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“You should see what we have planned for this year,” Bob—Trixie’s husband and Keller’s dad—adds.
Cobie’s hopeful eyes come to me. “Can we go?”
“When is it?” I ask Trixie.
“Saturday after next. We’ll be baking and crafting all week to prepare.”
I look down at Cobie. “Sorry, kiddo, we’re leaving for Paris on Sunday.”
Her eyes fall to her plate, and she mumbles, “That’s okay.”
“Hey, Paris sounds like so much fun. I’m a little jealous,” Willa chimes in.
“It does, and you guys will have a reason to come back next year,” Trixie cajoles.
Cobie’s disappointed eyes flitter to hers. “Yeah, I guess.”
There’s my melancholy girl again.
I look down at her. “We’re going to have a great time while we are here, I promise.”
“We can give you a list of highlights to check out,” Willa offers.
“The mayor has set us up with a guide to show us around the town for a few days,” I tell them.
“Perfect. And, Cobie, you might not be here for the market, but Alice and I would love some help getting ready for it. My grandchildren are coming over tonight to make wish bottles,” Trixie says.
“You would?” Cobie beams.
“Absolutely.”
“What are wish bottles?” she asks Trixie.
“Well, the story goes that, every year, good boys and girls in Lake Mistletoe can make a wish, and if they believe with all their hearts, then Santa will stir the water as his sleigh passes over on Christmas Eve, filling the lake with Christmas magic, and their wishes will be granted. This year, we are taking tiny glass bottles with cork stoppers and filling them with Christmas stars and snowflakes. Each kid will write their wish on a blank piece of paper and tuck it inside. We’ll attach a red or green ribbon so you can hang your wish on the tree, where the magic is sure to find it,” Trixie explains.
Cobie’s eyes go wide. “Is that true?”
Lexie—one of the girls across the table, seated next to her mother—leans over and whispers to her, “My wish came true last year. If you want to make one before you leave, I’ll keep it and hang it on the tree for you.”
Cobie nods at her, and then her pleading eyes look up at me. “Can I help them, Daddy?”
I smile. “Sure, kiddo.”
We finish dinner, which ends with coffee or milk and a mini gingerbread Bundt cake.
We say our good nights after dessert, and I take Cobie up to our room.
I put away our things as she takes a bath, brushes her teeth, and gets into her pajamas.
She climbs into her bed and burrows under the cozy covers.
I sit on the edge and tuck her in tight, ensuring she is snug and warm.
“Will you tell me a story, Daddy?” she asks.
“What kind of story do you want to hear?” I ask.
She answers through a yawn, “Tell me a story about Santa Claus.”
