Ms. Jones,
I’m interested. Please let me know when to be there and what to bring.
Best regards,
Hannah Donnelly
I hit send before I could second-guess myself.
Teresa whooped. Mike squeezed my shoulder. “That’s my girl.”
“I need to talk to Connor about this,” I said, checking my phone, knowing that he was scheduled to arrive any minute.
As if I’d summoned him, the front door opened and Connor walked in looking like he’d been through a war.
Not physically—he was immaculate as always, dark jeans and a gray sweater. But his posture seemed heavy, and his eyes haunted.
And all the thoughts about the job flew out of my head as I met him halfway across the room. “How’d it go?”
“Fine. The kids loved it.”
“Connor.” I lowered my voice, aware of the families milling around. “You okay?”
“Yeah, just tired.” He looked past me at the chaos of the setup. “What do you need me to do?”
What I needed was for him to sit down and drink something stronger than hot chocolate, but I knew better than to push.
“Sound system.”
Something flickered in his eyes—relief, maybe, at having something concrete to fix. “I can do that. Where—”
“Storage room. Uncle Mike has the speakers.”
He was already moving. I watched him go, worry sitting heavy in my chest.
Grace and Alex arrived five minutes later, Alex carrying a full garment bag. He’d have to put his suit on soon, but for now hewas taking advantage of the break to gulp down water and look moderately human.
Ruby exploded through the door behind them, dragged by Grace’s brother Elijah, who looked like he’d been chasing her for the last six blocks.
“Is Santa here? Is he here?” Ruby bounced on her toes, scanning the room.
“He’s here,” Grace said, laughing. “But he needs five minutes.”
“Okay!” Ruby zoomed off to inspect the cookie decorating station, Elijah trailing after her with the resigned expression of a man who’d lost control of the situation hours ago.
I went to check on Connor, who’d somehow already installed the new sound system and was testing the microphone levels with the focused intensity of someone defusing a bomb.
“This should work better,” he said without looking up. “The frequency range is wider, and I’ve set up a backup battery pack in case—”
“Uncle Connor!” Ruby slammed into his legs with the force of a small missile. "Did you see Santa? He’s HERE! And there’s COOKIES! And GLITTER!”
And just like that, the haunted look in Connor’s eyes… softened.
“Glitter, huh?” He crouched down to her level, the tension bleeding out of him. “Did you get any in your hair yet?”
“Not yet, but I’m gonna!” She grabbed his hand. “Come see my letter to Santa! I asked for a puppy and a trampoline!”
Connor let himself be dragged toward the craft station, still carrying whatever the hospital had dredged up but also lighter, somehow. Like Ruby’s chaos was the antidote he needed.
