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“It sounds like she’s made up her mind.” Steven frowned. “There’s nothing else I have to say.”
“This is my choice,” Layla said firmly. “I need to make my own choices for once.”
“Choices?” Mary’s voice rose. “This isn’t a choice, it’s a mistake. A huge mistake that you’ll regret for the rest of her life, if you screw this up and don’t go back home—”
“Maybe,” Layla said. “But it’s my mistake to make,” she added firmly.
Mary stared at her for a long moment, her face a mask of shock and disappointment. Then she turned on her heel and walked out of the dining room, her footsteps sharp on the hardwood floor. Steven hesitated, and then tossed down his napkin and followed his wife.
Layla heard their footsteps on the stairs, and then the door to the Rose Room open and close with more force than necessary. Then there was silence.
She sat very still, her hands gripping the edge of the table, trying to process what had just happened. She’d done it. She’d actually stood up to her parents.
She thought she might throw up.
“Layla.” Christopher’s voice was concerned. “Are you all right?”
She looked at him blankly. “I don’t know. I think so? I just—I can’t believe I did that.”
She stood up slowly, coming around to lean down and give him a kiss on the cheek.
“Thank you,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “For standing up for me. For—for everything.”
When she pulled back, his eyes were fixed on her, and for a moment she thought he might kiss her properly. But instead, he just watched her, and she let out a sigh, suddenly exhausted. “I think I’m going to bed. Goodnight.”
He paused, and then nodded. “Goodnight.”
She made her way upstairs, past the closed door of the Rose Room where she could hear her mother’s low, angry voice, although she couldn’t make out the words. She didn’t really want to. She slipped into her own room and closed the door, leaning back against it.
Her mind was spinning, full of questions and doubts and what-ifs. What had she just done? Had she really just told her parents she was staying in Fir Tree Grove for Christmas? What did that even mean? She still had a job in the city, an apartment, a life. She couldn’t just abandon all of that, could she? Kirkland was going to be horrified that she wasn’t coming back to turn in the article, even though she could write it up and email the finished piece to him. She had plenty of PTO saved up, a lengthy Christmas vacation wasn’t the end of the world, even if he wasn’t going to be happy.
He could fire her, she supposed. She really didn’t know what she would do then.
She didn’t know if Christopher felt the same way about her that she was beginning to feel about him, or if she was reading too much into his kindness.
She didn’t know anything, really.
But she was sure about one thing, she realized, as she closed her eyes and breathed in the scent of woodsmoke from the room’s fireplace and the cinnamon candle on her dresser.
She wanted to stay in Fir Tree Grove a little longer.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Vanessa stood in The Toy Chest, a cup of tea warming her hands during a mid-morning lull in customers as she admired the Christmas tree near the window. It was a modest tree compared to some she’d seen when she lived in San Francisco, but it was perfect—covered in handmade ornaments that told the story of decades of Christmases.
Mabel walked over with an armful of board games, restocking the shelf that had been decimated by the last round of customers. “You know,” she said after a moment, admiring the spot where she’d arranged them, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something.”
“Oh?” Vanessa turned to her just as the bell over the door jingled, and George walked in. Rascal, the cat who took turns haunting the toy store and the tree farm’s office and tripping customers wherever she went, shot out from under the tree to leap on George’s pant leg.
He picked up the furry creature, who crawled up to his shoulder and started purring affectionately.
“Hey, George,” Vanessa said, before glancing back at her grandmother. “What’s on your mind?”
Mabel exchanged a look with George, who gave her an encouraging nod. “Well, as you know, George and I have been the town’s Santa and Mrs. Claus for… oh, how many years now, dear?”
“I’ve lost track,” George said dryly. “Which is a good thing,” he added, as Mabel gave him a narrow look.
“And it’s been such a joy,” Mabel said with a smile. “The children’s faces, all the magic of it. But you know, that first year you were here, you and Jackson did such a wonderful job filling in while my wrist was hurt. If we weren’t playing the parts, you two were the next best thing.”
