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Turning slightly, she met his gaze, and she saw a flicker of hurt in his eyes.

He cleared his throat, his voice carefully neutral. “Breakfast is served. In the dining room, whenever you’re ready.”

Mary turned, seeming to notice him for the first time. “Oh, how lovely. Thank you, Mr. Holcomb.” She moved toward the doorway, pausing to pat Layla on the cheek as she passed. Her hand was cool and smooth, her touch as impersonal as a stranger’s. “The roads should be clear soon, darling. We barely made it in, but we managed, and your car should be able to get out by the end of the day, surely. Then you’ll be back to your regular life, back where you belong. All will be as it should be.”

Layla stood frozen as her mother swept past Christopher and into the hallway, already calling for Layla’s father. A knot formed in her throat, making it hard to breathe.

All will be as it should be.

But what if that wasn’t what should be? What if the life she’d been living wasn’t the life she was supposed to have?

She looked at Christopher, still standing in the doorway, and for the first time, she felt genuine repulsion at the thought of returning to her old life. Not just reluctance or anxiety, but a visceral rejection of everything that life represented.

It felt like a performance. Everything that she was so sure had been “what mattered” felt insignificant next to what she’d seen here. There was so much genuine happiness in this town. There wasn’t a lot of wealth, or huge homes, or perfectly aesthetic parties, or fine dining restaurants, but all of those things that had felt so important didn’t seem that way anymore, next to what she’d seen she was missing.

She didn’t want to go back to that. She didn’t want to be that person anymore.

But she didn’t know how to explain it, especially not to her parents and definitely not to Christopher, who was looking at her with a carefully blank expression, as if he was already preparing himself for her to leave.

“Christopher…” she started, but he was already turning away.

“I should check on the food,” he said quietly. “Take your time.”

He walked away, disappearing down the hall toward the kitchen, leaving Layla standing alone in the front room with that knot still lodged in her throat and her mother’s words echoing in her head.

She could hear her parents in the dining room now, her mother’s voice carrying clearly as she commented on the table settings, the china, what was being served for breakfast. Finding fault, as always. Finding ways to make even Christopher’s beautiful hospitality seem somehow lacking.

She knew she should go join them—sit down and eat breakfast and make polite conversation and pretend that everything was fine, that she was ready to go back to her real life as soon as the roads cleared.

But she couldn’t do it.

Instead, she found herself heading toward the front door, pulling on her coat and boots. She needed air, and space. She needed to be anywhere but here.

The cold hit her like a shock when she stepped outside. The sky was a brilliant blue, and snow covered everything in a thick white blanket, pristine and untouched except for the paths that had been shoveled clear.

Layla walked down the porch steps and into the front yard, her boots crunching in the snow. She could see her breath misting in the air and feel the cold seeping through her jeans. But she didn’t care.

She thought about the past few weeks. About the storm that had stranded her here, about Christopher’s kindness. How much she would miss that… would miss everyone’s kindness, even when she hadn’t been all that kind to them. They’d been welcoming when she’d been dismissive, and she knew she hadn’t deserved how generous everyone had been.

Layla wrapped her arms around herself, staring out at the snow-covered street. A few houses down, she could see smoke rising from a chimney. Across the street, someone had built a snowman in their front yard, complete with a carrot nose and a striped scarf.

This wasn’t just a quaint spot to write an article about, it was real, full of real people living real lives. It was home for all the people she’d met and a lot she hadn’t, and it could be her home too, if she was brave enough to stay.

But was she brave enough to disappoint her parents, to walk away from the life they’d planned for her and choose something different? She didn’t know.

Standing there in the cold morning air, with her parents inside eating breakfast, and Christopher in the kitchen avoiding her, and the roads getting clearer every day, Layla didn’t know what she was going to do.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Imogen stood at the kitchen counter, staring down at the sandwich she was making. She’d spread mayonnaise on both sides. Who did that? The turkey and lettuce were going to slide right out the moment Katie tried to take a bite.

She glared at it as if it had personally offended her. This was ridiculous. She’d made hundreds of sandwiches in her life by now, given how many years she’d been packing Katie’s lunches. She could make a turkey sandwich in her sleep.

Except apparently not today. Her mind was spinning with worry and her stomach was doing nervous flips, her pulse feeling like it was beating too fast with the anxiety that had been hounding her all morning.

Today she and Lincoln planned on telling Katie about the baby, and she was more nervous than she’d been since this whole thing started.

Imogen set down the butter knife and pressed her palms flat against the cool granite countertop, taking a slow breath. The kitchen smelled like the cinnamon rolls she’d baked that morning—Katie’s favorite—and the turkey she’d roasted yesterday specifically for these sandwiches. Everything was fine, and it was going to continue to be fine.