Page 43 of A Cozy Holiday
“First, we must carefully remove the staple. One wrong move and the whole mission is compromised.”
“Dad, just do it!” Honey laughs.
“Patience, astronaut.” He opens the paper pouch, dumps the loose tea into his palm, then gently coaxes the empty bag into a cylinder. “Now, the structural integrity is crucial.” He adjusts it on the table, making minute corrections until it stands perfectly upright.
I freeze.
The scene crashes over me: my dad at our old kitchen table, doing this exact thing.
Jamie produces a long lighter. “Mission control, we are go for launch.”
“We’re ready!” Kiki squeals.
“T-minus…” He touches the flame to the top edge of the paper cylinder. “Three…two…one…”
The fire catches. A tiny orange glow at first, then spreading down the paper walls. It burns lazily, the edges curling black as the flame consumes the delicate structure. The girls hold their breath.
Just when it seems like it’ll collapse into nothing but ash, the whole thing lifts and rises up in a graceful spiral toward the ceiling. It hovers, glowing and ethereal, before disintegrating into tiny embers that float down like fireflies.
The girls erupt. Cheering, clapping, reaching for the falling ash.
“Again, again!”
Jamie laughs, catching Kiki before she climbs onto the table. “That’s all the magic we’ve got time for this afternoon, astronauts.”
My throat closes. I’m six years old again, shouting for the rocket to go higher, faster. “My dad used to do the same thing.”
“Really?” Kiki asks.“Does he still do it?”
“Not as well as your dad.” I force a smile. I willnotbe depressing these kids.
“Okay, Dad. Bowl is empty,” Honey says. “Can we go get dressed now?”
“Go for it.” Jamie leans back in his chair.
They shoot up from their chairs and run toward the stairs. “You coming, Joy?” Kiki asks.
“I—” I glance at Jamie.
He smirks and juts his chin for me to follow his daughters. “I’ll clean up.”
The girls have five dresses apiece fanned out across their beds. Their room is perfectly split in two: Honey’s side is a unicorn sugar rush, and Kiki’s is a moodyScooby-Dootheme. Ihelp them narrow down their options, then head downstairs to wait for their big-reveal fashion show.
“Thanks for doing this,” Jamie says just as my feet touch the bottom step. He pulls me into his arms, sneaking a glance upstairs, before pressing a quick kiss to my lips. His freshly trimmed mustache tickles my nose. “I’ve been wanting to do that all day.”
He nudges me against the back of the couch by the stairs. The thrill of being caught—and kissing him again—beats through me. “Even though I smell like garlic and look like a mess.”
“You’re distracting in a completely marvelous way, Joy.” He kisses me again, softer and longer this time.
“I like these pants on you. Very…dad-coded.” I sketch my index finger along the plaid waistband.
“Behave.” He tsks. Upstairs, a door opens, and he shifts closer, sliding in beside me on the couch.
Jamie and I clap and cheer as the twins make their dramatic descent. I snap a family photo, then Kiki drags me into a selfie. I let her, though it feels strange, knowing one day they’ll look back at this picture and wonder who the hell the mystery woman was. The thought pinches something in me.
It’s nice. To feel folded into a family.
After the photos, they shrug on their jackets, swing open the door, and sprint toward Jamie’s truck. Outside, the sky is already inky black even though it’s only four.
