Page 38 of The Christmas List

I make them both a plate and join them at the table, mostly just observing both of them lost in conversation about Christmas with a wide smile on my face that I couldn’t wipe away even if I tried.

Unable to deny that having Josie here with us feels like it’s exactly where she belongs.

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josie

“This is myfavoriteChristmas song! Evenmorethan Rudolph the Reindeer! Definitely more than Frosty the Snowman! I love reindeer,” Lucy says as she bounces around the living room, the jingle bells on her reindeer slippers ringing every time her foot hits the floor. Her cheeks are rosy pink from the warm glow of the fire and the fact that she hasn’t taken a breath in at least an hour.

She’sslightlycracked out on the amount of sugar in the three cups of her dad’s hot cocoa she’s had tonight.

It’s been the most entertaining night watching Wyatt attempt to wrangle her in.

Unsuccessfully, of course.

Christmas is right around the corner, and she’s got an endless tap of energy and excitement. Not just for the holiday but also because in a couple of days, they’re going to announce the winning team of the Christmas List.

She and Wyatt turned our completed list in earlier today at Town Hall, and he said that she was so excited she was trembling when she handed in the paper. I love being able to experience her excitement outside of the classroom.

I love that I get to be a part of Lucy’s life, in whatever capacity.

When he asked me over for dinner this evening, I was a little worried because we haven’t really talked about how what’s going on between us is going to affect Lucy. Or how we should act in front of her now thatsomethingmore is happening between us. But I’m just trying to go with the flow and let Wyatt take the lead. He knows what’s best for his daughter, and I trust that he’ll make the right decisions when it comes to how to handle this with her.

“You know what I’m the most excited about, Miss Josie?” Lucy asks, flopping down on the floor in front of me and placing her chin in her hands.

“What?”

“Presents.” Her bright green eyes flare with excitement. “I know that Christmas is about giving, not receiving, but it sure is fun to get presents. All of those are mine.” She points to the pile of pink-wrapped presents under the tree.

My heart stutters when I think about Wyatt wrapping Barbie dolls and teacup sets in pink wrapping paper for his little girl.

Even if there are some uneven corners and I think maybe a small piece missing on the side of one gift, it’s still the most adorable thing ever.

“Presents areveryexciting. But it’s good that you know that Christmas is about giving too. There’s room for both.” I grin, giving her a wink. I bring the glass of eggnog to my lips and take a small sip. I’ve been nursing the same glass since I got here, too distracted by Lucy to focus on much else. “Did you make your list for Santa already?”

She nods enthusiastically. “Yep. And I even made anextracopy. Grams dropped it in the mail for me!”

God, she’s so adorable. One list to Santa isn’t enough; there, of course, had to be two.

“One for backup, right?” I tease.

Lucy pops up from the floor, the bells of her slippers jingling loudly. “Yes. Daddy says you can never be too careful with the mail. That’s why he made sure to bring our most important things, like the special ornaments, with us on the plane when we moved. So they wouldn’t get lost.” She points to their Christmas tree, and I can’t help the smile that curves my lips.

I’m pretty sure if she had it her way, the tree would be pink. But Wyatt made true on his promise and gave her a tree of her own in her bedroom.

My gaze moves to the tree, admiring all of the little touches it’s apparent that she’s added. A princess ornament, a butterfly—pink, of course, which I’ve now learned is her favorite color, even over purple—and a mermaid that glitters every time the light hits it.

There’s even a sparkling star fitted on the top that I just know was a Lucy pick and not her dad’s.

My perusal stopssuddenly when my eyes catch on a familiar ornament tucked into the front branches, partially hidden from view, and my heart nearly stops in my chest.

Rising from the couch, I set the glass of eggnog on the side table and walk to the tree to peer closer, convinced that my eyes have to be playing tricks on me. Maybe I had more of the eggnog than I realized. Mrs. Scott’s famous eggnogisknown for being potent.

But… no. It’s not the eggnog.

My hand is trembling as I lift it to the ornament, running my fingers over the smooth glass, a pang of nostalgia shooting to my heart.

Oh my God…

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