Questions immediately fly.
“Colby, are the Vipers rumors accurate?”
“Is this a career reset?”
“Are you leaving Frostholm?”
“Will the Briar Cove relationship continue if traded?”
That last one nearly makes me laugh, because somehow that’s the easiest question in the room.
The GM starts speaking first about organizational confidence and future goals.
I barely hear him. Instead, I think about Jillie asking if I’d miss them.
About Sadie pretending distance will hurt less later.
About how empty New York suddenly feels compared to Briar Cove.
The GM finally nods toward me.
My turn. I lean toward the microphone slowly. The room goes silent.
“I’m staying with Frostholm.”
Flashbulbs explode instantly. Questions start flying again. I keep going anyway.
“I spent a long-time chasing place I thought I was supposed to want.” My voice steadies, the more honest I become. “Big markets. Bigger attention. Bigger expectations.”
The reporters quiet slightly, because this isn’t the answer they expected.
“I think somewhere along the way I forgot what feeling at home was supposed to feel like.”
The room is completely silent now. And suddenly I don’t care about headlines anymore. “I’m done chasing places that don’t feel like home.”
Somewhere in the back of the room, somebody audibly whispers:Oh my goodness.
The internet is absolutely going to lose its mind. Honestly? Fine.
Because for the first time in years, I mean every single word.
By the time I leave Frostholm, snowstorm warnings cover every highway alert sign heading toward Briar Cove. I drive straight into it anyway.
Wind throws snow hard against the windshield while darkness settles across the roads. My hands grip the steering wheel tighter with every mile because suddenly one thing matters more than anything else: Sadie thinks I’m leaving. And I cannot let her believe that for one more night. Nor my sweet Jillie.
***
Briar Cove finally appears through thick snowfall nearly two hours later.
The town glows softly beneath white drifts and Christmas lights.
Home. That realization arrives instantly now without resistance.
Sweet Seasons Bakery still glows warmly at the corner of Main Street. I park crookedly outside and jog through the snow toward the door.
Inside, Sadie stands alone locking the pastry cases for the night.
She looks up the second I knock.
