Chapter 4: The Spark of Christmas Past
1128 Words
The next few days passed in a flurry of holiday preparations. Snow Hollow transformed into a picturesque winter wonderland, with twinkling lights strung across rooftops and storefronts, wreaths on every door, and the scent of pine and cinnamon wafting through the air. Grace tried her best to focus on the festivities for Ella’s sake, but the unexpected reappearance of Ethan lingered at the back of her mind.
She told herself it didn’t matter—Ethan was just helping out because Michael had roped him into it. He wasn’t here for her. He couldn’t be.
“Mom, are you even listening?”
Grace blinked, turning to Ella, who was sitting cross-legged on the living room floor with a pile of Christmas cards in front of her.
“Sorry, honey. What was that?”
“I said, do you think Uncle Michael will take me to see the Christmas parade this year? He always does.”
Grace smiled faintly. “I’m sure he will. He loves that parade as much as you do.”
Ella grinned, satisfied with her mother’s answer, and went back to scrawling her name in colorful marker across the cards.
Grace leaned back on the couch, staring at the glowing Christmas tree. Memories of past holidays flooded her mind—some happy, some bittersweet. She remembered the first Christmas after Ella was born, how she and her ex-husband, Adam, had stayed up all night assembling a dollhouse and wrapping presents. Things had felt so perfect then.
But perfection was fleeting, she knew now.
Later that evening, Grace found herself in the kitchen, elbow-deep in cookie dough. Baking was one of her favorite holiday traditions, something she had inherited from her mother. The rhythmic motions of rolling, cutting, and sprinkling soothed her frazzled nerves.
“Smells good in here,” Michael said, leaning against the doorframe.
Grace glanced up, a smudge of flour on her cheek. “Don’t even think about stealing one. They’re not baked yet.”
Michael held up his hands in mock surrender. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
He walked over to the counter, eyeing the trays of unbaked cookies. “You’ve been quiet today. Something on your mind?”
Grace hesitated, her hands pausing mid-roll. “Do you ever feel like...everything is changing too fast?”
Michael frowned, pulling out a chair and sitting down. “What do you mean?”
“I mean...look at us,” Grace said, her voice tinged with melancholy. “You’re still here, running the shop, living in this house. And I’ve been running around in circles for years, trying to figure out where I belong. Now I’m back, but I still don’t feel...settled.”
Michael studied her for a moment before replying. “You’ve been through a lot, Grace. No one’s expecting you to have all the answers right away. But you’re here now, with Ella. That’s a good start.”
Grace nodded, her throat tightening. “It’s just hard sometimes, you know? Especially with Ethan around. He reminds me of...everything I used to dream about.”
Michael raised an eyebrow. “Ethan? Really?”
Grace flushed, realizing she had said too much. “Forget it. I don’t know what I’m talking about.”
But Michael didn’t let it go. “Look, I know things didn’t end well between you two back in the day. But he’s not a bad guy, Grace. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to cut him some slack.”
Grace sighed, brushing her hands on her apron. “I’m not ready for that. Not yet.”
Michael didn’t press further, but his words stayed with her long after he left the kitchen.
The next morning, Grace bundled Ella into her coat and scarf and headed out to the town square for the annual Christmas market. The square was bustling with activity—vendors selling handmade ornaments, carolers singing near the gazebo, and children running around with cups of steaming cocoa.
Ella tugged on her mother’s hand, her eyes wide with excitement. “Can we get one of those?” she asked, pointing to a stall selling gingerbread houses.
Grace laughed. “Let’s look around first, okay?”
As they wandered through the market, Grace couldn’t help but feel a sense of warmth and nostalgia. This was what she had missed about Snow Hollow—the sense of community, the simple joys of the season.
“Grace?”
She turned at the sound of her name, her heart skipping a beat when she saw Ethan standing a few feet away. He was holding a bag of roasted chestnuts, his breath visible in the chilly air.
“Hi,” she said, forcing a smile. “What are you doing here?”
“Same as everyone else,” he replied with a grin. “Soaking up the Christmas spirit.”
Ella beamed when she saw him. “Ethan! Did you come to see the parade?”
“Not today, kiddo,” Ethan said, ruffling her hair. “But I hear it’s going to be a good one this year.”
Grace shifted uncomfortably, unsure of how to navigate the conversation. “Well, we should get going. Lots to see.”
Ethan nodded, his expression unreadable. “Of course. Have fun.”
As he walked away, Ella looked up at her mother with a puzzled expression. “Mom, why don’t you like Ethan?”
Grace blinked, caught off guard by the question. “What? I like him just fine.”
Ella frowned. “Then why do you act so weird when he’s around?”
Grace sighed, crouching down to Ella’s level. “It’s complicated, sweetie. Grown-up stuff.”
Ella didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t press further.
By the time they returned home, the sun was setting, casting a golden glow over the snow-covered village. Grace was exhausted, but Ella was still brimming with energy, chattering about the market as she helped unpack their bags.
“Mom, can we invite Ethan for Christmas dinner?”
Grace froze, her hands stilling on a bag of apples. “What?”
“Uncle Michael said he’s spending Christmas alone. That’s sad, isn’t it? We should invite him.”
Grace opened her mouth to protest, but the earnest look on Ella’s face stopped her. How could she say no without disappointing her daughter?
“We’ll see,” she said finally, knowing she would have to face the question sooner or later.
As Ella skipped off to the living room, Grace leaned against the counter, her thoughts swirling. She had spent years trying to move on from Ethan, but now he was back in her life, and it was becoming harder to ignore the feelings she had buried.
This Christmas was shaping up to be more complicated than she had ever imagined.
- Writer
