“Please.” Brianna scoffed. “Shove those two under some mistletoe and let the sparks fly.”
Nicole gasped, the thought was so…enchanting. Perfect, even. “What a dream that would be, Bri. I mean, they were happy once. Before Dad started traveling so much for his big TV job. Before skiing stole him away again.”
The ache settled into her chest like it always did when she thought about it for too long.
“They should never have gotten divorced,” Brianna said. “I mean, I don’t know the whole history, but it just never made sense to me.”
“Or me,” Nicole said glumly. “He loved us. Hestillloves us. But skiing was his identity. After his injury, he felt like he lost himself. The sleigh rides helped, I think. And he did so much for Snowberry Lodge. But when ESPN came calling, it was like he finally saw a way back to that world.”
“And your mom couldn’t compete with it,” Brianna finished softly.
Nicole shrugged. “They tried. But it always felt like he was chasing something more, like the lodge—and us—weren’t enough for him. Mom was too busy to ski much and I wouldn’t go, so he jumped at the ESPN gig. All they wanted him to do was travel and he was never home, and she wanted him to quit. He wouldn’t. And now ten years have passed.”
Brianna gave her a look. “Ten years is enough for them to forget what broke them but still feel what brought them together. You can ask, right? What do you have to lose?”
“He’ll say no,” she said, already certain.
But that didn’t stop her from imagining…the unimaginable. Mom and Dad. Sleigh rides and mistletoe.
Nowthatcould be the miracle the Snowberry Lodge needed.
“Grandpa! Great-grandpa!” Something poked his cheek. Then again. A finger—definitely a finger. “Benedict Starling!”
Who was that? No one called him Benedict, not since he was knee high to a?—
“Hey, Red! Wake up unless you’re dead, then gimme your phone so I can call 911.”
He opened one eye, then the other, pulled from the comfort of his BarcaLounger to peer up into the far-too-close face of his ten-year-old great-grandson.
Really, the only human who could wake Red Starling from a noon-time nap and live to tell the tale.
“Benny,” he growled, scrubbing a hand over his face. “What in the name of?—”
“You said you were watching me, remember?” Benny reminded him, chipper as a chipmunk. “Only you weren’t, because you fell asleep with the TV on and your mouth open like this.” Benny mimicked a cartoon snore and flopped his head back dramatically.
Red raised the recliner with a grunt. “I wasn’t asleep. I was…resting my eyes.”
“For an hour,” Benny said. “I timed it.”
“’Course you did.” Red squinted at the clock on the mantle. He had meant to rest for fifteen minutes. Maybe twenty. Darn turkey leftovers.
“Well…” He groaned, hauling himself upright while every joint in his body filed a formal complaint. “You’re still breathing and not on fire, so I’d say I did a fine job.”
Benny grinned. “I need help with something important. I tried to do it all myself, but some jobs only the great Santa Starling can manage.”
Oh, boy, he was layin’ it on thick now. “Like what?”
“It’s a decorating emergency,” Benny said. “Come on, I’ll show you.”
Red followed the boy out of the living room, stepping carefully over a pile of ribbons and wrapping paper, and into the den. What awaited him looked like a Christmas explosion gone sideways.
“What fresh headache is this?” he muttered, taking in the tangled mess of string lights, half-emptied boxes marked “Christmas decs” in MJ’s handwriting, and a pile of ornaments haphazardly dumped on the coffee table.
Benny stood in the center of it all like a commander on a battlefield. “I’m decorating the sleigh Nicole dragged out of storage.”
“The sleigh? Who’s gonna drive that thing? If you say ‘Santa,’ then youwillbe on fire or not breathing.”
“No one is driving it. Nicole has to put it out front to attract people.”
