Under the Mistletoe We Broke.

Chapter One: Home for the Holidays Noelle Carter hadn’t planned on coming home in December. She definitely hadn’t planned on snow. The first thing she noticed when she crossed the town line was the silence—the kind that only existed in places that hadn’t learned how to forget. Pinewood Falls looked exactly the same as it had the day she left, dressed in white lights and fake cheer, pretending that time hadn’t moved on without her. Every storefront glowed like it was trying too hard. Every wreath felt like an accusation. She tightened her grip on the steering wheel as her car rolled down Main Street. Christmas banners hung from lampposts. The bakery on the corner already had fogged-up windows and a line out the door. The old movie theater marquee read IT’S A WONDERFUL LIFE in crooked red letters. Noelle swallowed. Wonderful wasn’t the word she’d use. Her phone buzzed in the cup holder. Mom: You’re five minutes away. I made cider. Of course she did. The Carter house came into view at the end of Maple Street, exactly as she remembered it—white siding, green shutters, and a wreath so aggressively festive it bordered on threatening. The porch light flicked on the moment Noelle parked, like the house itself had been holding its breath. She sat there for a second longer than necessary. This was a mistake, she thought. But she cut the engine anyway. The door opened before she even reached the steps. “Noelle,” her mother breathed, pulling her into a hug that smelled like cinnamon and familiarity. “You look thinner.” “Hi, Mom,” Noelle said softly, letting herself be held. “You look… aggressively Christmas-y.” Her mother laughed, swatting her arm. “You always say that.” Inside, the house was warm and loud and full of memories Noelle had tried very hard not to carry with her anymore. Garland draped the staircase. Stockings already hung by the fireplace—hers included, stitched with her name like she’d never left. That night, lying in her childhood bedroom beneath the same glow-in-the-dark stars she’d stuck to the ceiling at fifteen, Noelle stared up and wondered how a town could feel so welcoming and so unforgiving at the same time. She told herself she could survive two weeks. She told herself a lot of lies. She ran into him the next morning. Literally. The bell above the coffee shop door chimed as Noelle stepped inside, snow melting into her boots. She was shaking off her scarf when she collided with a solid chest she recognized instantly—warm, familiar, devastating. “Oh—sorry,” she started, already stepping back. Then she looked up. Ethan Brooks stared at her like she was a ghost that had learned how to breathe. For a heartbeat, the world narrowed to the space between them. His hair was darker than she remembered, his jaw sharper, his eyes—God—still that same impossible shade of winter green. “Noelle,” he said, her name landing heavy between them. Her pulse roared in her ears. “Ethan.” Neither of them moved. The coffee shop buzzed around them, oblivious to the way the past had just slammed into the present. She noticed the faint scent of pine on his coat, the same way she always had. She noticed he still didn’t look away first. “You’re back,” he said finally. “Just for the holidays.” A lie. Or maybe a half-truth. She wasn’t sure yet. His jaw tightened. “Right.” There was so much he didn’t say in that one word. “I didn’t know you still—” she started, gesturing vaguely, hating how small her voice sounded. “Tree farm?” he finished. “Yeah. Still here.” Of course he was. The barista cleared her throat loudly. “Next?” Ethan stepped aside, giving Noelle space that felt deliberate and painful. As she ordered her coffee, she could feel him watching her like he was bracing for impact. When she turned back, he was already moving toward the door. “Ethan,” she called, the name slipping out before she could stop it. He paused, hand on the handle, shoulders stiff. “I didn’t come back to hurt you,” she said quietly. He didn’t turn around. “You didn’t have to come back at all.” The bell chimed as he left. Noelle stood there shaking, clutching a paper cup she no longer wanted, realizing one terrifying truth: Coming home wasn’t the hard part. Facing what she left behind was. Chapter Two Snow Doesn’t Cover Old Scars Noelle avoided Main Street for exactly twelve hours. That was her personal best. By the second morning, the quiet had begun to itch. Pinewood Falls had always done that to her. Silence here wasn’t empty—it was observant. It remembered things. It waited for you to trip over your own history. She pulled on her coat, told her mom she was “just going for a walk,” and stepped into the cold. Snow fell softly, the kind that looked gentle but froze your toes if you stayed still too long. Houses were dressed up like they were competing for an