But I suspect there’s another question he’s not asking:why here, of all places?
I wish I had an answer for that one.
If I had to guess, when I finally had to start from scratch, this was the first place I thought of. Enchanted Hollow would always be home, but I needed somewhere that didn’t come with a hovering mother and magical bargains only a short walk away.
If I’d wanted it, I could’ve asked for help while I pieced my life back together. But I wanted toearnour life, however that looked. At the moment, I’m trying not to feel like I’ve failed miserably.
“I’ll save that story for another time if you don’t mind.” I reach out and grab a snickerdoodle. “What about you? I actually think about your dad a lot around Christmas.” I catch his gaze, gentling my voice. “I know the farm’s been closed. And… I’m so sorry about your parents. I heard when I moved here. They left you an incredible legacy.”
His hand tightens around the mug. For a beat, the bakery noise thins to a hush.
“Thanks,” he says quietly, eyes fixed on the window. “It’s been… a lot.”
Guilt presses like fingers on a bruise.
“What do you miss most?” I ask, fingers worrying the rim of my cup.
He blinks, and I can’t decide if I’ve crossed an invisible line.
“No one asks that question,” he rasps. “I’m…not sure.”
“First thing that comes to mind?” I whisper. “Just close your eyes.”
He does, surprisingly. His knuckles go white as he grips the table, then relax again.
“The way the house always felt alive. Everyone was always busy, but somehow it didn’t feel like a chore. At least not looking back on it. I wish I could’ve seen that then or known the difference, so I could’ve appreciated it.”
He opens his eyes, and they’re clearer now, like saying the words allowed him to set down a piece of his grief. A muscle in his jaw ticks before he clears his throat and sits a little straighter—as if tucking the ache back where he keeps it.
I let the moment breathe, then nudge us back to steadier ground. “Your dad as Santa was legendary. I was hoping to book him last year before I realized the farm wasn’t open.”
A shadow of a smile tugs at his mouth. “Yeah. He really loved it.”
The one Christmas I spent here, they had a small barn on the property decked out as “Santa’s Workshop”. His father sat on a massive red velvet chair that looked like it came straight from the North Pole, and it genuinely looked like you were stepping into a magical place. Not like the magic of Enchanted Hollow—it was different. Not filled with wishes and promises, more like possibilities. And hope.
I imagine that’s a lot of pressure to carry, and I wish I knew how to help him.
Silence settles again—softer this time, more blanket than wall.
“She’d kill me if she knew I had snickerdoodles without her,” I say, thinking of Phoebe as I break a cookie in two. “Thank you for ordering these.”
He watches me, exhaustion finally showing signs in his eyes, right around the edges. I fight the urge to reach out and smooth the lines, then hug his pain away.
“You should probably get home to her. It’s been a long day. Fans are running at the studio,” he adds, almost like an afterthought. “I can ask my guy to check your apartment ceiling tomorrow.”
“Thank you.” The word feels too small, but it’s what I have. Temporary, I tell myself, just until things stop leaking.
“I’m not crazy about you sleeping at your place with how wet it is.”
“We’ll be okay,” I tell him, but honestly, I hadn’t even thought that far ahead. My heart sinks. If there’s something wrong with the apartment, I mayhaveto go home.
“We’ll figure it out,” he says, firmer this time, like he can read my mind.
The way he says it makes my chest tighten, like he’s already decided something I haven’t agreed to yet.
I nod, slipping a cookie into the to-go bag for Phoebe.
Outside, the lights along Main blink on, and for a second, the town looks like a snow globe someone decided to shake. I don’t know what’s next—but I don’t feel quite so alone walking toward it.
