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“I did a nativity in primary school.”
“That doesn’t count.”
Zac gave her a look.
“Christmas Eve is special,” Laurel insisted. She thought of what Archie had said—about Christmas being the right time for miracles.
Was she still waiting for a miracle? For magic? And was it hopeless if she was?
Laurel stepped into the church, breathing in the dusty, faded smell of stacks of hymnals and candle wax, mixed with the spicy scent of evergreen and mulled wine.
“Welcome, welcome!” A greeter at the door clasped both her hands in his. “Come, get a cup of mulled wine and a mince pie. We’re so glad you’re here.”
Laurel couldn’t help but smile back, charmed by his genuine warmth, and murmured that she was glad she was here, as well.
Soon she and Zac were sitting in a surprisingly comfy pew, nibbling mince pies. A string quartet was playing quietly before the service officially started, and the church was decked with evergreen and Advent candles. It was so peaceful that Laurel felt herself relax, the uncertainties and tensions she’d been carrying around for the last few weeks, and especially since Archie had kissed her, starting to slip away.
Then the service began, with a rousing rendition of “Hark the Herald Angels Sing.” Laurel loved Christmas carols, the innate and infectious joy of them, and she sang along, her heart lifting with every lyric.
“Light and life to all He brings, Risen, with healing in His wings,” she sang with gusto, as Zac looked at her slightly askance. He was merely mouthing the lyrics, but even that was something.
Light and life. Healing. She let the words, the promises, reverberate through her. Those were things she’d always wanted, things she’d been waiting to happen, like presents to be unwrapped. But what if that wasn’t how it happened, after all?
What if the magic, the miracle, wasn’t like a bolt from the sky, a shot in the dark, something she had to wait and wait for, until everything was made perfect?
What if the miracle was, as Archie said, found here and now, in the midst of the confusion and brokenness, the hurt and disappointment? What if the miracle was found in the moment, with all it held, rather than on some distant day?
She didn’t have to force it. She didn’t have to find it. It was already there.
The thought was so novel, so strange and unexpected, that Laurel didn’t know what to do with it. But as she sang “Silent Night” and the lights dimmed in the church to a few flickering candles, everyone’s voice an expectant, joyful near-whisper, she felt as if she were, perhaps for the first time, on the cusp of something wonderful.
As the last chorus fell away to a reverent hush, she turned to Zac and smiled, and felt the miracle begin to unfold as he smiled back.
Chapter Twelve
Laurel woke on Christmas morning to a sense of expectation and a light dusting of snow on the ground.
“Snow!” she called to Zac joyfully, and he ran into her bedroom to look out the window with her at the tufty grass leading down to the sea, all of it sparkling white, if only just.
“It’ll probably melt by lunchtime,” he said, and Laurel laughed out loud.
“But it’s here now.” She reached for her dressing gown. “Let’s go downstairs.” Last night, after Zac had gone to bed, she’d filled his stocking with the sweets and treats she’d bought in town, and she was looking forward to him opening it all, although she felt a bit apprehensive, too. What if Zac didn’t really get Christmas? What if he turned his nose up at a Rubik’s cube or a Terry’s chocolate orange? Well, she told herself, then so be it. It didn’t have to be the end of the world.
When she came downstairs, however, she was the one who was surprised, not Zac. For next to his red felt stocking, stuffed with goodies, was her own, also filled.
“What…” Laurel stared at in incomprehension. “How…” She’d bought herself a stocking, but then she’d put it in a kitchen drawer, not wanting to put any pressure on Zac to get her presents. She didn’t even know if he had money. And yet here was her stocking, and she could see a Kendal mint cake sticking out of the top, which was her favourite sweet. How…?
“Did you do this?” she asked, almost accusingly, and Zac nodded with sheepish pride.
“Yeah, Archie and I drove into Kirkwall one afternoon, after we’d finished at the farm. But I bought it all,” he added quickly. “With the money I earned.”
“Oh, Zac.” Laurel sniffled, suddenly near tears.
“Don’t cry,” he warned, sounding alarmed. “It isn’t much. Just some sweets and stuff.”
“But it was so thoughtful of you. Thank you.” He shrugged, and she smiled, and then they both dove into their stockings, exclaiming over the small yet thoughtful gifts—a new hair clip for Laurel, as she’d broken one a few days ago, and some hair gel for Zac, because she’d seen he’d run out.
It was the small things that counted, Laurel realised as she bit into her mint cake. The tiny things that told her someone had noticed and cared.
