Page 49 of Tied Up In Tinsel
Ruby’s head tilted, curiosity written across her face.
“It’s a super-secret project. Do you think you can handle it?”
Her whole body perked up. She nodded fiercely.
I dropped to the couch beside her and held out my pinky. “But you have to promise not to tell anyone. Not even your mom.”
Ruby gasped. “But I can’t lie. Mom says lying isn’t good.”
I smiled. “It’s not lying. It’s a mission. A surprise mission. And you’d be my partner. How does that sound… General Ruby?”
Her eyes sparkled as she shot to attention, giving me the most serious salute I’d ever seen. “General Ruby, reporting for duty.”
She hooked her tiny pinky in mine, sealing the deal.
“Perfect,” I said. “Here’s the plan…”
Tonight at dinner, she would bring it up, repeating the things we talked about.
“If we pull this off right, your mom is going to have the most magical Christmas she’s had in years.”
Ruby leaned in, hanging on every word as I explained. In that moment, with her eager grin and Annie’s painting burning a hole in my pocket, I knew one thing for sure: this Christmas wasn’t just about Ruby’s happiness. It was about giving Annie hers back, too.
Brooks
“Hey, Brooks,” Ruby said, her little mouth stuffed full of garlic bread.
“Ruby,” Annie warned, giving her daughter the mom look. “Don’t talk with food in your mouth.”
Ruby held up a finger, chewing furiously until her tiny jaw finally managed to get it down. Then, like she hadn’t just gotten yelled at, she repeated, “Hey, Brooks,” nudging me with her elbow and then winked like we were in on the world’s greatest secret.
“What’s up, kid?” I chuckled, unable to stop the laugh that bubbled out of me. She was trying so hard to be smooth.
“What’s one thing you always wanted from Santa when you were my age?” Ruby wiggled her brows dramatically.
I tapped my chin, pretending to think hard, even though I knew this moment was coming. We’d rehearsed it a dozen times earlier that afternoon. The plan was simple: Ruby would ask me, and then ask her mom, and we’d see if Annie’s answer matched the one I’d found written in crayon on that old letter to Santa.
Of course, subtle wasn’t exactly in Ruby’s vocabulary. Half the time she wanted to shout the plan out loud. Still, she’d done her best, and I had to give her credit.
“That’s a tough question,” I hummed, leaning back in my chair like I was really digging deep. “Probably a baseball glove. I wore mine out every summer.”
Ruby gasped, clapping her hands. “That is so cool!”
Then her little eyes flicked to Annie. “What about you, Mom? What did you want when you were a kid?”
Annie froze mid-bite, fork hovering in the air. She glanced between the two of us, suspicion narrowing her gaze, and then carefully swallowed. Wiping her mouth with her napkin, she asked slowly, “At seven?”
Ruby and I both nodded like overeager accomplices.
Annie’s eyes lifted toward the ceiling, her lips curving softly. I could tell she was drifting backward in time, back to something more than just a simple Christmas wish. Her laugh came low and wistful, like the memory had been tucked away in her chest for years.
“I can still see it so clearly. I wrote it in every letter to Santa, every year.” She paused, her voice quieter now. “But he never brought it.”
Her gaze softened, and I could tell she wasn’t just remembering the thing she wanted—she was remembering her parents, the traditions she’d lost, the holidays that once glowed brighter. My chest tightened, wishing I could have spared her that ache.
“Well, what was it?” Ruby pressed.
Annie gave a rueful little smile. “A pony.”
