“Shoes,” I say on reflex, and four small bodies tumble into the mudroom—laces, little boots, and scarf knots tangling into a cooperative wrestling match.
Damien drops to a crouch with a theatrical groan, making the kids laugh. “This zipper’s got attitude,” he mutters, wrestling with the tiny teeth until they finally give in. Elise gasps, wide-eyed, then pats his cheek with grave approval.
“Good job, Papa,” she says, like he’s just saved the world.
Penny, meanwhile, has abandoned her own coat entirely and is busy fitting her pom-pom hat onto the dog’s head. “There,” she declares, stepping back to admire him. “Official North Pole security.”
Scooter’s tail thumps hard enough to rattle the boot tray, his whole body wiggling with pride.
“All right, you guys,” I call, tugging off my boots and shaking out the cold. “Brush your teeth and then straight to bed. It’s way past everyone’s bedtime.”
A chorus of groans rises instantly.
“But I’m not tired!” Theo insists, flopping onto the rug.
“I didn’t even finish my cocoa,” Penny adds, clutching her empty mitten.
Elise yawns wide enough to prove herself wrong.
Before I can reply, Rose steps forward with all the authority of a tiny general, hands planted primly on her hips.
“We can’t go to bed yet,” she declares. “We must conduct important business.”
“And what business is that?” I quirk an eyebrow, twisting my lips to the side.
The kids all sing in unison, voices overlapping in chaotic joy: “Elf on the shelf!”
They scatter down the hall before I can say a word, the dog trotting after them like part of the operation. I stay behind for a moment, laughing—the sound cracks something loose inside me I didn’t realize was still tight.
Elf on the Shelfis entirely Vincent’s doing. He started it that first December, swearing he wasn’t “the type for holiday gimmicks,” and then spent hours staging elaborate scenes that made the kids lose their minds every morning. Just thinking about it makes my chest twist. I miss him—his steady calm, his ridiculous commitment to the bit, the way he fills a space even when he’s not in it.
Cast steps close enough that his shoulder brushes mine and presses a kiss to the side of my head. “He said he’s landing soon,” he murmurs.
I nod, smiling before I can stop myself.
We follow the trail of laughter into the kitchen, which glows like its own little country—white tile and black range, the long island still cluttered from earlier battles: homework sprawls, art projects drying, crumbs from a cookie war. A tin of ginger cookies sits open beside a cooling rack, and the air smells thick with cinnamon—normally comforting, but lately it turns my stomach in a way I can’t quite explain. Beneath it, the faint metallic sigh of the dishwasher.
Rose stands at the counter, eyes wide and serious as she surveys the scene. “The crime scene,” she declares.
We set to work. I pull the jar of powdered sugar from the pantry—the kids’ eyes go big, glitter-hungry—and shake a warning finger. “We aredusting,not detonating. We are creating wonder, not a crime lab.”
“This elf is a criminal! He ate all the cookies,” Theo mutters, already peeling off a strip of painter’s tape to make handcuffs for the elf. Penny kisses the elf’s felt cheek and whispers, “Be brave,” because Penny always has a soft spot for the doomed.
Elise sprinkles sugar with careful, delighted taps, watching it fall into perfect drifts across the marble. “Snow,” she breathes, and then uses a fork to make tiny footprints. “We must bring him to the big man!”
“Vincent has to clean all this up,” Damien says under his breath. He pours cocoa into four small mugs and one large, swirling whipped cream into clouds so high they could catch birds. He sets the biggest mug where he knows I’ll reach for it without looking. When I wrap my hands around it, the warmth sinks all the way to my bones.
Penny produces a letter she wrote in the car in pink pencil, the lines tumbling and earnest:
Dear Daddy,
The Elf is under arrest for crimes of mischief. No coffee until he says sorry and maybe gives us presents.
Love, NPB
“It’s perfect,” I tell her, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Her hair smells like apples and the expensive conditioner she stole from my shower. “I will make sure Daddy sees it in the morning.”
We prop the note against the espresso machine like a subpoena. Theo tapes the elf’s wrists to the hot-water spout, then carefully ties a bow.
