I wake up the next morning knowing what Mrs. Claus meant about opening my heart. It’s not just about letting love in—it’s about letting love win, even when it’s complicated and messy and comes wrapped in a grumpy firefighter package.
Spencer was mean because he didn’t care enough to be vulnerable. Asher was cruel because he cared too much and got scared. The difference matters, even if it hurt the same way in the moment.
Time to create some Christmas magic.
Word spreads faster than coffee rumors. By ten AM, Hensley’s Beach Shack has become mission control for Operation Save Christmas. Mom, Lila, and I coordinate with Great-Grandma Hensley.
Driftwood & Dreams becomes the workshop headquarters. The Salty Pearl volunteers to feed volunteers. Twin Waves Brewing Co. provides fuel for the effort. Even the waterway-side businesses offer boats for floating decorations.
Ellen appoints herself Chief Morale Officer, reminding everyone that Christmas magic comes from people who love each other. She’s already wiser than most adults.
Asher shows up around noon, looking rough. We work together without talking about feelings. Yet. But he hands me tools without being asked and catches garland before it hitsthe ground. That feels a little like apology language I can understand.
The whole island pulls together. Real Christmas movie stuff, except better, because it’s ours.
Christmas Eve morning arrives with perfect weather, brilliant blue skies and that crisp, clean feeling that makes everything seem possible. Our handmade Christmas parade winds through Twin Waves from the Atlantic side to the waterway, showcasing every corner of our little slice of paradise.
Asher makes the perfect Santa. His gruff voice softens for children, and every kid who climbs on his lap gets his full attention. When Amber’s son Mason asks if Santa’s real, Asher looks him straight in the eye and says, “Real as people who love you enough to make magic happen.”
My heart does this stuttering thing that has nothing to do with Christmas adrenaline.
People line up from Hensley’s Beach Shack to Driftwood & Dreams, cheering for the Christmas we saved together. Dean shows up on crutches, nodding approval. “You did good. Both of you.”
After the parade, I end up behind Hensley’s Beach Shack, still buzzing with success. Asher appears, still in his Santa suit minus the beard, looking uncertain in a way that makes him seem younger.
“I was a jerk,” he says without preamble. No excuses, no deflection. “I was scared and stupid and sorry, and you deserved better than that.”
“You were,” I agree, because honesty matters. “But Spencer made me small. You make me brave. Even when you’re being a grumpy disaster.”
He steps closer, relief in his eyes. “Think you could be brave enough to try again? With someone who’s learning not to panic when things get good?”
Standing there in the aftermath of a Christmas miracle we created together, I believe in impossible things.
“I’m pretty sure Mrs. Claus knew what she was doing when she sent that letter,” I tell him, reaching up to straighten his Santa hat. “Opening my heart was scary. But you’re worth the risk.”
Christmas Day dawns perfect and peaceful. I wake up to a grumpy firefighter knocking on the door to my apartment, bringing me coffee and food and the knowledge that we saved Christmas together. He grumbles about being up early, but he’s brought breakfast from Michelle’s coffee shop. That’s love, right there.
By noon, Hensley House is bursting with family and chosen family. Mom’s laugh fills the kitchen. Ellen hands out candy canes like she’s running for mayor. Caroline teases Asher until he turns pink, which is its own kind of Christmas miracle. The book club ladies toast our new chapter with merlot and matchmaking glances.
When gift exchange comes, Asher hands me a carefully wrapped box. Inside is a brand-new sketchbook, charcoal pencils, and a note that reads,For the art you’ll create when you finally believe in yourself as much as I do.I give him a toolkit engraved withChief Santa of Twin Waves, and he laughs so hard he nearly chokes on Amber’s chowder.
Ellen declares our romance “perfectly sparkly” and herself “Chief Love Coordinator” for next Christmas. The book club officially welcomes Jo with wine, warm hugs, and immediateplans to matchmake her with Dean, who’s looking significantly less grumpy since Christmas success.
The whole island gathers for Christmas dinner at The Salty Pearl, celebrating what we accomplished together. Business owners compare notes on the festival’s success. Families share stories about their favorite parade moments. Kids argue about whether Santa is real.
We talk about next Christmas, already planning improvements and looking forward to creating more magic. Because that’s what communities do. They build on success and believe in better tomorrows.
Later, walking the boardwalk, we pause under the twinkle lights we hung together. The ocean is calm, the air sharp with salt and pine. He takes my hands and, with no crowd watching, says the words I didn’t know I’d get to hear.
“I don’t just want to save Christmas with you, Mads. I want all of it—every festival, every storm, every sunrise. You make me braver. You make me better. Let’s build something lasting here, together.”
The kiss we share isn’t just a reconciliation—it’s a promise. The kind of promise that feels like forever.
Twin Waves gave me a miracle this Christmas: not just love, but love that’s rooted, steady, and real. Mrs. Claus was right—courage opens the door to everything worth having.
I touch Mrs. Claus’s letter one last time, tucked safely in my pocket. Whoever wrote it saw something in me I was just learning to see in myself. The capacity for love that requires courage. The strength to choose vulnerability over safety. The wisdom to know when something difficult is worth fighting for.
This little fixer-upper island gave us community, Christmas magic, and love that’s messy and paint-covered and absolutely perfect. Sometimes the best gifts come wrapped in unexpectedpackages—grumpy firefighters who make excellent Santas and communities that rally around Christmas miracles.
Standing on our boardwalk, watching families enjoy the decorations we hung together, I think Mrs. Claus was right about perfect timing. Love found me exactly when I was ready for it, in exactly the place I belonged.
I tuck her letter back into my pocket, right where it belongs. This fixer-upper island isn’t just home. It’s where I found the love of my life, and where we’ll keep writing our story—chapter after messy, beautiful, perfectly imperfect chapter.
Merry Christmas, Twin Waves. This year, you gave me forever.
