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“Grandpa! I love it.”
His eyes widen. “Grandpa? You deign to pretend the great Santa Claus of the North Pole is your grandfather?” He reaches me and leans in to whisper. “We can’t have the little ones thinking I’m an imposter.”
“Oops.” I whisper back. I giggle and straighten to shake his hand. “Welcome to the festival, Santa. I hope as our esteemed guest, you’ll find everything in top-notch order.”
He winks and mouths “Well played,” before continuing in the line of people with more “Ho, ho, ho’s.”
“What gave him that idea?” I ask Theo.
“He mentioned what a shame it was that there was no Father Christmas here and decided to take it upon himself,” Theo says with a laugh.
“Wow! That man is full of surprises.”
“He’s thriving here in New Hedge, isn’t he?” Theo says, the edges of his eyes crinkling.
It’s touching that he cares about my grandfather. He cares about my whole family, and I don’t know, but something about his presence in our lives has seemed to soften my parents some. It’s a nominal amount, but it’s something.
And it was good for all involved when Grandpa moved out of my parents’ house in the spring and into the basement apartment of one of his friends from the diner. He even started helping with the cheesecakes at the bakeshop every morning. We have so much fun, it’s almost criminal…it doesn’t feel like a job to be working there with him and Camilla every morning the past couple of months.
I mill around, at various times losing track of Theo only to have him show up again. The busyness of closing day consumes me, so much so that I barely have any time to grab the bite of lunch that was brought us committee members and left in a back room.
Just as it’s nearing two o’clock and things are winding down, I hear Marjorie Clements’ voice over the intercom. “Please gather in the grand foyer for a presentation by Father Christmas.”
A presentation by Father Christmas? What is that all about?
What has Grandpa done now?
I rush out of the tent, through the back of the mansion, and as I round the corner near the entrance, I see Grandpa in that ridiculous beard, sitting on a red and gold, classic Santa throne near a wide column. Is he going to have kids sit on his knee?
People are gathering around, and I see so many that I know and love, like Camilla, Jesse, Merre, and several committee members. Theo isn’t here, though. The talking is hushed as Grandpa starts a speech.
“The merriest of Christmases to you all,” he begins, enjoying the attention as only Howard Beckwith can. “There are a couple of people here who I know will have a most memorable and meaningful Christmas, so I’m going to let them have the floor.”
I don’t have time to process what he’s said, as Theo steps from behind the column. He’s wearing his Christmas blazer—that tacky, gorgeous thing—and he’s holding a bouquet of deep red roses.
“Aria.” He meets my gaze from across the room. “Please?” His eyes plead with me to join him. I realize my hands have covered my mouth and I’m frozen to the spot.
I jolt to attention and walk towards him, shaking my head as my smile grows. He hands me the bouquet and I bury my nose in it, inhaling its sweetness. Over the flowers, I see my siblings and parents, as well as Theo’s mom and stepdad, Odin. My jaw drops open and tears prick my eyes at their wide smiles.
I know what’s happening and I can’t wait to give him my answer.
“Aria, I think a part of me has loved you since the moment our eyes met at Shorty’s bakeshop over three years ago,” he says, one arm around my waist.
“Yeah, Shorty’s!” Merre hoots.
We all laugh.
“Sometimes I still kick myself that I didn’t handle things better in that moment. I think, if I’d only been kinder and more respectful, I might not have wasted so much time living without you. But then I remember that in life, we’re not behind or ahead. Things are just right. Things work out exactly the way they were meant to. And now, you’re here with me. And we look like we work in a department store in our blazers.”
“Hey!” I protest before briefly slapping a hand over my face.
The twinkle in his eye nearly upends me, but I force myself to breathe. I want to take this all in, to remember every part of this.
“I almost asked you to change into your Victorian velvet gown and I’d put on my frock coat for this.” He lifts a shoulder. “But, alas.” His voice goes higher as he slides into a British accent. “I think this is even better.”
“You know if you want me in your life, you need get used to the blazer,” I tell him, straightening the lapel.
He nods and smiles. “Oh, I am. Santa? We’re ready for our gift,” he says to Grandpa, who’s already standing and pulling out a large, decorative fabric bag from behind his throne.
