Page 11 of Holly Ever After

My phone vibrates in my pocket, jarring me from my reverie. It's Adam again. My stomach knots. I've lost count of how many times he's tried to contact me since I walked out of our shared life. And each ignored call, each deleted text, they all feel like tiny victories. But also like a door I haven't completely shut. I silence my phone and tuck it back into my pocket, feeling the weight of it like never before.

I make a hasty purchase—anything to busy my thoughts—and step out into the chilled air.

As I step out of the bookstore, my boots crunch against the freshly fallen snow that blankets the cobblestone pathways of the town square.

“Well if it isn’t Holly Winters finally coming to see her best friend.”

Turning, I see Jackie, my childhood friend, who's currently trying to manage a gaggle of hyperactive kids. They're huddled around a table filled with half-finished Christmas ornaments, construction paper, and—good Lord—is that glitter?

“I told you after our last weekend together that I never want to see you again,” I say but smile at the memories. Jackie came to visit me in the city after my breakup from Adam. I’m sure we had fun, but I can only remember the hangover from hell that lasted a week. “This is your idea of fun, huh?”

She rolls her eyes. “Oh, please. This shitshow is what they call teaching. But don't let the arts and crafts fool you. It's a goddamn war zone. You try telling Timmy over there not to eat the fucking glitter.”

I bite my lips together, suppressing a laugh. “You always did have a way with children.”

“Screw that,” she says, taking a break to stand beside me. “So, what brings you to town? I thought you'd be buried in your little cottage, avoiding humanity.”

I sigh. “Sean's helping me with some house repairs.”

She raises her eyebrows. “Sean? Jesus, that's like putting a bull in a China shop and expecting no breakages.”

“He's driving me up the freaking wall.”

She shoots me a sympathetic smile, probably picturing the many public arguments me and Sean have gotten into over the years.

“Well, if you're looking for a distraction, I'm setting you up. He's perfect for you—”

“No, no, no,” I cut her off, shaking my head. “I'm not in the dating game right now.”

“Holly, you need to get out, have some fun. Remember fun? That thing adults do when they're not busy adulting? The last time I spoke to you, you were three days in the same sweatpants while drowning in Ben & Jerry’s over a guy who didn’t deserve you anyway.”

Caramel Chew Chewreally had my back.

Before I can argue, she continues, “Look, even if you don't want a date, you're coming to Christmas dress up at Molly's bar. No excuses. I need a wing woman. Don’t worry, you have two weeks to prepare.”

A wing woman for a night out at Molly's? God help me. “Okay,” I relent, more for her sake than mine. “But I'm not being set up.”

“Deal,” Jackie says, sealing my fate. She tilts her head toward the kids at the stall. I shoot them a quick wave. “Want to help with this lot?”

I back away slowly before she physically makes me stay. “Sean is more child than I can handle right now.”

She pouts while simultaneously getting wrapped in tinsel. “You’re the worst friend.”

“But I love you.”

“Yeah.” She blows a hair from her forehead. “I love you too.”

Strolling around the bustling square, I can't help but get caught up in the excitement as everyone prepares for the upcoming Pine Falls Games. It’s still weeks away, but this town takes their games seriously. Vendors set up their stalls, kids dart around with the electric energy that only comes with the holiday season, and families snap photos in front of a grand, awe-inspiring wooden arch. The arch is a masterpiece, the wood dark and rich, adorned with intricate carvings of snowflakes, reindeer, and pine trees. A delicate lacework of vines and holly wraps around the columns, converging at the top in a beautiful Christmas star that seems to glow in the setting sun.

As I admire the craftsmanship, my old high school teacher Mrs. Thompson and her husband Doug sidle up next to me. “Isn't it gorgeous?” she says, nodding at the arch. “Sean did that, you know.”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Of course, he did. “It's beautiful,” I admit.

She leans in, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. “I have to ask, when is your next book coming out? They're my secret pleasure, you know.”

A bubble of laughter threatens to escape, but I manage to hold it back. “Hopefully soon,” I say, cheeks flushing a shade of pink I'd rather not analyze. Ever since Sean's inappropriate yet oddly stimulating offer for “inspiration,” my writer's block has mysteriously vanished. My mind keeps projecting his image onto the cowboy in my story.

God help me.

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