Page 103 of Mom Com

My eyes widen at the thought. “And leave this perfect cottage?” I say, aghast.

He shrugs, but his eyes twinkle. “This is just a house. A cozy one for sure, but you’re far more important.”

Suddenly all the roadblocks that seemed so impossible—his mother, Kate, my family, all our past hurts—lose their power. They don’t disappear, but they’re diminished, dulled to the point that I don’t fear them the way I used to. And in their place, something else springs up, something softer and hopelessly optimistic.

“I want to stay,” I reply, the words slipping out so easily that I’m not sure I was the one who said them. “Here in Haverberry. With you.”

And just like that, the air between us is charged, sparking like the wild end of a severed cable.

“You do?” he asks, his eyes searching mine, his body leaning ever closer. I can almost hear his heartbeat, see the pounding in his chest.

I nod, my hand reaching for his, tentative and curious. He wraps his fingers around mine, lifting my palm to his mouth and slowly kissing it, the heat from his lips spreading along my skin. In that instant, the remnants of hesitation drain out of me, pooling on the floor by my feet as though someone pulled a plug. And this time, as he leans toward me like a question, I lean in to meet him.

I feel Wilder’s smile as his lips find mine, matching it with my own. He moves his hand through my hair above my ear, sliding it behind my neck, his other arm wrapping around the small of my back. He pulls me into him, pressing our bodies together, his hot breath dancing on my tongue. And unlike the last time we kissed, when I was afraid of what I might feel, of what it might mean, I don’t hold back. Because that barrier, the one we built as teenagers and could never seem to breach, is finally gone. And all that’s left is heat and anticipation, a connection so intense that it steals my breath and fills my body with electrified warmth.

Wilder carved out a place in my heart all those years ago, one I couldn’t seem to fill no matter how hard I tried. And feeling him this close, drinking in his smoky scent, is like returning home, willingly tangling myself up in him, in this town, in the bakery.

I pull back, breathless and beaming. “Wilder,” I say, tracing a finger along his perfect jaw.

“Maddi,” he replies, his expression filled with awe.

We stay like that for a long time, looking at each other, holding hands, just being. And it’s so wonderful that I resent the movement of time, the clock on his far wall that tells me it’s getting late.

“I want to stay...” I start, wishing minutes were hours.

“But it’s Christmas?” he offers.

“Exactly,” I reply with an exhale. But then it occurs to me that Wilder isn’t with his family and that if I leave, he’ll once again be spending the holiday alone. So in a moment of inspired optimism, I add, “I’m wondering... would you like to come with me?”

Wilder’s eyebrows rise. “Are you offering to take me home for the holidays, Miss DeLuca?”

I grin. “Yeah, I think I am. I mean, yes. I want to.”

He smiles, a full reckless smile that breaks my heart into operatic singing. “There’s nothing I’d like more.”

Just a couple of days ago, Wilder’s enthusiasm would have made me nervous, and the idea of letting him spend time with Spence would have had me out of sorts. But this feels intrinsically right, like salt in the ocean or warmth from the sun. For once I know what I want, and even though it’s not going to be simple, in a way it is, because the things that truly matter, the ones you wouldn’t trade anything in the world for, are the ones that require the most faith.

CHAPTER30

There’s Always Room for Ice Cream Cake—

with those crunchy chocolate nibs between the layers, some things are so wonderful they stand the test of time

As Wilder drives, his fingers laced through mine, I’m surprised I still fit in my body, convinced I might actually burst from happiness, a feeling I haven’t had in this town in more than a decade. Things seem possible again in a way I can hardly explain. I’m still me, Wilder is still Wilder, and Haverberry is still Haverberry, but right now it all looks different. It’s lit up, or maybe I am. Perspective is a funny thing. To think the entire world shifts when our thinking does is its own type of magic.

We turn into the town square and an idea suddenly dawns on me. Before I can talk myself out of it, I tell Wilder to drive onto Periwinkle Lane. I tell him to stop half a block down in front of a peachy Victorian, and I get out with a too-big grin. Then I race up the walkway and knock before I can think of all the reasons this is crazy.

The door opens and Mr. Hamza stands on the other side, his beard much whiter than I remember. “Madeline?” he says with confusion written on his brow.

“I know I shouldn’t have just shown up here. I’m so sorry if I disturbed your evening. But I was hoping... just hoping that I might convince you to bring out your horse-drawn sleigh again, whenever it’s convenient? Tomorrow, the next day—I’ll take anything I can get. And I’ll pay you anything you want. Bake you a thousand pies. See, the thing is, my dad proposed to my mother in a horse-drawn sleigh and—” I pause, trying to keep my emotion from overflowing. “We missed your ride this year. I just know it would mean the world to my mother if we got to do it.”

Mr. Hamza smiles at me, reaches out, and gently pats me on the head like I was still twelve, a gesture I find oddly comforting. “Yes, Madeline. I can do that. In fact, if it works for you, you all can meet me in town in an hour.”

“Really?” I say too loudly, half misty and half elated. “Thank you so much! You don’t know what this means.”

He gives me a small grandfatherly smile. “I’ve been giving your parents that ride for the past twenty years,” he says. “Your father was a good man.”

I nod at him, not trusting myself with words, and after a good deep breath, I say ten more thank yous, vowing to bring him a whole mess of pastries after the holidays.