Page 8 of Healing Hearts at the Christmas Inn
The Christmas Inn, the elegant script read.Anastasia Island, St. Augustine, Florida.
And beneath it, in smaller letters:Part of the Nights of Lights Festival.
Holly stared at the photo, something stirring in her chest. The inn looked magical. Peaceful. Like a place where broken things could be mended, where hearts could heal under the glow of a million tiny lights.
She flipped the brochure open. Inside were more photos of guest rooms with ocean views, a dining room adorned with garlands and candles, a courtyard strung with fairy lights that seemed to melt into the horizon. There was a description of the inn's history, its century-old traditions, the candlelit carol services, and lantern-lit carriage rides.
It looked like something out of a dream.
Behind her, Trinity's voice softened. "I love you too, Daddy. Stay safe, okay?"
A pause. Then, quieter, "I miss you."
Holly heard the receiver click back into place, and she quickly tucked the brochure into her lap, turning just as Trinity shuffled toward the door.
"I'm going to get a snack," Trinity said, her voice determinedly cheerful. "Want anything?"
"No, sweetheart. Thank you." Holly felt the sting of tears burn the back of her eyes. This was the third time her father wasn’t coming home. Three years, Gabe had been away from home.
Trinity nodded and disappeared down the hallway, her footsteps fading into the quiet.
Holly looked down at the brochure again, running her fingers over the glossy cover. For the first time in months, she let herself imagine something other than the hollow ache that had become her constant companion.
She imagined herself and Trinity there. At the inn. Watching the sunrise over the ocean with hot cocoa in hand. Walking along the beach, collecting shells. Sitting by a roaring fire while the world outside sparkled with lights.
She imagined a Christmas that wasn't weighed down by betrayal and loss. A Christmas filled with light instead of shadows.
The phone rang again, jolting her from the thought.
She picked it up without checking the caller ID. "Hello?"
"You sound like you've been crying."
Holly exhaled, relief flooding through her. "Charlie."
"Who else?" Her sister's voice was warm, laced with concern. "How's the packing going?"
"Slowly."
"Need me to come over and help you burn his stuff? I've got matches and a bottle of wine."
Despite everything, Holly laughed. It felt rusty, like she'd forgotten how. "Tempting, but I think arson is frowned upon."
"Killjoy." Charlie paused. "Seriously, though. How are you holding up?"
Holly glanced at the brochure still resting in her lap. "Gabe called. He's not coming home for Christmas."
"Oh, Holls." Charlie's voice softened. "I'm sorry."
"It's fine. He can't help it." Holly traced the edge of the brochure with one finger. "I just... I don't know what to do for Trinity. She's trying so hard to be brave, but I can see it. She misses him. And with everything that's happened with Simon?—"
"Then do something different," Charlie said firmly. "Take her somewhere. Get out of Miami for a while. You both need a break."
Holly looked down at the photo of the inn glowing in her hands. "Actually... I found something."
"Oh?" Charlie’s voice held surprise.
"A brochure. For an inn in St. Augustine. On Anastasia Island. It's part of the Nights of Lights festival." She hesitated. "I was thinking... maybe Trinity and I could go. Just for a few weeks. Get away from everything."
