She padded into the kitchen in her flannel pajamas and fuzzy slippers, expecting to find both men at the kitchen table with their usual morning coffee ritual. Instead, she found only her father, sitting with his newspaper spread before him and a steaming mug in his hands.
“Morning, sweetheart.” He looked up with a smile that still caught her off guard with its warmth. “Sleep well?”
“I did.” She poured herself coffee from the pot, noting it was still nearly full. “Where’s Beckett?”
“Left early this morning. Said he had something to take care of for Nora at the lodge.” He folded his paper and set it aside. “He’ll be back later.”
She nodded, trying to ignore the small flutter of disappointment in her chest. Over the past days, she’d grown accustomed to their three-way breakfast conversations and the easy rhythm they’d developed as a makeshift family. Beckett’s quiet presence had become something she looked forward to, something that anchored her mornings in a way she hadn’t expected.
“Big day today,” her father said, watching her over the rim of his mug. “Christmas Eve candlelight walk through town. You remember those, don’t you?”
“Vaguely.” She settled into the chair across from him. “I think I was pretty young the last time we went.”
Pain flickered across his features, but he pushed through it. “Your mother loved the candlelight walk. Said it made the whole town look like something out of a fairy tale.” He cleared his throat. “I thought maybe this year we could go again. All three of us.”
“I’d like that.”
Her father’s smile could have powered the Christmas lights on Main Street.
They spent the morning in comfortable companionship, her father reading aloud bits from the local paper while they both ate Miss Judy’s cinnamon rolls. She’d forgotten how peaceful mornings could be when they weren’t punctuated by hospital pages and emergency calls. Here, the biggest crisis was whether they had enough milk for the pancakes.
Around noon, she decided to take a walk to clear her head and maybe stop by the Bookish Cafe to see if Annie needed help with any last-minute Christmas preparations. She bundled up in her coat and boots and left a note for her father, who was dozing in his recliner with a book open on his chest.
The air was crisp and clean, with the promise of snow in the heavy gray clouds gathering over the mountains. Main Street buzzed with last-minute shoppers and families preparing for the evening’s festivities. She found herself smiling at the familiar faces, returning waves from people who remembered her as a girl.
When she returned home an hour later, she found a small package sitting on the front porch. Her name was written across the brown paper wrapping in careful, precise handwriting she recognized as Beckett’s. Her heart did something complicated in her chest as she picked it up.
Inside the house, she settled on the couch and carefully unwrapped the package. Nestled in tissue paper was a small wooden ornament carved with exquisite detail. It was shaped like a stethoscope, but where the chest piece would normally be, Beckett had carved a perfect heart. The wood was smooth and warm in her hands, polished to a soft sheen that caught the light.
A folded piece of paper fell from the tissue. She picked it up and opened it.
For the healer who doesn’t know she’s the one who needed healing most.
She stared at the words until they blurred, her throat tight with emotion. The ornament was beautiful, but it was the message that undid her completely. In one simple sentence, Beckett had captured something she’d been too afraid to acknowledge—that coming home hadn’t just been about caring for her father. It had been about finding the pieces of herself she’d lost along the way.
She was still sitting there, turning the ornament over in her hands when she heard Beckett’s truck pull into the driveway. Her pulse quickened as his footsteps approached the front door.
“Tessa?” He appeared in the doorway, snow dusting his dark jacket. His eyes went immediately to the ornament in her hands, and a flush crept up his neck. “You found it.”
“It’s beautiful.” The words came out softer than she’d intended. “Beckett, I don’t know what to say.”
He shifted his weight, suddenly looking uncertain. “If it’s too much, I understand. I just thought?—”
“It’s perfect.” She stood, crossing to where he stood in the doorway. “Thank you. For this, and for seeing me. Really seeing me.”
Something shifted in his expression, the wariness giving way to something warmer. “You make it easy.”
They stood there for a moment, the air between them charged with unspoken possibilities. Then her father’s voice called from the kitchen, asking if Beckett was back, and the spell broke.
“I should help him with lunch,” Beckett said, but his eyes lingered on her face.
“He’s been napping. He had a cinnamon roll for breakfast, but I think Miss Judy’s cinnamon rolls have been calling his name again, and he’ll want one for lunch.”
Beckett’s laugh was soft and genuine. “Me too, if I’m being honest.”
The afternoon passed in a blur of preparation and anticipation. She helped her father choose his warmest coat and scarf for the evening’s festivities, while Beckett made sure they had working flashlights in case the candles blew out. It felt like preparing for a family outing, something she hadn’t experienced in so long she’d forgotten what it felt like to belong to something bigger than herself.
As evening approached, snow began to fall in earnest, fat flakes that clung to the windows and transformed the familiar landscape into something magical. She stood at the living room window, watching the world turn white, when Beckett appeared beside her.
