She’s awake now. I give it to her. “For you.”
Her lips part. She takes it with both hands. Her fingertips trace the carved letters. “You made this?”
“Yeah. You should have a place here. On our tree. With Emma. With me.”
Tears fill Holly’s eyes. “Cole?—”
“You fit here, Holly. In my life.”
“It’s beautiful.” She rises and hangs the ornament next to Emma’s star.
Wood touches wood.
“Welcome home,” I say.
That night, we stand, wrapped in firelight and the glow of Christmas lights, looking at the tree.
“Thank you.” Holly leans into me. “For sharing this with me. For letting me be part of it.”
I brush my lips over her hair. “Thank you for being here. For making it okay to remember. For not being scared of her memory.”
Outside, snow falls again. Soft and gentle this time. The kind that makes everything clean and new.
“I’m happy you’re here tonight,” I say. “With me and Emma’s lights and your ornament on the tree.”
“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”
We settle on the couch, wrapped in blankets, watching the lights flicker and dance. The fire crackles. The cabin is warm. Her head is on my shoulder. My arm is around her.
Holly shifts, turning to face me. Her hand comes up to cup my jaw. “Thank you for today. For all of it.”
I cover her hand with mine. “You made it possible.”
She kisses me, soft at first, testing. I cup her face, angle deeper. Her hands fist in my shirt, pulling me closer. Not urgent like before but slow and sure. Thorough. The kind of kiss that saysI’m here, I’m staying, I’m yours.
My hand slides to her waist. She shifts closer, settling into my lap. Her weight against me feels right. Her heart beats against my chest.
I break the kiss to trail my lips along her jaw and down her throat. She tilts her head back, giving me access.
Her fingers thread through my hair. “Cole…”
I return to her mouth and kiss her until we’re both breathing hard. Until the fire isn’t the only thing making the cabin warm.
When we finally break apart, we’re both flushed. She rests her forehead against mine. Her eyes are closed, and she’s smiling.
“I love you,” she whispers.
I breathe easier than I have in three years. The ornament box is empty now. The tree is full. And Holly’s name hangs next to Emma’s star.
It feels…right.
Later, after we’ve eaten and the fire’s burned low, Holly unzips the duffel bag she brought with her. “I want to show you this.”
She pulls out a leather journal that’s worn at the edges. The leather is soft and cracked along the spine. She opens it carefully. “This is my grandma’s recipe book. She died when I was twelve. It’s all I have left of her.”
I take it from her hands. The pages are yellowed. Some are stained with flour and butter. Handwritten notes are written in fading ink. Ingredient lists. Margins are filled with annotations in different pens, different years.
Add more vanilla. Tom loves these. Made for church bake sale 1987.
