REESE
The star feels heavier than it should in my hands as Rebecca and I climb the curved staircase to the second floor balcony. Below us, guests gather in the lobby, faces turned upward with anticipation.
Returning the star to the top of the tree feels more meaningful after everything that’s transpired. It reminds me of promises, hope, and the future.
“Ready?” I ask.
Rebecca grips the railing, leaning out slightly to gauge the distance. “This tree is even taller than I thought.”
“Good thing you have a firefighter with you.” I position myself at the edge of the balcony, directly above where the star should sit. “I’ve got excellent aim. Comes with the job.”
She laughs a sound that reminds me of Christmas bells. “No pressure, but everyone is watching.”
I chuckle. “Thanks for that.”
I brace her as she leans over carefully, extending her arms, and gently lowers the star onto the top branch. It takes three tries to get it properly secured, but when it finally settles into place and the lights illuminate it, the entire lobby erupts in applause.
The star gleams like it never left, like it was always meant to be there. Just like Rebecca was always meant to end up here. Maybe like I was meant to knock on her suite door on Christmas Eve morning.
“It’s perfect,” Rebecca breathes beside me, and when I look at her face, she’s glowing in the reflection of the tree lights.
Below, Noella clasps her hands together, and her eyes glass over. “Our star is home! This calls for a celebration!”
If I thought the Christmas Eve dessert spread was impressive, tonight’s display is over the top in the best possible way. The dining room resembles the Land of Sweets. Tiered stands overflow with treats from chocolate peppermint cupcakes topped with candy cane buttercream, gingerbread cookies decorated with such intricate icing they look like lacy edible art, miniature cheesecakes drizzled with caramel and dusted with cocoa powder. There is fudge and every kind of homemade candy, chocolate truffles rolled in crushed pistachios, cookies in at least six different flavors, and a massive yule log cake decorated with powdered sugar snow and marzipan holly.
Candles flicker on every surface—not the electric kind, but real tapers in silver and gold holders, their flames dancing and casting warm light across the scene. More garlands drape from the ceiling, these woven with white lights and silver ribbon that catches the candlelight. The whole room smells like chocolate and cinnamon and pine.
In the center of it all sits a crystal punch bowl filled with what Noella calls “Starlight Cider.” It’s golden and bubbly with floating cranberries and orange slices on the surface.
“This is incredible,” Rebecca says, filling a small plate with an assortment of treats. “I feel like we’ve walked into the North Pole’s test kitchen.”
“Everything is extra sweet tonight,” Noella announces to the room in her Mrs. Claus outfit and a radiant smile. “Our star found its way home, just like each of you has found your way here for Christmas. The Spirit is real, my dears. You just have to believe.”
She catches my eye and winks, and I’m pretty sure she knows exactly what’s been happening between Rebecca and me.
Hollis comes in from the (finally) slowing snowstorm with a, “Ho, ho, ho! Merry Christmas!” and hugs his wife.
I fill my plate and Rebecca and I find a small table tucked in the corner. It’s semi-private, which is perfect because I can’t stop staring at her in the candlelight.
Her features seem to glow—not the harsh, artificial glow of stage lights, but softer. Her auburn hair catches the golden light, and the snowflake necklace I gave her rests at her throat, glinting with every breath.
“You’re staring,” she says, but she’s smiling.
“Can you blame me?”
She takes a bite of a chocolate truffle and actually moans. “Oh wow. Okay, please add truffles to the Crush Cakes menu. This is outrageously delicious. We have to get the recipe and share it with the world.”
“We?” I catch the word, hope flaring in my chest.
“I’ll need somewhere to spend my time once I move to Huckleberry Hill. I happen to know at least one of the owners. Maybe you can put in a good word for me.” She leans forward conspiratorially. “Plus, I’m told one of them is extremely handsome.”
Before I can respond, Pookie—who’s been suspiciously quiet in Rebecca’s lap—suddenly launches herself at me, planting tiny pug kisses all over my face.
“Pookie!” Rebecca tries to pull her back, but I’m laughing.
“It’s okay. I think she’s warming up to me.”
“She knows you’re going to spoil her rotten,” Rebecca says.
