Page 36 of Holiday at Home
She’s made it pretty clear she doesn’t trust me—and I get that. I wouldn’t trust me either.
So now what?
Violet locks the bakery, doublechecks that the lock is seated, and I offer her my arm. She threads hers through, and I lean over to press a kiss to the top of her head. She smells of cinnamon and ginger and feels like my whole world.
Again…I don’t know what to do with that.
“You look beautiful.”
Violet sighs and leans her head against my shoulder. “Sometimes you feel too good to be true.”
I frown, because everyone knows what they say about things that are too good to be true. We walk quietly, each of us lost in our thoughts. Then, as if we both realize where we are and what we’re doing, we almost physically shake ourselves and separate.
“How was your day?” I ask at the same time she says, “Tell me something good.”
We laugh and I gesture her way. “Please. You first.”
Violet tells me stories of Roger Clementine looking more like Santa Claus every day, Russ Calder coming in to place a large order when everything was almost sold out and glaring like his bad timing was her fault, Matilda McIntire clearly not liking her coffee but being sweet about it anyway.
She laughs lightly with each story, her eyes bright with good humor. Her movements are large and free. There’s color in her face and vibrancy in her voice.
It’s like she’s coming back online, back to life. The woman I saw that first day in the bakery was barely a shadow of the one walking with me now. The difference warms my heart and justifies my decision to postpone Colorado to stay with her.
If nothing else happens between us, there’s that.
We stroll through the stalls in Town Square, the people of Stillwater Bay sharing their wares and talents. There are snow globes, ornaments, holiday signs, figurines, hand-knit sweaters and hats and mittens. Violet stops at each stall, taking the time to study at least one item, exclaiming about its beauty to the person behind the table. I watch carefully, trying to gauge which things she’s most excited about so I can come back and buy them all later.
At one of the last stalls, Violet picks up a hand-painted sign, a sweetly sad smile twitching to life on her pretty face. I peer over her shoulder as she traces a finger over the words.
Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.Take my yoke upon you and learn from me,for Iam gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.For my yoke is easy and my burden is light. Matthew 11: 28-30
“Mom used to love this one.” Violet glances up at me, her eyes wide and shining. “Nora too.” She shrugs, smiling down at the piece in her hand.
“Do you want it?”
“No, not for me.” She shakes her head. “But I might buy it for Nora. She and Mom used to love to talk about their faith. I’d just sit there and listen, marveling at how certain they were, you know?”
I bob my head, lost in the memory of Sylvia Sterling, calm, cool, easy to be around even in difficult seasons. “Your mom always had this sense of peace about her.”
“That she did. This joy that surpasses reason. Nora has it too. I think I’m just built differently than them.”
Violet pays the shop owner, then leans into me as the sign is wrapped in tissue paper and bagged.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and without thinking I pull it out, shaking my head at a text from Mom giving me hell for still not knowing when I’ll join them in Colorado. I fire off a quick reply as the shop owner hands over Violet’s purchase, thanking her for the support and wishing her a merry Christmas.
“What is it with you and that flip phone?” Violet asks as we move on from the stall. “It is so not the New York business mogul vibe I expected when I saw that fancy rental car in my driveway.”
I give her a look that screamsI told you so.
“I get that a lot,” I say, flipping the phone open and then closed again. “But if I’m honest, it’s what saved me. I was hard-core addicted to screens—socials, news, the stock market. So many notifications coming, all day. All night. I wasn’t getting my work done. I was distracted and anxious all the time. Couldn’thold a train of thought. I had to make a change.” I wiggle the device. “People can make fun of my flip phone all they want, and I’ll still be better off than I was before I unplugged.”
“How do you even get a text on this thing?” Violet reaches for the phone, laughing, smiling, fully alive and ready to tease me mercilessly over my responsible decision. I hear another text come in and her whole demeanor shifts. She glances up at me, brows creasing as she hands the phone back.
“I didn’t mean to read your message,” she says, pressing her lips together. “But I did. What does your mom mean, that she wishes you’d left with them for Colorado like you planned?”
I laugh. I have to. I had no intention of Violet discovering I stayed in Stillwater for her, but there’s no way around it now. I’m a terrible liar. The fact that I made it this far without her figuring things out is a miracle.
“Well, I’m not completely sure, but I think she means she wishes I’d gotten on the plane the same day they did, like we’d all planned.”
