Page 35 of Decked By The Grumpy Golem
Lucia immediately curls up beside me, leaning against my arm, and the rightness of it steals my breath. This is what I've been missing. Not just her, but this, the warmth of family, the easy comfort of belonging somewhere.
"Do you have any threes?" Arwen asks me solemnly, studying her cards with intense concentration.
"Go fish," I reply with a shake of my head, and she pumps her fist in victory.
The game continues with much trash talk from the twins and good-natured grumbling from the adults. Lucia's laugh fills the spaces between plays, bright and genuine, and every time she looks at me, I feel like I've won the lottery.
As the evening progresses, Ernesto shares stories from his mechanic days, his dry humor making everyone laugh. Mateo talks about his latest projects at work, while Mara describes the twins' latest adventures in kindergarten. Even Martha seems lighter, more carefree than I've seen her since my father died.
When Candy announces it's time for the twins' baths, there's a chorus of protests that would make you think she'd suggested they walk barefoot through snow.
"But we're winning!" Isla wails, clutching her cards to her chest.
"The game will be here tomorrow," Mara says diplomatically, scooping up Arwen despite her wiggling protests. "Santa prefers children who don’t smell like blue cheese."
"Is Santa really coming?" Arwen asks, her resistance crumbling at the mention of Christmas magic.
"Only if you're good," Mateo says, helping to herd them toward the stairs. "Which means baths and bed and no more arguments."
As the chaos of bedtime routines takes over, Lucia and I find ourselves alone on the living room floor, surrounded by scattered playing cards and empty cocoa mugs. The fire crackles in the hearth, casting dancing shadows on the walls, and Christmas lights twinkle on the tree.
"Thank you," I tell her quietly, my voice rough with emotion.
She looks up at me, puzzled. "For what?"
"For this. For them." I gesture toward the staircase where we can hear the twins' voices echoing down, punctuated by splashing water and Mara's patient instructions. "For letting me be part of it."
Her expression softens, and she shifts to face me fully. "Gideon, you were always supposed to be part of this. We just took the long way around."
She’s right, of course. All these years, I've been standing on the outside looking in, convinced I didn't deserve a place at this table.
"I love you," I tell her, the words coming easy.
"I love you too," she replies, leaning in to kiss me softly.
The kiss is interrupted by thundering footsteps on the stairs as the twins make their grand reappearance in matching Christmas pajamas, their hair damp and faces scrubbed clean.
"Story time!" Isla announces, launching herself onto the couch with enough force to make the cushions bounce.
"Aunt Lucia has to read to us," Arwen adds, climbing up beside her sister. "It's tradition."
"Since when?" Lucia asks, laughing.
"Since right now," Isla says with the unshakeable logic of children.
Lucia looks around the room at the expectant faces. The twins, Mateo and Mara settling onto the opposite couch, Candy and Martha claiming chairs by the fire, even Ernesto looking interested despite his gruff exterior.
"What story would you like?" she asks, settling between the girls.
"Tell us one from your head," Arwen says seriously. "Like the stories you write in your books."
"But make it Christmassy," Isla adds. "With snow and magic and happy endings."
I watch Lucia's face transform as she considers the request. This is what she was born to do, to weave stories that capture hearts and imaginations. Her eyes take on that distant look I remember fromwhen we were kids, when she'd pace around my workshop spinning tales while I worked.
"Once upon a time," she begins, her voice taking on the cadence of a master storyteller, "in a small town very much like this one, there lived a girl who thought she had to choose between love and dreams…"
The twins' eyes grow heavy as Lucia's voice weaves Christmas magic around us all. Isla curls against her side, while Arwen's head nods as she fights sleep. Around the room, everyone listens with the rapt attention reserved for the best storytellers.
