When was the last time anyone had been that excited to see me come home? When was the last time I’d felt like I belonged somewhere specific rather than just occupying expensive real estate?
The questions were uncomfortable enough without adding Holly-related complications to my already uncertain future planning.
But as I finally turned away from the window and prepared for my first night back in Everdale Falls, I couldn’t shake the image of her confident smile or the way she’d moved with such natural grace. Couldn’t stop wondering what had brought her home, whether she was planning to stay, how she’d react to discovering that her childhood neighbor had returned at exactly the same time.
Some coincidences felt like fate testing your commitment to making good decisions.
Others felt like opportunities disguised as complications.
Time would tell which category this particular coincidence belonged to, but either way, my quiet sabbatical had just become infinitely more interesting.
And possibly infinitely more dangerous to my peace of mind.
As I settled into the guest room bed and listened to the familiar sounds of Everdale Falls at night—wind through the mountains, the distant hum of the highway, the occasional car door from neighbors returning home—I realized that comingback here had already changed something fundamental about my perspective on what I wanted from life.
Maybe it was the reminder of what home felt like when it was chosen rather than just convenient. Maybe it was the contrast between a small-town community and Manhattan isolation.
Or maybe it was the reality that Holly Winters had grown up into someone who made me question everything I’d thought I knew about my priorities and my future.
Some homecomings were definitely more complicated than others.
Especially when they involved discovering that your best friend’s little sister had become the most beautiful woman you’d ever seen, and you had absolutely no idea what to do about it.
Four
HOLLY
Settling In
I wokeup in my childhood bedroom to the sound of Mom clattering around the kitchen and the disorienting realization that the ceiling did, in fact, still have glow-in-the-dark stars arranged in what teenage me had thought was a sophisticated constellation pattern. Spoiler alert: it wasn’t.
The Jonas Brothers poster caught my eye from across the room, and I briefly considered whether taking it down would be admitting defeat or claiming victory. Joe’s perfectly coiffed hair seemed to be judging me, which was rich coming from someone who’d worn purity rings and skinny jeans simultaneously.
Day one of being a temporary failure-to-launch adult living in her childhood bedroom.The thought should have been more depressing than it actually was, but there was something oddly comforting about waking up to familiar sounds and the knowledge that someone downstairs was making breakfast without expecting me to contribute anything more complicated than showing up.
The smell of bacon drifted upstairs, followed by Mom’s voice calling, “Holly! Breakfast! And wear something warm—it’s beautiful outside!”
I pulled on my favorite sweatpants and tee—different from yesterday’s disgusting travel attire—and stumbled downstairs, where Mom was orchestrating a breakfast spread that could feed a small army. Dad was already at the table, reading the local paper with the kind of focused attention usually reserved for state secrets or sports scores.
“Good morning, sweetheart,” Mom said, pressing a cup of coffee into my hands before I was fully awake enough to ask for it. “How did you sleep?”
“Like someone who traveled sixteen hours to move back into her teenage bedroom,” I said, accepting the coffee gratefully. “So, you know, surprisingly well, actually.”
Dad looked up from his paper with a grin. “It’s the mountain air. Always was good for sleeping. Takes some adjusting, but it’s good to have your home, kiddo.”
Kiddo.I was twenty-eight years old, but there was something endearing about being someone’s kiddo again, especially when that someone was making me bacon without any expectation of productivity or contribution to household expenses.
Mom set a plate in front of me loaded with enough breakfast food to fuel a marathon. “I thought we could spend the morning getting you properly settled,” she said, settling into her own chair with the kind of maternal efficiency that suggested she’d been planning this conversation. “Make sure you have everything you need, maybe go into town and reacquaint you with all the changes.”
“Changes?” I asked around a bite of perfectly crispy bacon. “In Everdale Falls? Did they finally replace the stop sign that’s been leaning sideways since I was in high school?”
“Very funny,” Mom said, though she was smiling. “Actually, there have been quite a few improvements. New shops, the coffee place expanded, and they’re doing wonderful things with the downtown revitalization project.”
Dad folded his paper and reached for more coffee. “Your mother’s being diplomatic. What she means is that Everdale Falls has figured out how to market itself to leaf-peepers and ski tourists without completely losing its small-town charm.”
“Which is good for local business,” Mom added quickly, as if defending the town’s honor. “And it means there are more opportunities now than when you were growing up here.”
The implication hung in the air like a stench no one wanted to claim responsibility for.Opportunities for someone who might be staying longer than originally planned.I appreciated that my parents were being subtle about not pressuring me to discuss my long-term plans, mainly because I didn’t have any.
