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Then, she looks up at Isaac, who has taken the camera back over, the lens taking in the girl’s delight.
“Her kitty got out of the house on Thanksgiving and was struck by a car.”
The child hugs the stuffed animal to her chest as Cobie lays a hand on her shoulder.
“See? Santa sent it just for you.”
Dawn sniffles as the two of them continue across the bridge. “Man, those elves are good.”
Isaac looks down at his daughter, who is holding her candle in one hand and her book in the other with pride.
“They are something else. The joy they bring to Lake Mistletoe every winter is epic,” I agree.
We reach a clearing, where the moonlight shimmers across the misty lake. Isaac and Dawn make their way to the perfect spot to snap the scene while Cobie and I head to one of the benches that dot the lakeshore.
Sela
Cobie settles in beside an elderly gentleman with a short white beard who is watching the festivities. He is wearing a red-and-black plaid newsboy cap and a pair of worn-out black corduroy slacks, held up over his white thermal shirt by a pair of red suspenders.
“Hi,” she greets the man.
“Hello to you,” he returns.
“I’m Cobie.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Cobie. I’m Kris.”
She gestures to me. “This is my new friend, Sela. She kissed my daddy under the mistletoe.”
His eyes go wide. “A Christmas kiss. That’s a true gift,” he bellows.
She beams as she drops the candle at her feet and holds up her book and nutcracker. “And look what I found. Santa sent it to me with one of his elves. He knows I likeThe Nutcracker. Mom said if I work really hard in dance class, one day, I might get to play Clara in the ballet.”
“Well, isn’t that something? Are you going to seeThe Nutcrackerover at the resort next week?” he asks.
“Where?”
“Up on top of the mountain at Sun Valley. They are showing the New York City Ballet rendition on the big screen in the theater room.”
Excitement lights her eyes before it quickly flickers out. “We won’t be here next week. My daddy and I are going to France.”
“You don’t sound very excited about that,” he notes.
She shrugs. “He has to work in France, so we’re going to spend Christmas there.”
“I don’t think he’s working,” I interrupt.
She looks at me. “He’s not?”
“No, he told me he was taking the holidays off this year to spend them with you,” I tell her.
Her forehead creases. “Then, why are we going to Paris?” she asks.
“Your dad would have to answer that, but I think he wants to take you because he thinks you’ll love it,” I reply.
“It’s a great city with lots of lights and history,” Kris tells her.
“You’ve been?” she asks.
