But I kept going, fueled by determination and probably a fair amount of hypothermia-induced stubbornness.
Two hours later, I had managed to string lights through about half the tree farm. The effect was already spectacular. The rows of Fraser firs and Douglas firs were lit up enough to create a pathway that looked like something from a fairy tale.
I kept working, warming my fingers from the heat being produced by the bulbs. My hands were beyond frozen at this point, more like blocks of ice attached to my wrists, but I was in too deep to stop now.
I plugged in the final strand and stepped back to see my work. The entire tree farm was transformed. What had been a collection of neat, practical rows of Christmas trees was now a wonderland of light and color that stretched from the lodge all the way to the edge of the property.
Oh yeah, she was going to love it. Now, I had to figure out how to get her attention. I didn’t have a death wish, so walking into the lodge and the little party they had going on was definitely not an option.
I would just have to wait it out. She’d have to go home eventually.
CHAPTER 55
SYLVIE
The main room of Northwood Lodge was alive with Christmas magic. Santa—Wesley—was holding court in his designated armchair by the fire. A gaggle of children gathered at his feet as he distributed carefully selected gifts from our donation pile. His ho-ho-hos were perfectly timed. His ability to remember each child’s name and something special about them never ceased to amaze me. I was pretty sure he studied all year for this event.
The idea it might be the last was just too depressing to think about.
Unless I took Kent up on his offer. An offer I wasn’t sure I believed. I had been fooled once before.
A child laughing grabbed my attention and pulled me back to the present. Mrs. Claus sat in the chair beside Mr. Claus with a stack of Christmas picture books, her gentle voice weaving tales of reindeer and snow angels while the littlest guests curled up on cushions scattered around her feet.
The woman was a born storyteller. Her costume was perfect, wire-rimmed glasses, gray hair in a neat bun, and a red dress with white apron that looked like it had come straight fromthe North Pole. She was better than any Mrs. Claus from my childhood.
Christmas music played softly from the speakers, just loud enough to create atmosphere without drowning out conversations. The fire crackled merrily in the hearth. The smell of pine filled the room. The entire scene was perfect. It made my heart hurt to think we might never get to make these memories again.
Staff wove through the crowd carrying platters of appetizers—bacon-wrapped scallops, stuffed mushrooms, mini quiches that disappeared as quickly as they appeared. It was all very fancy, but as a family, we had collectively decided to go big. The kids were getting the night of their lives, and we were making sure the parents got to enjoy the evening as well.
Wine glasses never stayed empty for long, and the hot chocolate station was constantly surrounded by guests of all ages warming themselves with Emmy’s special recipe.
I stood near the back of the room, watching it all unfold with the kind of bittersweet joy that came from knowing you were witnessing something precious and finite. This was what I’d grown up with and something I had helped create and maintain for years. The warmth, the connection, the sense of belonging that turned strangers into temporary family. It was all stuff that I wanted to pass along to future generations.
But as nice as the night was, it was nowhere near as packed as it would have been five years ago. Back in the day, this night used to be so busy you could barely move in the main room. Every chair would be filled, every inch of floor space occupied by families sprawled on blankets or children playing with their new toys.
The wait list for Christmas week had been long. We used to turn away dozens of families who wanted to experience Northwood Lodge during the holidays.
Now there were empty seats throughout the room. Not many. We still had a good crowd. But enough to notice. Enough to serve as a quiet reminder that nothing gold could stay.
I pressed my lips together, pushing down the nostalgia and loss. The memories I had made here would stay with me forever, regardless of what happened to the lodge itself. Perhaps Kent was right about change being good. Maybe there was something that rang true about one door closing so another could open.
The thought felt like I was trying to convince myself of something I wasn’t quite ready to believe. But standing there, watching children’s faces light up as Santa handed them gifts and watching their parents relax into the comfortable chaos of family life, I felt something shift inside me.
Maybe holding on so tightly to the past was preventing me from seeing the possibilities of the future. Change was inevitable. It didn’t have to be bad. I could go into the change kicking and screaming or I could embrace it and try to steer it in a way that I want it to go. Or at the very least do my best to influence the direction of the change.
I was lost in that thought when something outside caught my eye. A flicker of color that didn’t belong. At first, I thought it might be a reflection from the lights around the windows. But I realized the lights were in the center of the window beyond the room.
Curious, I moved closer to the window and gasped.
The entire tree farm was lit up in Christmas lights. Not the neat, efficient LED strands we already had up, but big, colorful bulbs that cast pools of light through the snow-covered branches. Row after row of Fraser firs and Douglas firs were outlined in red, green, blue, and gold. It stretched as far as I could see.
It was like someone had taken a childhood memory of Christmas and made it real.
“Oh my God,” I breathed, pressing my face closer to the glass.
I hurried to the coat closet, grabbed my heavy winter jacket, and pushed through the front door into the cold night air. The temperature hit me hard enough to make my eyes water, but I barely noticed.
The view from outside was even more stunning. The tree farm had been transformed into something timeless, each row of trees creating pathways of light that seemed to lead into the very heart of Christmas itself. The bulbs cast pretty colors across the snow, creating a carpet of sparkles.
