Her colleagues groaned in mock envy. “Shut up, that’s so romantic.”
Vivian clapped her hands from the editor's office doorway. "All right people, listen up. We're officially closed for Christmas. Which gives us exactly four days to forget about the disaster that is our January feature before we come back and fix it."
A collective groan rippled through the office.
"Post-Christmas problem," Wren said firmly. "We're not thinking about it until then."
“Correct,” Vivian said. "Now get out of here. Go be merry or whatever."
Chairs scraped as everyone grabbed coats and bags. Lauren tucked the last of her things into her tote, adjusting her red scarf as she stepped out into the cold. Snowflakes skittered on the wind, catching in her hair and on her eyelashes.
A half day meant she had hours more to prepare.
And tonight Tom would walk into a house that was warm, glowing, and bursting with Christmas cheer—because she would make it so.
Her chest swelled with pride.
She shifted her tote higher on her shoulder, already running through the checklist in her mind: the quilt was wrapped and ready. The house was decorated. Everything was coming together perfectly.
Even Judith and Richard wouldn’t be able to ruin things this year.
This was going to be the best Christmas yet.
CHAPTER 4
Tom
Tom adjustedhis gloves and steadied the beam while one of the crew nailed it into place. His shoulders burned in that satisfying way—the ache of doing something real. He should be in the office but he liked to pitch in on-site when he could. Architecture used to thrill him. But these days it was just a job. That was part of growing up.
Still, today he could lose himself in the rhythm of hammer blows, the smell of cut wood, the wind sharp against his neck. Out here, a day’s work was measurable. Solid. Around him came the music of construction—metal against metal, saws whining, the low calls of men working to finish before the Christmas break.
He stepped back, squinting up at the frame. This was one of his designs—understated, unremarkable.
“Tom!”
He turned at the sound, spotting his brother weaving through the stacks of lumber, his hard hat slightly crooked and a messenger bag slung across one shoulder.
“Shouldn’t you be in the office?” Tom asked, bracing the beam while the foreman checked the level.
Jake shrugged. “I skipped out early since it’s Christmas Eve.”
Tom frowned. “Dad won’t like that.”
Jake grinned, unbothered. “Do you have it?”
Tom almost smiled. Almost. “Come on, it’s in the trailer.”
They crossed the job site together, weaving through mud and lumber stacks, stepping into the cramped warmth of the site office. Tom dug into his canvas messenger bag, pulled out the velvet box and handed it over.
Jake exhaled in pure relief. “Thanks, man.” He held the box up, admiring it. “Mia’s going to lose her mind. First married Christmas, you know? I want it to be perfect.”
Tom grunted. “Yeah.”
Jake clapped him on the shoulder, grinning. “Seriously, I owe you one for holding onto this for me.” He rocked back on his heels. “We decorated a tree together. Can you believe that? I want every Christmas to feel like this.”
Tom rolled his eyes.
Jake laughed. “Come on, I know you and Lauren must have gone all out too.”
