I turn, eyes wide, drawn toward the tree like I’m being called.
The closer I get, the faster my breath comes.
My fingers reach out, trembling a little, as I pluck one of the ornaments from a lower branch.
It’s a gingerbread cookie.
Perfectly frosted.
A tiny “E+M” piped in red icing.
But it’s not just any cookie.
It’s my cookie.
I scan the rest of the tree and realize—they’re all mine.
Every single ornament. Sugar cookies, gingerbread, shortbread—all of them are replicas from The Cookie Hive.
Some from past seasons, some from this year’s specials.
A few of them are from custom orders, only my regulars would know about.
“How did you do all this?” I start to ask, voice cracking.
Eb clears his throat and shrugs one shoulder, the faintest hint of pride behind his eyes.
“I know a guy.”
He shrugs.
And because he’s damn near perfect, he gives me a moment.
Doesn’t push.
Just stands back, patient and quiet, letting me gawk and try to process what the hell is happening.
Because this?
This is not the act of a man who used me.
This is a man who knows me.
And maybe loves me?
When I finally look back at him, he’s not smirking. Not acting cocky or smug or anything remotely jerkish.
He looks raw.
“I didn’t ghost you,” he says softly. “I didn’t run away.”
“But—” I start, only for him to hold up a hand.
“I wrote a note before I left. I swear I did.”
“You didn’t leave a note,” I say, biting the inside of my cheek. “I woke up alone and… I thought I meant nothing.”
He curses softly and runs a hand over his face.
