They let the cookies cool while Bran and Juno provided security detail, clearly hoping “security duty” included stealing one.
Florence leaned against Erin’s leg. “Mummy Erin, is Santa coming tonight?”
“Only if you stay in bed after lights-out,” Erin said.
“And don’t get up even if you hear suspicious noises,” Alex added.
Matilda gasped. “What kind of suspicious noises?”
“Well,” Alex said thoughtfully, “sometimes the reindeer union argues about parking procedure.”
“Are they loud?” Frank asked.
“Very,” Alex said solemnly.
Erin elbowed her lightly. “You’re creating a labour crisis at the North Pole.”
“I’m diversifying their mythology,” Alex whispered back.
They shared a smile that made Erin’s heart feel like it was trying to climb out of her chest.
The children decorated the cooled cookies — sprinkles,icing, little chocolate pieces. Erin snuck one. Alex snuck one. The dogs attempted to sneak several.
It was perfect.
It was everything Erin had missed.
And then — because the universe could only handle so much peace — the meltdown arrived.
Predictably, it was Vic.
She burst into the kitchen like a festive harbinger of doom, hair sticking to her forehead, cheeks flushed.
“EVERYONE STOP.”
Silence fell.
Even the dogs froze mid-tail-wag.
Vic held something above her head.
Alex raised her eyebrows. “Is that the?—?”
“The centrepiece,” Vic breathed dramatically.
Erin squinted. “Is that… a pinecone bowl?”
“A hollowed-out pumpkin,” Julia corrected tiredly from behind her.
“A festive pumpkin!” Vic insisted.
“It’s decaying,” Julia murmured.
“It’s ART,” Vic snapped.
Hyz tilted her head. “It’s mushy.”
“IT IS FUNCTIONAL,” Vic cried. “AND MEANINGFUL. AND SYMBOLIC. AND?—”