award. Lights blinked in windows. Inflatable Santas leaned drunkenly in yards. Somewhere down the street, someone was playing old Christmas music too loud and too cheerfully. Noelle shoved her hands into her pockets and walked. She didn’t mean to end up at the tree farm. She told herself that lie all the way up until the familiar wooden sign came into view, dusted with snow and carved in curling letters: BROOKS FAMILY CHRISTMAS TREES Her feet slowed. Her chest tightened. The tree farm sat just outside town, sprawling and quiet, rows of evergreens standing like witnesses. She’d spent half her teenage years here—working summers, sneaking kisses, learning exactly how much pressure it took to hurt someone you loved. The gate was open. Of course it was. “No,” she muttered to herself, then walked in anyway. The air smelled like pine and cold earth. The crunch of snow under her boots sounded too loud in the stillness. She passed rows of trees wrapped in twine, each tagged and waiting to be chosen. Waiting to be taken home and decorated and loved. She wondered, distantly, if Ethan ever thought about how ironic that was. “Didn’t think you were the sentimental type.” Noelle froze. She turned slowly. Ethan stood a few feet away, arms crossed, breath fogging in the cold. He wore a dark flannel jacket, dusted with snow, sleeves pushed up like he’d been working. There was a faint smear of dirt on his knuckles. The sight of it hit her harder than it should have. “I was just walking,” she said. “Toward my property.” “I didn’t plan it.” He huffed a short laugh that held no humor. “That seems to be a theme with you.” The words landed sharper than he probably intended. Or maybe exactly as sharp. “I didn’t know you’d be here,” she said quietly. “I live here.” Right. Another reminder. Silence stretched between them, thick and uncomfortable. Snow drifted down, softening the edges of everything except the tension humming in the space between their bodies. “You shouldn’t come here,” he said finally. “I know.” “Then don’t.” She met his eyes. “You don’t get to decide where I walk.” His jaw clenched. For a moment, she thought he might argue. Instead, he stepped aside, gesturing vaguely to the rows of trees. “Knock yourself out.” She should have left. She didn’t. They walked in parallel silence, not together but not apart either. The kind of quiet that pressed in on your ears. The kind that remembered hands tangled in coats and mouths tasting like peppermint and promises whispered into cold nights. “You staying long?” he asked, voice carefully neutral. “Two weeks.” He nodded once. “Figures.” “Does it?” “Just enough time to stir things up,” he said. “Then you’ll disappear again.” The accusation stung because it wasn’t wrong. She stopped walking. “You don’t know why I left.” He stopped too, but he didn’t turn to face her. “I know you left.” “That’s not the same thing.” “It was enough.” The words echoed between the trees. Noelle swallowed hard. “I was scared.” He laughed then, bitter and low. “We were all scared, Noelle. I just didn’t run.” She flinched. There it was. The old wound, reopened with one careless sentence. “I didn’t come back to fight,” she said. “Then why did you come back?” The question hovered, dangerous and loaded. Because I never stopped loving you. Because I needed to know if it still hurt. Because Christmas anywhere else feels wrong. Instead, she said, “My mom asked.” Ethan turned to her then, eyes sharp. “You’ve always been bad at lying.” Her heart pounded. “Some things are easier not to say.” His gaze dropped, just briefly, to her mouth. The air shifted. “That’s what you said last time,” he murmured. Before she could respond, a voice cut through the tension. “Wow. Either I walked in on something intense, or you two are doing that thing again where you pretend not to feel things.” Mara Brooks stood a few rows over, hands on her hips, a knowing smirk on her face. She looked between them like she was watching a slow-motion car crash. “Noelle,” Mara said lightly. “Back from the dead.” “Mara,” Noelle replied, managing a small smile. “Still subtle.” “Never claimed to be.” Mara glanced at her brother. “Mom’s looking for you. Says the delivery’s late.” Ethan exhaled sharply. “I’ll be there.” Mara waited until he walked off before turning back to Noelle, expression softening just a little. “Careful,” she said quietly. “You already broke him once.” Noelle’s throat tightened. “I never meant to.” Mara studied her for a long moment. “Intent doesn’t change damage.” Then she turned and followed her brother, leaving Noelle alone among the trees. Noelle stared after them, the weight of old choices pressing down on her chest. Snow continued to fall, covering the ground in something clean and new. But she knew better. Snow didn’t erase scars. It just hid them until the thaw.