Frost enters first, carrying a stuffed reindeer as big as the baby.
“He’s small,” Frost whispers like he’s afraid to wake him.
“He’s perfect,” Honey corrects, wiping at her eyes.
Brothers peek in behind them, suddenly shy in their chains and leather.But Lil’ Nick waits at the threshold, hat twisting in his hands.His eyes are locked on the bassinet.
“Nick?”I say gently.
He swallows hard.“Should I?I mean, could I?I’m her dad but…”
“You’re his granddad,” I say.“Get in here.”
He steps forward like the floor might crack under him.Humbug lifts the baby and offers him over.Nick hesitates, then takes him, trembling.
“Hey there, little man,” he whispers, tears slipping down his cheeks.“I’m your granddad.I… I’m here now.If you want me.”
Jack Jr.blinks up at him.Nick kisses his head, breaking completely.My heart swells so painfully I think it might burst.I lean against Humbug, and he presses a kiss into my hair.Everything feels bigger.Softer.Safer.
And a week later…
Snow drifts lazy over Evervale again, soft enough to look fake, but real as ever.
From the clubhouse porch, I can see the spruce tree glowing in the town square.Same lights, same song over the speakers, but this year, it feels different.
This year, I’m right where I need to be.
The baby stirs against my chest, a tiny fist clutching my hair.He’s perfect, stubborn brows, soft mouth, his daddy’s storm-gray eyes.The brothers argued over names until I laughed and wrote Jack Jr.on the birth certificate.Humbug pretends to hate it, but every time someone says,“little Bug,”he grins like a fool.
Inside, the New Year’ party is in full swing.Honey’s yelling about burnt pie crust.Frost is trying to deep-fry a turkey.And the jukebox is stuck onRun Rudolph Run.
Humbug steps outside, flour on his cut, sleeves pushed up.He still has that rough scowl, but his eyes go soft the second he sees us.
“You know, Peppermint, we could open a bakery.”
“Maybe,” I say, already dreaming.
“Cold?”he asks, already reaching for the baby.
“Not with you two here.”
He takes Jack Jr., kisses his tiny head, then my forehead.“Looks like you finally got your forever Christmas.”
I laugh, throat tight.“Guess the Grinch didn’t steal it after all.”
“Careful,” he warns, smirking.“You start callin’ me that, I’ll change the kid’s name.”
“Too late.Jack Jr.’s on the birth certificate.”
He groans like he’s suffering.He’s not.
The wind kicks up, carrying laughter and barbecue.He slides an arm around my waist, the baby tucked safe between us.
“You remember what I told you the night we left Pine City?”he asks.
“You said magic was for kids.”
He nods, brushing his nose against my temple.“Was wrong about that too.”
