Page 96 of Forgotten Romance

“Not whatever comes. We’re meant to be together.”

“Okay.”

“I don’t care if you don’t believe me.”

Keller laughs. “You keep putting words into my mouth. I know you belong together. We all do. We were just waiting for you two to catch up.” He jogs down the few stairs and heads toward his car. “Now, excuse me, I have a certain leggy blond waiting to warm my balls back up.”

Well, that was more information than I needed, and I’m low-key worried that I’m not going to understand the clue, but I guess it’s too late to call him back now.

Only when I open it, there’s my handwriting staring back at me.

Bilbo didn’t give up. And neither will I.

The words hold so much more meaning being reflected back at me. And this clue is simple.

The library.

It’s not supposed to be open today, so I’m apprehensive as I approach, but there’s Tonya waiting at the door.

“Tell me you know which book it is?” she says.

“I have a good idea.”

She unlocks the front door, and I make my way to the aisle I’ve become overly familiar with. The Hobbit is right where it always is, and I pull out the book, flip open the cover, and there’s my next clue.

Bilbo traveled far, but he always found his way back home again. And so do you.

Home.

I swallow, taking the note and setting the book back before I thank Tonya and return to the car.

I’m not in a rush this time, knowing that was the final clue.

I pass Art’s car on the way down my street, and he throws me a peace sign that I don’t know what to make of.

Once I’m in the driveway, with the car turned off, I sit for a moment wondering how, even though I’ve been alone for half the day, this might turn out to be my favorite Christmas Eve yet.

Mack needed me out of the house.

But he didn’t want to leave me completely alone.

I guess in Kilborough, we never are.

The minute I push our front door open, a burst of scents hit my nose. The type of familiar smell that takes me back in a rush and makes it impossible to keep moving. I freeze in the hall, trying to place it, but not sure if I’m right.

Gran. Her cooking. Her smell. Her Christmas.

Am I hallucinating?

I inhale again, sure this must be some kind of nostalgic mind-fuck, but the scent is still there.

And before I can take another step, I’m rushed from three sides. Kiera launches into my arms, Van clings to my leg, and Mack grabs me from behind. I’m squeezed half to death as we stumble around the corner into the living room, where all the lights are on, the music is playing, and the little train is still choo chooing around the tree.

“Merry Christmas, Davey,” Mack whispers.

The first thing I see is my Millennium Falcon, completely rebuilt and sitting pride of place on the coffee table.

The second is a pudding that looks suspiciously like Gran’s right beside it.

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