I turned to Archer and Belle. “Are you kids excited for Christmas?”
“Not really. I get sad at Christmas,” Archer answered, stacking another block around the makeshift racetrack he and Knox were working on.
“What makes Christmas sad?”
“I just really miss my mom and wish she could be with me at Christmas.”
My heart cracked open. “I feel the exact same way,” I said softly. I thought about all the Christmases I had spent without my mom and how much harder it must be for Archer, knowing his mom was out there and he just couldn’t be with her.
“My dad won’t be home for Christmas, and it makes me sad, too,” said a quiet voice beside me.
I looked at Belle, shocked that the girl who had yet to say a word had shared this small piece of information.
“At least your dad is doing something really cool,” Archer said. Belle’s face fell.
“Archer,” Knox cautioned sternly. “That was rude.”
“I didn’t mean to be rude! I just meant her dad has a neat job in the Royal Army.”
“You may think that, but it’s not cool that Belle doesn’t have her dad home for Christmas,” Knox reminded Archer firmly, but kindly.
Archer looked down at a red block as he turned it over and over in his hand. “I’m sorry, Belle. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I’m sorry your dad won’t be home for Christmas.”
“It’s okay, Archer,” Belle said, offering another block for the racetrack.
My heart melted watching Knox stand up for Belle and validate her feelings. “You know what I do to feel closer to my mom at Christmas?” I asked the kids, sneaking a glance toward Knox. I supposed he felt the same way as the kids and me since losing his own parents. “I make my mom’s favorite foods.”
“Oh!” Archer exclaimed. “My aunt said that my mom ate pickles on everything when she was pregnant with me. One night she found her in the kitchen eating them dipped in ice cream.” He scrunched up his face in disgust.
“Ewww,” Belle giggled, covering her mouth with her hands.
“I know! I don’t think I could eat that,” Archer laughed, shaking his head vigorously.
“Well, maybe you could make something with pickles and ice cream separately,” I suggested, suppressing a laugh.
“Your aunt makes a really good toffee ice cream, right?” Knox put his hand on Archer’s shoulder.
“Oh, yeah! It’s my favorite!”
“She brought us a container of it when my dad left,” Belle smiled. “It was so good.”
“I can bring over some pickles and we can make a meat and cheese tray. And for dessert we can have some of your aunt’s toffee ice cream. How’s that sound?” Knox asked, squeezing Archer’s shoulder.
“That sounds great! What were your parents’ favorite foods, Knox?”
I looked to Knox, wondering if Archer’s question had thrown him off. But all I saw on his face was quiet contemplation, like he was really trying to think.
“My dad loved bratwursts and sauerkraut, and my mom loved anything lemon. My parents grew to be good friends with King Leroy and Queen Isobel after Oliver and I became best mates, and the queen would make Mom these little lemoncakes every year on her birthday.” He smiled softly to himself, lost in his memory.
“You should bring those over, too! Do you think Queen Isobel would make them for us?”
Knox smiled ear to ear. “Yeah, I think she would.”
“Wow! Homemade treats from the queen,” Belle murmured, doe-eyed.
I loved the adoration and magic in her eyes. It made me wonder if the wife Oliver chose would have this effect on the country’s children. To spread that kind of magic was something special.
“Birdie,” Knox said, finally acknowledging me directly, “what food do you eat for your mom?”
