Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 133682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 535(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 535(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
I can’t take a moment to process this theme because we’re going to have to figure it out on the fly as we sift through what each box holds. The volunteers open the cardboard flaps and Mac and I take off running. Wilder’s behind us holding a red bag that we’ll fill with the ornaments.
I kneel at the first box, scanning the goodies. I don’t see a random collection of ornaments, but a puzzle waiting to be solved. My mind begins to race, envisioning the perfect arrangement of colors, shapes, styles—the perfect design for home for the holidays.
“Grab the reindeer,” I say, pointing to a wooden ornament in the corner of the box. Mac grabs it, then points to a red wooden sleigh. I snatch that up. She smiles at me, nodding and understanding, knowing instantly that we’re going for a homey vibe. I spy a wooden nutcracker. “That one too.”
“Got it,” she says, darting out a hand.
We race to the next box as Wilder holds open the bag. “What’ll it be, ladies?”
I scan the treasures so fast, then dole out instructions. We grab a wooden Santa, an elf, then a sled.
We’re off in no time to the next box when an idea strikes. I motion for Mac to come closer, then whisper. “Let’s do old meets new,” I say. “That’s kind of the point of home for the holidays?”
Her eyes brighten. “Yes! I love it. We’ll get baubles and sparkly things and mix them with the old fashioned ones.”
“It’s like you can read my mind,” I say.
“That sounds perfect,” Wilder says, watching us with so much affection, it nearly breaks my heart. I almost want to stop right here, right now, and say to him, “What if this was real? Do you feel it too?”
But the clock is ticking and this girl wants to win. For others.
Mac is off and running so I shut down distractions. We’re faster than the other contestants, racing with our collection. At the final box I spot something red and shiny at the bottom. I grab it before anyone else can then dash to the spruce in the corner of the square.
After Wilder adds lights, Mac and I move like clockwork to create a vintage-meets-modern style. We hang our ornaments in diagonal rows that crisscross along the branches of the tree.
When we’re finishing, Wilder flicks on the twinkling lights. “I do love Christmas lights,” he says with a little innuendo that I pick up on.
“Me too,” I say, my stomach flipping from the way he looks at me with eyes that hold secrets. Perhaps also from the piece de resistance. I grab the red ribbon I found at the bottom of the last box of ornaments.
“I’ll take care of that,” Wilder says with authority.
“Yes, you will,” I reply.
With the same skill he used when he tied me up in one, he fastens the ribbon in front of the tree into a lovely looping bow.
We step back, the three of us, regarding it.
“You did it, Fable. It looks like home for the holidays,” Mac says, patting my arm proudly.
My heart glows with affection for this girl as I squeeze her shoulder. “No, we did it.”
“We sure did,” she says.
Wilder stands next to her too, his arm wrapped around her, his hand touching mine on her shoulder.
This feels all too real too. All too possible. And entirely too wonderful.
It can’t last. It just can’t.
Except, what if it can?
“Let me take a picture of the tree,” Mac says as she fishes her cell phone from her pocket and snaps a shot of it, then looks to her dad then me with hope in her green eyes. “I want another one. Of the three of us.”
The three of us.
Those words lodge in my head and in my heart as Mac calls over Bibi.
In front of the tree, Wilder wraps one arm around me, the other around his daughter then lets out a soft, unguarded murmur.
Like he’s imagining all new things too. Like, the three of us.
My heart catches in my throat.
This is merely holiday magic, I try to tell myself. This is the cocoon of Christmas. The sparkle of falling snow making everything feel possible. But even so, everything is starting to feel possible.
Except…me liking eggnog. When the owner of the North Pole Nook wheels a red cart into the square with a chalkboard sign for eggnog, I cringe a little. But Mac wheels around to Wilder. “I love eggnog. Can I get some, Dad?”
He adopts a straight face. “Just one cup.”
“Thanks,” she says and rushes off to the cart, lining up right behind Charlotte to snag a cup of the holiday treat. The cart must catch Iris’s attention, too, since she and Brady trot over from their tree and line up right behind Mac.
I turn to Wilder and shrug. “She’s pretty much perfect in every other way.”