Page 7 of Wedding Bells in Silverwood

“Such a lovely name. Sounds like a princess.”

“She can be.” Holly shook her head. “She’s almost one and as stubborn as her mother.”

“Time sure does fly.” Vivian placed a hand on Holly’s shoulder. “I can still remember when you were one.”

Nick glanced at Vivian in the rearview mirror. “I bet she was a handful.”

Vivian chuckled. “You’ve got that right.”

Vivian went silent when Nick flipped the indicator to turn onto the next street. Holly twisted to face her and found her mother’s eyes welling up.

Holly’s brows shot upward. “Mom, are you okay?”

Vivian worried her lip for a moment. “It’s our street.”

“Yeah.”

“Well …” Vivian swallowed. “I haven’t been to the cabin since before your father died.”

Holly’s throat felt thick with tears, and her chest tightened. She reached back, comforted when her mother took her hand.

“Are you going to be okay with this?” Holly asked.

“Yes. Yes, of course. I can practically hear your father saying, ‘It’s about time you went to the cabin. What took you so long?’ He always said Christmas wasn’t the same if we weren’t spending it in Silverwood.”

When the house came into view, Vivian let out a soft “Oh.”

Pure, white snow surrounded the picket fence. A picturesque, one-story cabin was nestled within the place Holly called home. Not just now but for all her childhood holidays. The home Holly’s father had left her in his will.

Nick had barely parked the car before Vivian stepped onto the driveway. She stood there, staring at the structure, until Holly came to her side. Vivian sighed and took Holly’s hand.

Cupid bounded out of the car and sniffed around in the snow before sauntering to the front door, wagging his tail.

“Ready to go in?” Holly asked her mother.

“Yes.” Vivian beamed. “Let’s.”

Nick followed them to the porch while Holly fished the key out of her purse. Once they strode inside, everyone paused in the entranceway.

Vivian’s eyes were glassy as she gazed over the space. Holly couldn’t be sure, but she could swear her mom was holding her breath. Perhaps it was her way of stopping time to fully absorb her return to the cabin. Vivian released a slow sigh and made her way deeper into the house. Nick and Holly exchanged a look as they waited for Vivian to say something.

“This place belonged to his parents.” With a small smile, Vivian ran her hand along the fireplace mantle. “He helped his father—your grandfather—redo the floors. I think that’s where his love of carpentry stemmed from.”

Vivian let out a laugh, seeming lost in memories. “I can remember when we first brought you here, Holly. You’d just started walking, and your father was paranoid that you’d somehow get hurt. He went to a lot of trouble babyproofing every room. He did everything to keep you safe, and after all that, he had the sense of humor to accuse me of being overprotective.”

Though a pang of sorrow squeezed at her heart, Holly gave her mother a soft smile.

Vivian turned to Nick. “Holly learned to paint here, you know?”

“Is that right?” Nick prompted.

“Her father was repainting some furniture, and when he wasn’t looking, little five-year-old Holly picked up his paintbrush and gave everything in sight a fresh coat of white paint.”

A blush warmed Holly’s cheeks.

Vivian chuckled. “But instead of getting mad, my Jake saw the sparkle in her eyes and bought her some fingerpaints and a big block of paper. She spent hours with those paints. We went through them in two days and had to get her more.”

Holly gave her a sideways smile. “I’d like to think I’ve blossomed artistically since then.”

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