She shot me a questioning look as we approached the jail steps.
“The sheriff’s office? You plan to arrest me?”
“Not this morning, though if you’d like me to do so in the future, I’ll be happy to oblige.” I guided her up the steps and opened the door. “Close your eyes for a moment?”
She raised an eyebrow, but her eyelids fluttered shut. I led her inside, shutting the door and positioning her in the back of the office where breakfast waited.
“Okay,” I said. “You can look.”
Carla opened her eyes, and her breath left in a soft gasp. “Oh, Becken.” Her gaze moved from the decorated walls to the Christmas tree to the table set for two, wonder blooming across her face. “What is all this?”
I guided her closer. “I’m offering you a real Christmas morning, the kind you should’ve had growing up.”
Tears trickled down her cheeks, but her smile could have lit the entire town. “You did all this for me?”
“Not just me.” I pulled out her chair. “Everyone helped. Jessi made breakfast. Sel and Holly baked cinnamon rolls. Everyone else handled the decorations.”
“Your family was in on this?” She sank into the chair, her expression stunned.
“They care about you. We all do.” I took the seat across from her.
“It’s beautiful.” Her voice wavered. “I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything. Just enjoy.”
We ate breakfast together, the food as delicious as it smelled. Carla’s delight in each dish, each thoughtful detail, made it all worthwhile. She asked questions about the orc dishes, and I shared stories of Deep Season celebrations from my childhood. She told me about the few positive holiday memories she had, mostly from school events rather than home.
With each passing minute, the nervous tension in my shoulders eased. This was right.Wewere right, together like this, sharing a meal and conversation in the quiet glow of Christmas morning.
When we’d finished eating, the moment I’d been both anticipating and dreading arrived. Carla stared at the box beside her plate.
“That’s for you.”
“What is it?”
“Go ahead and open it.” My voice barely rose above a whisper.
“I didn’t… I don’t have a gift for you.” Color flooded her cheeks.
“Being here with me is enough.”
She shook her head slowly, her eyes swimming with tears.
At my urging, she untied the bow and opened the top, lifting out the globe, turning it this way and that. “Becken. This looks just like…”
“I hope it’s close to what your mother had. Wind the key.”
With trembling fingers, she turned the snow globe over and twisted the bar at the base. When she set it upright, the first notes of “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” tinkled out, sweet and clear. Snowflakes swirled inside the dome, dancing around the tiny evergreen forest, the decorated tree, and the little rabbit watching in awe.
Tears spilled down her cheeks as the snow settled, and the last notes faded away. “How did you find this? They don’t make these anymore.”
“Dungar helped.” I brushed a tear from her cheek. “You deserved to have this piece of your past back.”
“No one has ever done anything like this for me before.” She clutched the snow globe to her chest. “I don’t know what to say.”
I knew what I wanted to hear.
“Stay,” I said. “Here in Lonesome Creek with me.”
