Devil’s Peak looks like it swallowed a snow globe and shook it hard.
The mountains glow white and endless. Smoke curls from chimneys. The firehouse is strung with lights so bright it can probably be seen from space. And our cabin? It smells like cinnamon, pine, and chaos.
I stand in the kitchen doorway holding a tray of sugar cookies while three small humans sprint through the living room like caffeinated reindeer.
“Don’t you dare climb the tree!” I shout.
“I’m not!” our middle child yells back while very clearly trying to climb the Christmas tree.
Sawyer doesn’t look up from where he’s crouched by the fireplace.
“Grayson,” he says in that low, steady voice that means business.
Grayson freezes mid-climb. “Yes, sir.”
“Feet. On the ground.”
Grayson jumps down from a chair, grinning, completely unrepentant. He’s four and already has his father’s stubborn jaw and reckless confidence.
Our oldest, Ellie—six and all sharp wit and fearless energy—rolls her eyes at him. “You’re gonna break something.”
“I’m training,” he argues. “Like Dad.”
Sawyer snorts quietly.
Our youngest, Rosie—two and a half years old and a swirl of curls and sass—clutches my leg and whispers loudly, “Santa’s late.”
“He’s not late,” I tell her, setting the cookies down. “He’s precise.”
Sawyer rises slowly from the hearth, stretching like he’s been bracing for impact his entire life and finally doesn’t have to.
Seven years ago, he stood on a rooftop and chose me in front of the whole town.
Seven years ago, I married a widowed firefighter who thought loving again was dangerous.
Now he stands in a living room filled with noise and life and children who look at him like he hung the moon.
“Everybody sit,” he says calmly.
Three tiny bodies scramble to the couch. He glances at me over their heads. I know that look. He’s trying not to smile.
It never works.
“You sure about this?” I murmur under my breath.
“You’re the one who said yes to three,” he replies quietly.
“I meant the kids.”
His mouth curves. “Too late.”
There are three large boxes under the tree.
Each one moves.
Ellie notices first.
“Mom,” she whispers, eyes wide.
