Page 48 of Healing Hearts at the Christmas Inn
Holly spun, her heart hammering against her ribs. The boardwalk stretched empty in both directions. No joggers. No early morning walkers. No one.
She turned a full circle, scanning the beach, the parking area, and the edge of the inn's property. Nothing moved. No one was there.
The silence pressed deeper, heavier, like the moment before thunder breaks. Holly felt it in her bones—this wasn't natural. This was something else. Something waiting.
"Hello?" Her voice came out thin, swallowed by the stillness.
The world held its breath.
Holly stood frozen in that suspended moment, feeling absurdly like a student called upon in class, expected to give an answer she didn't know. The pressure of unseen eyes, of presence without form, prickled across her shoulders.
She cleared her throat, feeling foolish but unable to shake the certainty that something—someone—was listening.
"You're welcome," she whispered into the silence, feeling a little ridiculous.
For one perfect heartbeat, nothing happened.
Then the world exhaled.
The cool presence brushed past her again, more distinct this time, almost like fingers trailing across her shoulders. A touch of gratitude, of relief, of recognition. The air warmed. The pressure lifted. And suddenly, all at once, sound rushed back in like a wave breaking: palm fronds rustling in the returning breeze, the ocean's endless conversation with the shore. The birds once again started chirping overhead.
Holly staggered slightly, gripping the boardwalk railing for balance. Her pulse hammered in her throat. The hair on her arms still stood on end, her skin tingling where that impossible something had touched her.
"What just happened?" The words came out barely above a breath.
She glanced around again, half-expecting to see someone smirking at an elaborate prank. But the morning remained innocently normal. A jogger appeared in the distance. A car pulled into the parking lot. Duke's bark echoed from somewhere near the family house.
Everything was exactly as it should be. As if those suspended seconds had never existed.
Holly forced herself to climb the stairs, each step deliberate, refusing to hurry even as her imagination tried to convince her legs to run. It was nothing. Just her mind playing tricks from allthe stress she’d been under lately and her gothically romantic imagination.
"Get your head in the game, Holly," she muttered, climbing the last few steps. "You have a big day and evening ahead of you."
But her hands were still trembling slightly as she pushed through the inn's front door.
The foyer opened before her, and Holly stopped just inside the threshold.
Morning light poured through the tall windows, liquid gold that painted everything in shades of amber and honey. It caught in the crystals of the chandelier overhead, scattering rainbow fractals across the polished wood floor. The antique pieces she'd noticed in passing, the marble-topped console table, the gilt-framed mirror, the mahogany sideboard, all seemed to glow in that light, as if lit from within.
And then the world tilted.
Holly blinked, and the foyer transformed.
The space was filled with people, not ghosts, not transparent or faded, but solid and real, laughing.
The inn was alive. Thriving. Every surface gleamed. Every piece of furniture sat exactly where it was meant to be, loved and used, and part of the fabric of daily joy. Music drifted from somewhere deeper in the building. She could even smell the scent of pine and cinnamon and something baking in the kitchen.
Holly could see it all with impossible clarity. The concierge behind the desk arranging flowers. The bellhop carrying luggage up the stairs. A maid adjusting garland on the banister, humming along to the music. Outside the windows, the parkinglot was filled with colorful, gleaming vehicles. Palm trees swayed under strings of lights that hadn't existed for decades.
This was the inn as it had been. In its glory. In its purpose.
And Holly stood in the middle of it, invisible and silent, witnessing what once was and what she knew it longed to be again.
The vision pulsed with life, with belonging, with the deep bone-certainty that this place mattered. That it held something precious. That it was worth fighting for.
Holly's chest ached with the beauty of it.
And then, as suddenly as it had come, the vision dissolved.
