4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

HOLDEN

L aila is quiet for most of the drive to the Wanderlust Refuge rental. The snow is falling harder now, almost at an alarming rate. Since the house is nestled out in the country, there aren’t many lights and my visibility isn’t great. I slow down a bit, grateful that I drive a SUV with four-wheel drive.

“Where are the snow plows? Sand?” Her fingers grip the console between us.

“La, this isn’t Colorado. We’ve seen more snow in the last couple of months than we’ve seen in years. You should see the meteorologists try to explain it.”

She tries to laugh, but the sound comes out choked.

I hesitate for probably half a second before I peel her hand off the leather and thread my fingers through hers. All the things I said back in October are a moot point under these circumstances. At this rate, I won’t be able to drive back home and there’s no way I’m leaving her alone in that house.

So we need to be grown-ups and put all that aside for now.

I risk a brief glance in her direction, and chuckle at her puffed-out cheeks. Her painted lips are blowing out a raspberry as she stares out the windshield.

Laila is strong and capable, and keeps her emotions locked down tighter than Fort Knox. Sometimes I think getting to know her deepest layers are about on par with finding out who killed JFK.

I slow down again, fine with taking longer to get there if driving one-handed helps soothe her nerves. Her shoulders are no longer near her ears. I don’t want to tell myself that touching her calms her as much as it does me.

Every visit with Laila sends me deeper into the woods of wanting more. I’m not sure I could pinpoint the moment I knew I couldn’t settle for a single cookie anymore and wanted the whole entire pan. Burned edges and all.

It’s been simmering beneath the surface for a long time. But when she breezed into my bakery and straight into the kitchen, greeting me with a kiss that could’ve set off the fire alarm, I knew I had to actually tell her that.

And in true Laila fashion, she tried to pretend she didn’t hear me. Like this hasn’t been on the table for six years now. When she decided to pursue her career, I wasn’t angry. I just didn’t understand why she didn’t think she could have both.

I’ve never given her an ultimatum; there’s never been a ‘pick me or pick your job’.

I simply told her that I wanted her for more than holiday weekends in the quiet. I want the boisterous Laila that gets excited over a carryout coffee cup, or looks for every photo op she can find. I want the woman who gives away more than half the products she earns doing her social media business.

When she was here in the fall, she filmed content for shops and refused to take a penny. She never mentioned it, but in the town meeting following that wild week in October, it’s all I heard about.

I brush my fingers over her knuckles, wishing I could kiss them and offer her reassurance that I really don’t want to go anywhere. But it’s a realization she needs to come to on her own. I was reminded that I can’t always be the one putting everything out there all the time—I deserve the same from her.

Which may be true, but after two months of silence, I’m reconsidering all of it. Pieces of Laila are better than nothing at all.

“How far do you think?” she asks.

“Just up ahead.”

As soon as I say the words, lights from the old Victorian come into view. I’ve gotta admit, it’s a welcome sight after miles of darkness and heavy snow.

“It looks like it’s straight off a Christmas card,” she murmurs, straightening in her seat to get a better look.

The service my brothers use did plow earlier today, but fresh snow has already covered the driveway again.

She drops my hand and I hate the absence it leaves.

“Be careful getting out,” I warn.

“Not my first rodeo.” She extends a leg and wiggles a snow boot in the air. “I’ll be fine.”

“Eventually,” I grumble as she climbs out of the car.

Her ‘leap before she looks’ personality tends to get her into trouble and I don’t think she’d like sporting a cast or crutches for Ella’s wedding.

By the time I get to the trunk, she’s spinning in front of the house, tongue out, catching snowflakes. The drifts by the driveway are a few feet deep and I hope the Jackson’s prepared their crops accordingly. It’s not like snow in Central Texas is something we see often.

I probably should warn her that this particular property is known for its charm. And I don’t just mean the exquisite details of its historical architecture.

It has a tendency to shift to meet the needs of the people who stay here. Some guests get really weirded out by it, but most people who come to Enchanted Hollow are looking for that sort of thing. So it usually works out.

By the time she heads inside, I’m only a few steps behind her. The first thing I notice when I cross the doorway isn’t just the welcoming heat, it’s the scent of cinnamon and pine.

But I know that they don’t leave anything here that smells, in case people have allergies. This is a glimpse of Laila, the house already adapting to her desires.

“Wow,” she breathes as I set her bag down between us. “This is so….cozy.”

It is. The furniture is more rustic than I’d expect from her, blankets draped over the backs of couches and chairs, and Christmas is everywhere.

I watch her, looking for any clue that she recognizes what’s happening.

“Maybe the house knew you’d be the next guest.”

“That’s silly,” she scoffs. “I didn’t even know I’d be the next guest.”

“Wanderlust Refuge… it changes. It matches what people need for their stay. I guess it thought you could use a little Christmas magic.”

She turns her head.

“Maybe it’s right.”