“She’s been dying to meet Princess Luna,” Jess whispers, like it’s a sacred secret.
I give Quinn a small wave. “I’d love to send you a little book bag,” I say gently. “Would you like that?”
She nods but doesn’t step forward, and I don’t push it. I’ve never believed in plopping a kid on Santa’s lap and snapping a photo while they scream their lungs out.
I’d rather buy her love with a book bag.
Jess gestures across the room, where Harrison and Mark are surrounded by two little boys glued to their sides. “That’s Ryder and Aiden. We try to foster as many kids as we can, especially through the holidays.”
My chest does that soft, aching thing again.
“I’ve worked with foster organizations in LA. for years,” I say. “Give me a little time, but I’d love to make book bags for all of them. Just send me their ages, names, and favorite stories.”
“I saw the bag Snooki’s been carrying around. You made those?” Her smile widens. “I was going to ask where I could get one.”
“I usually fill them with a book or two when I give them to the foster organizations,” I admit. “They’re my happy place.”
Quinn tugs gently at my skirt, closer now. I kneel so we’re eye to eye.
She points to Snooki’s big purple bag, the unicorn stitched on the side. “It’s pretty.”
“It is,” I agree. “What’s your favorite book?”
“Clifford,” she says, all traces of shyness gone.
“The big, red dog.” I nod. “I love Clifford, too.”
And just like that, my mind is already racing. Fabric. Colors. A puppy for the front of the bag.
Connor launches into the robot, and I nearly snort mimosa out of my nose.
It’s so different from the parties I’m usually dragged to. Those feel like work. Like smiling on cue in rooms full of people who don’t really see me.
This one feels free. Real. The kind where my face actually aches from laughing so hard and smiling with my whole heart.
The DJ bounces between Christmas classics and pop hits, and the kids are having the time of their lives.
Then “Gone, Gone, Gone” comes on, and a memory flickers.
Me.
On Harrison’s shoulders.
Laughing like I didn’t know what falling felt like yet.
From the look on his face across the room, he remembers it too.
Our eyes lock. The noise fades.
He crosses the space between us.
“May I have this dance, Mrs. Evans?”
My stomach flips.
“Maybe.” I lift a brow. “What did I say in that text to you that first night?”
He sweeps me in, hands settling at the small of my back, our bodies locking into place.
