My chest ached—the good kind of ache, full and warm. “Well,” I said, adjusting my beard, “I think Santa can safely say you’ve been on the nice list all year.”
Naomi laughed, brushing a tear from her cheek. “Oh, and—” She stepped aside slightly.
A tall boy, maybe thirteen, shuffled forward. Nervous. Shoulders hunched. Dressed in a crisp button-up that seemed he had to grow into.
“This is our son Noah,” Naomi said gently. “We finalized his adoption two months ago.”
The boy lifted his chin a little. “Hey,” he said, voice soft but steady.
I smiled, feeling something deep in my chest shift—that quiet, familiar pull of recognition. “Hey yourself, young man. Welcome to the family.”
He blinked, surprised, then smiled. “Thanks.”
Naomi’s hand found his shoulder. “We figured Santa should be the first to know we gottwoChristmas miracles.”
For a second, I couldn’t speak. The hall blurred through tears I didn’t bother to hide.
“Well,” I said finally, voice rough, “Santa’s got one rule — every big brother or sister gets a special ornament.” I reached for the box beside me, found one of the glass snowflakes I’d saved for last. “Here. For your tree.”
Noah’s fingers brushed mine as he took it. “Thanks, Santa.”
He didn’t know how much that meant—to see a kid that age smile, to see love starting to take root where fear used to live.
When they turned to go, Naomi looked back and mouthedthank you.
I hadn't thought my day could get any better after one of my friends from my old job had been in touch after they'd had a visit from a certain young runaway and his grandad. A very happyyoung man who was probably going to graduate high school with honors, and had left his contact details.
When the last child waved goodbye, I stood, stretching the kinks from my back. Felix was waiting by the doorway, hands in his pockets, that quiet pride on his face that still made my stomach flutter.
“Successful party, Mr. Claus?”
“The best one yet,” I said, cheeks aching from smiling.
He handed me a mug of hot chocolate topped with whipped cream and cinnamon, and I was pretty sure laced with something substantial. “You’ve made this place better than I ever could.”
I shrugged, embarrassed. “You gave me the chance to.”
He stepped closer, one hand brushing the back of my neck, just enough to make my pulse skip. “And you gave me something I didn’t think I’d ever have.”
“What’s that?”
He smiled. “Home.”
My throat tightened, but before I could answer, he bent and kissed me softly—nothing showy, just steady and sure. Around us, laughter and music swelled, and the twinkling lights blurred until everything felt warm and perfect.
Later, when the party wound down and the building emptied, he tugged me toward his office. The door clicked shut, and he pulled me into his arms—my safe place, always.
“You did well, sweetheart,” he murmured against my hair.
The praise still hit deep, even after a year. “Thank you, Daddy.”
He smiled into the kiss that followed, slow, loving, unhurried. The kind that promised everything we’d built wasn’t just happiness, but peace.
We headed for home. The snow was falling thick and slow, flakes spinning in the headlights like lazy sparks. The carturned down a quiet street—one I knew too well—and my pulse stuttered.
“Sir?” I asked softly. “Why are we on Maple Lane?”
He didn’t answer right away, just kept driving, hands steady on the wheel, eyes forward. The street curved, and then I saw it.
