, then closes the distance between us.

His lips are soft as they press against mine, his touch gentle as he cradles my jaw. Warmth curls in my belly, slow and lazy and delicious. He handles me like I’m one of his baked goods, with a delicate touch. Like I’m more fragile than I let on. Maybe I am. The scent of cloves and cinnamon and ginger clings to him, giving our sugary sweet kiss a hint of spice.

It would be so easy to say yes if I block out my mother’s voice and my fears. They probably all stem from the same place, anyway. I could be here and get all the kisses I want whenever I want.

There’s a surge of confidence as he pulls away. Maybe I really could figure this out. Maybe we could figure this out.

“Fine.”

He’s far enough away now that I can see his eyes widen. “Really?”

“If you get me coffee.”

“You drive an easy bargain,” he says, as he helps me off the couch.

I can deal with that.