"Or this one." He handed me another.
My daughter Mia is 7 and loves to draw. I've been working two jobs but can't afford art supplies. If you could help with that, it would mean the world to her.
- Robert K.
I had to set them down, my eyes burning with unshed tears.
Bart didn't say anything. Just let me feel it.
Finally, I managed: "These families are so grateful for any help at all. It's humbling."
"That's why it matters," he said quietly.
I looked at the corkboard again, at all the hope pinned there. "You're doing something incredible here."
"We're doing it now," he corrected. "I can’t manage all this alone."
The way he included me in that—like I was already part of the effort—made something warm unfurl in my chest.
I squared my shoulders. "Tell me what you need."
WE SPENT THE NEXT THREEhours building systems.
Bart had done the foundational work—collecting wish lists, purchasing some gifts, organizing the space. But he needed tracking, coordination, promotion. Things he couldn't do without exposing his identity.
I pulled out my laptop at one of the folding tables. "First thing: we need a comprehensive spreadsheet. Track items requested, items purchased, budget per family, delivery routes—all organized so we can see everything at a glance."
He pulled up a chair beside me, and I tried to ignore the way my pulse kicked up at his proximity.
"You know how to do that?"
"I have a marketing degree. Used to handle all the backend analytics before Drew—my ex-boyfriend—took over the finances." My fingers flew across the keyboard, opening a new Google Sheet. "Trust me, if I can track engagement across four platforms and manage sponsorship deliverables as a professional influencer, I can track wishes."
For the next hour, I built the system. Columns for family name, number of kids, ages, specific items requested, budget allocated per family, purchase status, wrapping status, delivery route assignment. I created formulas to auto-calculate totals and track spending against Bart's budget.
"May I?" He leaned over my shoulder to see the screen better.
I forced myself to focus on the spreadsheet and not on how close he was.
"This is impressive," he said, and the approval in his voice sent a flutter through my stomach. "You're really good at this."
"Thank you." I tried to sound professional despite my heartbeat doing gymnastics. "Next I'll set up social media accounts specifically for Christmas Wishes. Instagram and Facebook at minimum. We'll create graphics, write compelling copy, share family stories with their permission. Everything anonymous—I'll refer to you as 'a generous local benefactor' or use your LLC name if you prefer."
"Kane Holdings." He studied my formulas, occasionally pointing at the screen to ask questions. "That's what I used to buy the property."
Over the next hour, I created accounts for both platforms and designed simple but quality graphics using seasonal colors and mountain imagery. Bart watched the whole process, asking intelligent questions but mostly just observing how I worked.
When I finished the Instagram profile, he smiled—actually smiled—and my stomach flipped.
"This is excellent," he said. "You really know what you're doing."
His eyes on me, the genuine appreciation in his voice—I liked it way more than I should have.
"I've been doing this for a few years," I said, trying to sound casual. "I’ve figured out what works."
We fell into an easy rhythm. He'd bring lists from the corkboard, and I'd enter them into the system. I'd ask questions about his budget and timeline, and he'd answer with thoughtful detail. We organized gifts by family, matched purchases to requests, planned logistics.
The work was satisfying in a way my usual content creation hadn't been in months. If ever.
