It took him several trips to get everything loaded into his car, careful to keep Tatiana’s and Elea’s gifts separate from the rest, so he could get to them first. At last he was driving the now-familiar route to her building, smiling through the swirling snowflakes.
It was Christmas Eve, the night they’d stay up to welcome the celebration of their Savior’s birth. A night known for the greatest miracle of all of history, whenGod lowered himself to become man—and here Anders was, living out a little sliver of his own miracle.
For the first time in his memory, he didn’t feelaloneon Christmas Eve. He felt... full. Surrounded. Loved.
He parked in front of her building, pulled out the two gifts, and was soon inside. He could hear Christmas music coming from a piano in a flat on the ground floor, families laughing together as he jogged up the stairs. He could smell the cooking skate that could no doubt be found in nearly every kitchen today. He reached her door and knocked. Drew in a deep breath.
Tatiana pulled it open, a smile already on her lips. She was wearing the red suit—the one he’d painted her in—and it made him smile too. That seemed like a good sign. “Glethileg jol, Anders.”
“Glethileg jol, Tatiana.” Catching sight of the little whirlwind spinning through the flat, he called out, “Glethileg jol, Elea.” He held out the smaller of the packages. “I thought I’d better bring you something, in case Kertasnikir was so displeased that your candles weren’t tasty tallow that he forgot to leave something in your shoe.”
Elea slid to a halt in front of him, eyes wide as saucers. “You got me a present?”
He wiggled the box. “Certainly looks like it. Though I suppose itcouldbe rotten potatoes, if you’ve been naughty.”
Tatiana laughed as she snicked the door closed behind him. “I don’t think Elea knowshowto be naughty.”
“Well, that’s good. Because none of my potatoes were rotten.” With a wink, he pushed the package into her little hands. “Go ahead.”
The little one sent an excited look to her aunt and wasted no time moving to the table. She set the package down and peeled off the tape with care that made him laugh.
“Is this how you open presents? You’re in for a shock at my family’s house then. All those little monsters that I call nieces and nephews turn wrapping paper into confetti in about three seconds.”
Elea sent him a horrified look. “They ripthispaper? But you painted it!” She held it up in proof.
Tatiana gasped and pressed a hand to her mouth. “Youdid! Anders, why would you spend such time onwrappingpaper?”
He grinned and shrugged, easing Tatiana’s gift to the floor and leaning it against a table leg so he could takeoff his coat. “I started doing it when I was a child. It gets me in the Christmas spirit.”
He’d never been entirely sure his family realized he still did it... but in retrospect, theyhadmade a game of examining all the paper on all the gifts and taunting each other about whose was better. Could it be... was that their way of appreciating his work? Had his brothers’ annual insistence that the cheapest paper to be found was the best just a tease?
Regardless, his nieces and nephews did indeed rip it to shreds. And he couldn’t mind—thatwaswhat it was for.
Elea returned to her careful peeling of the tape, then eased the paper away. It meant she was greeted by the back of the gift rather than the front, so only once she’d flipped it over did her face light up. “Watercolor paints! And paper!” One item clutched in each hand, she rushed him and wrapped her arms around his waist. “Thank you!”
He chuckled and hugged her back. “You’re very welcome. And I’ll happily give you a few lessons before you go home, if you’d like.”
“I would like, I would like!” She pulled away, spun to Tatiana. “Do I have enough time to draw somethingbefore we go? So he can show me how to paint it tomorrow?”
Tatiana smiled. “We still have half an hour. Go ahead.”
He’d expected her to settle at the table, but instead, she dashed toward the bedroom and went so far as to close the door behind her, saying, “No peeking until I’m done!” as she closed it.
“I’m offended,” he said. “She’s let me look at her drawings every day as she works on them.”
“I must be the one she doesn’t want peeking.” Tatiana clasped her hands, then unclasped them. She looked... nervous.
How odd—that washisrole. But seeing it in her made him strangely relaxed. Enough, anyway, that he could reach for the wrapped painting without needing to wipe his palms dry on his trousers first. He held it out, met her gaze. “And for you.”
The line of her shoulders softened, making him think her anxiety was about something else. “Come. Let’s sit.” She led him toward the sofa, and he smiled at the flickering candles on her tree, a bit surprised she’d lit them already.
He had a feeling Elea had made a plea she hadn’t wanted to refuse.
Their dancing flames lent a festive air to the room, making him smile as he sank down beside her on the sofa.
Tatiana too took extraordinary care with the wrapping paper, despite his laugh. “Just rip it, Tatiana.”
“I most certainly will not.”
