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“You too, Jack,” Johanna says.
“Oh, I don’t think—”
“Come on, we don’t have all day, Jack,” Cash chimes in. “Besides, you in that outfit will make some great blackmail material.”
When the Stafford siblings burst out laughing, Johanna and Mike give them curious glances.
“Inside joke.” Presley shrugs, trying to play it off so her parents don’t ask any questions.
Without further complaint, I scramble from the couch and hesitantly stand next to Presley.
“What are these for?” I ask when Presley’s dad dumps a large pile of letters onto the coffee table.
“There’s a special mailbox in the town center where kids can drop off their letters to Santa. Every year, our family collects them on Christmas Eve, and we read through them all.”
“That’s really neat.”
“There are always a few kids who don’t think Santa will visit them or who mention that their family is struggling financially. We can’t help them all before Christmas, but from now through the new year, we anonymously drop off several care packages to families in need.”
It warms my heart knowing that not only are the Staffords humble, but they also make giving back to their community a family affair.
“Oh no.” Presley’s face grows pale. “I promised Lola we’d drop her letter off to Santa’s mailbox, but I totally forgot with everything else we had going on.”
“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” Johanna says. “I took her to drop them off yesterday. She had two, so she must have forgotten to mention something she wanted in the first one.”
“Definitely sounds like something Lola would do,” Dylan says.
Presley lets out a sigh of relief. “Thanks, Mom.”
I watch as each member of Presley’s family grabs a letter and starts reading.
I hesitantly pick up a postcard with a handwritten note from a ten-year-old boy named James. He asked Santa for a skateboard and a king-sized bag of M&M’S. He said he’ll know if Santa Claus is real or not depending on if he gets the candy he asked for since he hasn’t mentioned it to his parents. I sure hope they read his postcard before he mailed it or they might end up having some serious explaining to do.
As we work our way through the giant pile, someone will occasionally share something they read if it’s funny or heartwarming. We’ve also created a designated pile for those who might be in need of a Secret Santa.
There’s only a handful of letters left when I pick up a bright red envelope with the word “Santa” scrawled on the front. I carefully open the envelope and unfold the single piece of paper inside. I’m greeted by familiar penmanship and pause when I scan the letter to find Presley’s name in the signature.
Shit. I don’t think Lola wrote two letters. She must have mistakenly delivered Presley’s letter to Santa’s mailbox too.
I should give it back to Presley, but something stops me. This might be the only chance I have to know what’s going on inside that beautiful mind of hers, and I can’t pass up the opportunity. I glance around, relieved to find everyone else immersed in reading other letters.
Dear Santa,
It might seem silly that a grown woman writes letters to a fictional man with a white beard who goes down people’s chimneys to deliver gifts. This particular tradition has been a part of my yearly holiday wishlist since I was a kid, and I’ve never been able to let it go. It always gets me in a festive mood and helps me make new memories with the people I love most.
However, as I’ve gotten older, the spirit of the season has started to fade as I’ve been focused on going through the motions and doing things around Christmastime solely for the purpose of checking them off my list.
Everything changed this year when my grumpy boss hijacked my time off and came home with me for the holidays. If there were a real Naughty and Nice List, I always assumed he’d get nothing but coal. I thought him to be a jaded, broody asshole who only cared about himself, but I was wrong.
In a matter of days, Jack Sinclair has proven to be a kind and caring person, and dare I admit that he’s quickly become one of the most important people in my life? He didn’t just help me with my wishlist; he made sure that I enjoyed every minute while collecting new memories. He might not know it, but he’s helped to bring back the magic of Christmas that I thought I lost.
He’s going home to New York the day after Christmas, and I don’t know how I’m going to watch him leave. Things have changed between us, and I can’t go back to how they were before he came with me to Aspen Grove. I might have told him that what we’re doing is just for fun, but the truth is that I’m falling for him. I’m not foolish enough to think that someone like Jack Sinclair could have real feelings for his assistant, but a girl can dream, right?
I’ve had this fantasy since high school that someday the man of my dreams would come home to spend the holidays with my family. Then, on Christmas morning, we’d get up before dawn and watch the sunrise from the ridge overlooking the lake at the back of my parents’ property. Who knows? Maybe next year I’ll finally be able to add it to my wishlist. Now, if only there was a reality where Jack was that man.
Forever a believer,
Presley Stafford
