As soon as I say it, the outline of the old Victorian appears through the white blur, windows glowing gold against the storm. Relief hits hard.
“It looks like it’s straight off a Christmas card,” she murmurs, leaning closer to the glass.
The coin Sebastian gave me last year warms in my pocket like a confirmation, and I huff out a breath. Our last experience with snowed-in together “magic” helped us—at least until her mother came in like a wrecking ball.
She drops my hand, and I hate the absence it leaves.
“Be careful getting out,” I warn.
“Not my first rodeo.” She extends a leg and wiggles a snow boot in the air. “I’ll be fine.”
“Eventually,” I mutter as she climbs out of the car.
Her leap-before-she-looks personality is part of her charm and half my anxiety. I can already picture her showing up at Ella’s wedding in a cast and on crutches if I don’t watch out for her.
By the time I circle to the trunk, she’s spinning in the snow, tongue out, catching flakes. I shouldn’t laugh—but I do. The drifts are already knee deep, and I can’t help wondering if the weather’s tied to whatever magic’s pulsing through this town again.
Enchanted Hollow has moods, and tonight it feels hopeful.
Maybe we’ll get lucky this time, too.
I should probably warn her about Wanderlust Refuge. It’s not just charming in a “they don’t make houses like they used to”sort of way. It’s magical in a way that only makes sense in Enchanted Hollow. The house has a habit of shifting to fit whoever stays there. Some guests get really spooked by it. Others… well, they end up exactly where they need to be.
And I think we both could really use that.
By the time she’s made it in the door, I’m only a fewsteps behind. The first thing that hits me isn’t the heat—it’s the smell. Cinnamon and pine. It reminds me immediately of the inn in Colorado.
I know for a fact they don’t use scented candles here. This is the house reacting to Laila.
She shivers once, tugging the sleeves of my gray hoodie farther down her hands—the same one she “borrowed” when she was here only a couple of months ago. I told her to keep it. Still, seeing her in it now knocks something loose in my chest. It’s too big on her, soft at the edges, and somehow the only thing in the frame that feels right.
“Wow,” she breathes as I set her bag down. “This is so…cozy.”
It is. Rustic furniture, blankets everywhere, Christmas in every corner. I’ve never been in a space that’s truly Laila’s, but somehow it feels exactly like her—a house built out of second chances. It’s the kind of place that wraps around you instead of being a roof over your head.
“Maybe the house knew you’d be the next guest,” I say, watching her.
“That’s silly,” she scoffs. “I didn’t even know I’d be the next guest.”
“Wanderlust Refuge changes. It matches what people need for their stay. I guess it thought you could use a little Christmas magic.”
She glances over her shoulder, a smile ghosting across her lips.
“Maybe it’s right.”
twenty-seven
HOLDEN
I thinksomething is interfering with the cabin’s charm.
This rental should have a minimum of four bedrooms, and so far, I’ve foundone. The bed is set up in the coziest room in the house—fireplace, flannel quilt, and fairy lights she’s going to love—but since there’s no way I can make it back to town tonight, it’s a problem.
I can sleep on the couch, but it won’t matter. Laila will hate this.
The air smells faintly of cinnamon and pine again—the house reacting to her, not the other way around.
When I find her, she’s in the living room. Christmas music fills the space at a low volume, an oldie playlist—Ella Fitzgerald crooning about snow. It’s usually pop remakes for her; classics mean she’s feeling things.
