Grace sidled up beside me. “He okay?”
“I don’t know. Hospital was rough, I think.”
She nodded, watching Connor help Ruby tape up her letter. “First time back since his mom died.”
Oh. That explained the hollow look, the white-knuckle grip on logistics.
Ruby was now explaining the intricacies of My Little Pony character hierarchies to Connor, who nodded along like this was information of national importance.
“You should keep him,” Grace said, bumping my shoulder. Before I could respond, Ruby shrieked with delight—Alex had emerged from the back room in full Santa regalia.
The next hour was controlled chaos. Kids lined up to sit on Santa’s lap while parents took photos. The cookie decorating station turned into a sprinkle bomb. Connor fixed the jammed hot chocolate machine and somehow also prevented three craft disasters while I handled the constant stream of “where’s the bathroom?” and “my kid is allergic to food coloring” crises.
It should have been stressful. It was stressful. But it was also… fun.
Then I felt a tug on my apron. “Hannah! You have to come see!” Ruby dragged me toward the bar, where Grace was hanging something above the counter with suspicious ceremony.
Mistletoe.
“This is how I tricked Grace and Alex into their first kiss,” Ruby announced to anyone within hearing distance—so the entire bar. “So now it’s the kissing spot!”
Grace caught my eye and grinned, absolutely shameless as Ruby dragged Connor over too. “Uncle Connor! Hannah! You have to kiss!”
Connor raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement breaking through the exhaustion.
“She’s very insistent,” I said.
“Alex’s kid,” he said, as if that explained everything. His hand found the small of my back, warm and steady. “For the children?”
I laughed despite myself. “For Ruby’s extensive mistletoe campaign.”
The kiss was supposed to be a quick peck for the crowd. But Connor’s hand tightened on my waist, and my fingers curled into his sweater, and suddenly it wasn’t quick at all.
When we broke apart, Ruby was cheering, Grace looked far too self-satisfied, and a few parents in line waiting for Santa applauded—and one covered her son’s eyes.
“Well,” I said, a little breathless. “That was—”
“Yeah,” Connor agreed.
Ruby had moved on to her next victim, but I was still standing there with Connor’s hand on my waist, his eyes locked on mine, the noise of the party fading into background static.
Uncle Mike appeared with a tray of cookies. “You two want to actually help, or just stand there making eyes at each other?”
Connor busied himself with hot cocoa as I took the tray to avoid Mike’s knowing look.
“You know you’re allowed to be happy, right?” Mike said it casually. “Even if your parents don’t approve.”
I paused mid-cookie-arrangement. “What?”
“Your dad always thought this bar was beneath him. Thought I was wasting my life pouring drinks instead of getting a ‘real job.’” He gestured at the room—the families laughing, the kids covered in glitter, the general chaos of community joy. “But I love this place. Built something that matters to people. And I’m happy.”
“That’s different—”
“Is it?” He looked at me steadily. “You’re good at a lot of things, Hannah. But the question isn’t what your parents expect you to achieve. It’s what makesyouhappy.”
I looked back at Connor, who was now very seriously mediating a dispute between Ruby and another kid about whether Santa’s reindeer could talk.
He’d shown up today even though the hospital had wrecked him. He’d thrown himself into fixing things because that’s how he dealt with emotions he couldn’t process. And then Ruby had crashed into him and made him laugh, and I’d watched years of grief temporarily loosened by a five-year-old’s chaos.
