Holiday at Home Bonus Scene

Violet 

Twenty-four Years Later 

Colin West croons over the speakers at Holiday Coffee & Cakes, an oldy but a goody, his velvety voice twining around Silent Night like it was written specifically for him. The scent of cinnamon and espresso curls through the air, wrapping around me like a memory. The day after Thanksgiving has always been my favorite—cool enough for sweaters, but still warm enough that the sea breeze sneaks through every time the front door opens. It was a busy day, though most of our customers wanted coffee instead of baked goods, clutching full bellies after yesterday’s meal. Even so, the pastry cases were empty shortly after two. We closed up shop, then called in the cavalry to help us decorate. 

Simon’s on the ladder, hanging garland across the front window, while I stand below with a mug of his world-famous peppermint mocha in one hand and my other hand on my hip, pretending to supervise. The lights catch in his silvering hair, and for a moment, I’m right back in that first year after he came home—young, in love, and so full of hope I practically glowed. 

He climbs down, brushing glitter from his sleeve, and flashes me that perfect grin that still makes my heart do a ridiculous little flip. “Straight enough?” he asks. I tilt my head, squinting past the reflection of twinkling lights in the glass. 

“It’s perfect,” I say, even though it’s leaning just a touch to the left.  

Simon slips his arms around my waist from behind, his flannel warm against my back as he presses a kiss into the top of my head.  

“I can’t believe I get another Christmas with you,” he murmurs near my ear, voice low and content. I smile, resting my hands over his. 

“If you play your cards right,” I reply, grinning widely, “there’ll be many more to follow.” 

Outside, palm fronds sway under strings of fairy lights, and for a heartbeat, everything—the shop, the town, this life we built together—feels like a miracle in motion. 

The bell above the door jingles and in barrels the cavalry… or at least the first half. 

Our kids.  

Weston steps in first, all long limbs and confidence, a cardboard box balanced on his shoulder like it’s nothing. Sawyer follows with a giant wreath and Everett brings up the rear with bags and bags of food from Dana’s Diner. Wren—my baby, not that she’d appreciate the label at seventeen—shuffles in behind them with a spool of velvet ribbon, her cheeks flushed pink from the breeze and something secret I’m not supposed to ask about. 

I lean my head on Simon’s shoulder. It feels like just yesterday I was washing sticky hands and faces, putting Band-Aids on boo-boos, and reading bedtime stories. Now here they are, all grown up and building their own lives. 

“Delivery for the best bakery in Florida,” Everett announces, leaning one hip against the counter as if he owns the place. He doesn’t—probably never will, since he hates both baking and coffee—but he’s our most natural ham and will absolutely insist he does in front of any young woman he wants to impress. 

“Here’s the last of the ornaments from the storage unit,” Weston says, dropping the box at Simon’s feet and clapping him on the shoulder while Sawyer and Wren lay the wreath and ribbon on top. 

The bells over the door jingle again, and in steps the second half of the cavalry—Nora and her crew. 

Nash enters first, tall, dark, and serious. The weight of his job at the hospital—and his recent divorce—sits heavy on his shoulders. He smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and I’m struck by how he looks both older and younger than he did last year. There’s a new gravity around his mouth, the kind that comes from heartbreak and trying to keep everything together when it falls apart. My heart tugs, aching to ease that pain, to remind him that even when life cracks wide open, love has a way of seeping back in. 

Bennett follows, ten years younger but with all the ease and confidence of someone whose world still feels bright and wide. He’s dark-haired like Nash, but lighter in spirit, grinning ear to ear as he tells Simon about his new job with the Stillwater Bay PD. Pride practically radiates off him, and it’s impossible not to catch it. 

Then come the twins, Grayson and Gideon—identical but complete opposites. Where Grayson grins, Gideon glares. Where Grayson barrels straight in, guitar slung over his shoulder like a limb, Gideon hangs back, assessing the suddenly crowded bakery like he’s on patrol. 

And then there’s Nora, following after her boys. My twin. My mirror. Her hair’s a little shorter now, silver streaking the red, but her smile still lights a room. It’s been fifteen years since she lost Robbie—fifteen years since that awful Saturday when her life split clean in two with a single phone call. He’d had a heart attack in their backyard, gone before the ambulance even arrived. I thought it would break her completely. For a while, it nearly did. But Nora… she’s built from the same stubborn grace as our mother. She picked up the pieces, raised those boys into good men, and somehow managed to keep her joy intact. There’s a strength in her laughter now, an undercurrent of gratitude that only comes from having faced the worst and choosing to keep living anyway. 

She catches my eye and smiles, and for a moment I see every version of us layered together—the girls we were, the women we became, and the sisters who survived it all. 

“Can you believe this?” Nora asks as she comes to stand beside Simon and me, gesturing toward the tables where our kids have already taken over the shop. They’re pulling out containers of food, laughing too loud, arguing about who forgot the pickles, teasing each other the way only siblings and cousins can. 

The hum of conversation mixes with the Christmas carols lilting over the speakers. Light filters through the window garland in soft gold bands that catch in their hair. For a moment, I just stand there and watch them, my chest tight with something too big to name. 

“They’re all so grown,” I whisper, leaning my head on Simon’s shoulder. My throat catches, full of love and nostalgia all tangled together. “And beautiful. And—” 

“Loud,” Simon cuts in, pressing one last kiss to the top of my head before releasing me. His tone is all mock exasperation, but his eyes are warm as they sweep over the chaos. “If we’re not careful, they’re going to eat all the food before we get any.” 

