I dragged a hand down my face, elbows braced on my knees. She didn’t deserve that. She didn’t deserve the weight of my uncertainty or the shadows I’d spent years pretending weren’t there.
But then I remembered the way she looked at me across the table like shesawme—not the soldier, not the screwup, but the man trying to be something else. Something better.
Callie had that power. She made everything warmer. Softer. Like maybe therewassomething worth fighting for beyond guilt and regret.
I stood slowly, grabbed my coat off the chair. My heart thudded heavy in my chest as I stared at the door.
I couldn’t keep letting Leo’s ghost make decisions for me. Not when Callie was out there, hurting and probably blaming herself. Not when I knew damn well I wantedhermore than I feared the fallout.
It was time to stop running. Time to find her.
Before the silence swallowed us whole.
I tugged the scarf higher around my neck, the ridiculous red-and-green knit scratching at my chin as I stepped into the cold. Callie had laughed the first time I wore it—said I looked like I lost a bet with Santa’s stylist. I hadn’t worn it since.
Until now.
Snow crunched under my boots as I walked, the world around me glowing with Christmas charm. Poinsettias lined every storefront window. The wreath on Ms. Langley’s antique shop was bigger than her door. And the trees along Main Street twinkled with strands of white lights that shimmered like icicles under the streetlamps.
The air smelled like roasted chestnuts and sugar cookies, and someone was handing out steaming cups of cider near the church steps. Carolers huddled in scarves and mittens, harmonizing to “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” while kids in puffy coats threw snowballs and parents laughed over coffee cups. The whole town looked like it had been wrapped in a snow globe and shaken just for the occasion.
I should’ve felt like an outsider. I usually did.
But tonight?
Tonight I felt… tethered. Anchored to something bigger than the ache I carried.
Maybe it was the memory of Callie’s eyes lighting up when she read Christmas stories to the kids. Or the way she hummed along to carols when she thought no one was listening. Or maybe it was how she’d looked at me that night in her kitchen, like I was someone worth believing in.
That memory warmed me now more than the scarf ever could.
The square was packed, but I moved through it with purpose—dodging snowball fights and weaving around couples taking selfies beneath the lights. I scanned the crowd, heart thudding, pulse picking up as I neared the giant tree in the center. If she was anywhere tonight, it would be here.
And if I found her?
I wouldn’t waste another second in silence.
Not when the whole damn world smelled like cinnamon and second chances.
I lingered near the lamppost at the edge of the square, trying to ignore the way my breath fogged in the cold and how my heart wouldn’t settle. The metal at my back was freezing, but I barely noticed. All I could see was her.
Callie.
Standing beneath the golden glow of fairy lights, she looked like something out of a dream. Not because of the way the snow caught in her curls or the cranberry red coat she wore—but because she belonged there. Center stage. Lit up. Alive in a way I hadn’t seen in far too long.
“Thank you all for coming to celebrate the reopening ofThe Book Nook,” she said, her voice ringing through the square like music. Confident. Steady. Joyful.
I’d heard that voice quiet, hesitant, trembling when she let herself be vulnerable. I’d heard it teasing and warm over grilled cheese and bookstore banter. But this? This was a Callie who knew she was loved. Who had earned every ounce of the crowd’s affection.
And God, it was beautiful.
She went on, thanking the community for their support, her words as heartfelt as ever. I watched how the townsfolk leaned into her like she was their sun—how the kids gathered at her feet, how Claire wiped away a proud tear, how even old man Jenkins gave a rare, approving nod.
But it was the way she carried herself that undid me—chin high, eyes alight, shoulders square beneath the twinkle of Christmas lights. She wasn’t just filling Mr. Fletcher’s shoes. She was carving out her own place in this town, this season, this story.
And somehow, I wanted to be part of that story too.
When she mimicked Fletcher’s voice and the crowd erupted in laughter, I laughed with them, a sound that surprised even me. For a moment, it was easy to forget all the reasons I’d stayed away. All the fear, all the guilt.