“It’s funny ’cause it’s true,” Nora says with a laugh that still carries that hint of mischief, even after everything she’s lived through. We trade a look—one of those wordless sister things that means yeah, we did good—then head toward the counter to claim our sandwiches before the swarm devours them all. 

The bread is soft and warm against my fingers, the turkey perfectly roasted, the fries crunchy and salty and wonderful. We eat leaning against the counter, watching our kids fill the space that has been part of our family for decades now. The bakery hums like a living thing—plates clinking, laughter spilling, Bennett dramatically retelling a story I’m sure he’s already embellished twice, and Wren rolling her eyes in perfect teenage synchronization. 

“How’s Nash?” I ask once the noise settles into a steady rhythm. 

Nora’s smile falters. She tears off a piece of bread and worries it between her fingers. “Not great. He’s disappeared even deeper into work, which at first I thought would be good for him, but now…” She sighs, looking toward the far table where Nash sits, shoulders hunched slightly as he listens to Grayson talk. “There’s more to life than the emergency room. I just wish he could see that.” 

I follow her gaze. Nash looks so much like his father it catches me off guard—same build, same dark hair—but there’s something in his eyes that’s entirely his own. A deep quiet. Once upon a time, he was the brightest of them all—always laughing, always moving—but now that light’s dulled to something guarded. He eats quietly, listening, nodding when someone speaks to him, offering a fleeting smile that fades the second they turn away. The kind of smile that tries not to ask for anything and begs just to blend in. 

“He looks the way I felt before you came back,” I say softly to Simon. My husband follows my line of sight, and his jaw tightens just enough to tell me he understands. “Like he’s lost his place in the world and doesn’t know how to get back to right.” 

Simon takes a slow sip of his coffee before answering, his gaze still fixed on Nash. “He’s a good man. A smart man. A better man than I ever was,” he says finally. “He’s going through a hard time right now. It’s normal to be a little lost when everything you built doesn’t look the same anymore.” 

“I don’t know if I would’ve found my way back if you hadn’t been here,” I admit, staring into those beautiful blue eyes that feel like love and home and memories stacked upon memories. 

“I’m sure you would have been fine,” he says gently, and the easy confidence in his tone makes me smile and ache all at once. 

“I’m not so sure.” I gesture toward the front doors, where the light spills across the floorboards and catches the faint scratches left by decades of chairs scraping back and laughter echoing. “The day you stepped through those doors, I was… empty. So unhappy, and so unaware of how far I’d drifted from the life I wanted. I think, if you hadn’t come back, I might have stayed lost.” 

Simon sets his coffee aside, his hand finding mine. His thumb brushes slow circles across my knuckles, grounding me in that quiet way he always has. “You found me just as much as I found you,” he says. His voice is low, the kind that hums through your chest instead of your ears. “And look at all this.” He nods toward our family, now just as loud and chaotic as his ever was. “Look what we have now.” 

Emotion presses against my ribs, tender and sharp all at once.  

Nora clears her throat softly beside us, eyes shining as if she’s heard every word and doesn’t mind one bit. “You two make me sick,” she says with a crooked grin, dabbing the corner of her eye with a napkin. “In the best possible way.” 

I laugh, but it wobbles at the edges. “You sure? You’ve done pretty well yourself, sis.” 

Her smile softens, and the light from the window catches the silver in her hair, making her glow. “I had to,” she says. “When Robbie died, I thought my whole life was over. Fifteen years later, I still miss him every day—but I’ve learned to let the missing and the living share the same space. He’d be proud of these boys. Of all of us.” 

I reach for her hand, squeeze tight. “He would,” I say, and I mean it. 

Nora takes a slow breath, her eyes wandering back to Nash. “I just want that boy to find his spark again.” 

“He will,” I say, not entirely sure why I’m so certain but trusting the tug in my chest.  

“Sometimes, God hides the light just long enough for us to recognize it when it comes back.” Nora smiles faintly. “I just hope he sends something—or someone—to show him the way.” 

“Well,” Simon murmurs, amusement curling in his voice as he squeezes my hand. “Something tells me we can count on that.” 

I glance between them—the woman who’s weathered heartbreak and still laughs like it’s her superpower, the man who once saved me just by showing up. Around us, the café glows with warmth and noise and crumbs of laughter.  

Simon slips his arm around my shoulders, drawing me close until his lips brush my temple. Outside, the bay shimmers under the glow of the streetlamps, and I think about all the years we’ve spent chasing dreams inside these walls. How many cups of coffee. How many apologies. How many beginnings disguised as ordinary days. 

“You okay?” he whispers. 

“Better than okay.” I look up at him, my heart so full it’s almost ridiculous. “This… all of this… it’s everything I ever hoped for.” 

The beautiful chaos of a big family—loud, messy, and loyal. We’ve all faced our share of storms, but somehow we always find our way back here, stronger because we lean on each other. For every hard day, there are three more like this—laughter echoing through the bakery, stories shared over coffee, love stitched into every sound. 

This. 

This is what it’s all about. 

My husband’s arm around me. My sister beside me. Our children all around us. And the quiet, certain joy of knowing this is home. 

And just like that, I remember: this is what happiness feels like. Not fireworks. Not perfection. Just the quiet, steady glow of love that’s lasted through everything.