Page 47 of My Favorite Holidate

“Like our new routine,” she adds, and she is the spitting image—well, personality wise—of her father.

Smooth. Cool. Quick on her feet.

“Yes. Our new routine,” I echo.

I’m about to step into the home when I remember something Wilder said at our dinner last weekend as he rattled off his personal details. I toe off my flats, leaving them in the entryway. Mac takes my coat.

“He sent me to get you. He had to finish a phone call with my grandma,” she says, and I was admittedly expecting her to sayhis CFOorthe New York office, but it’s delightful Wilder’s talking to his mom in London right now. “I can show you around a little bit.”

“I would love that,” I say.

Mac ushers me into the house. “My dad and I did mostof the Christmas decorating. Because…Confession: I love Christmas decorating.”

“Double confession: me too. And you did an amazing job.”

“Well, I didn’t doeverything. He hired a party planner to add some extra touches for today because I can’t do it all. Even at my age. But I did those a couple weeks ago.” She points to the garlands lining a floating staircase on the opposite side of the home and the tasteful sprigs of evergreens arranged around red and white candles on side tables.

“You’ve got mad skills,” I say.

“Thanks,” she says with a proud lift of her chin as she escorts me into the sunken living room. I tell her I enjoyed her Christmas recital, and she sighs. “I’m just glad it’s over.”

“You don’t like performing?”

“It’s fine,” she says with an easy shrug. “But it’s not my thing.”

In the corner of the room stands a tall fir tree, neatly decorated with silver and red bows. But it’s the ornaments that catch my attention. “Your ornaments don’t match.” I can’t hide my delight. I’d figured Wilder’s tree would be decorated with understated silver, gold, and red orbs, like a tree in a fancy department store window.

Nope.

On the branches hang paper cutout snowflakes, pink yarn stars, and homemade snowmen glued to popsicle sticks. “I made those,” Mac says. “Theycouldbe better. But want to see the rest?”

“I’d love to,” I say. “I love homemade ornaments.”

“Me too.” She guides me down the step, onto a plush carpet that feels like walking on a fluffy cloud, then past aglass coffee table, and finally to the tree. She shows me a red cardboard picture frame with a photo of her and Wilder sledding on a toboggan. “That’s from Evergreen Falls a couple years ago. There’s this one hill there where you can go super-fast.”

I stare, smiling stupidly at the two of them in their snow gear, flying down a hill. “Is there sledding in the Christmas games at Evergreen Falls?”

Mac pauses, then her eyes twinkle. “Yes! There is.”

“I’ll have to do some recon. Get in some practice runs.”

“But it’s only for kids. Still, sledding is always a good idea.”

“It is.”

She points to an ornament made out of a walnut and decorated like Rudolph, with lopsided googly eyes and a red puffy ball for a nose. “I made this last year. That was my walnut phase. But I should have used a better…nose thingy.”

“No.” I immediately cut off that notion.

“No what?”

“It’s perfect the way it is. It has so much personality.”

“Really?” She sounds so doubtful, a contrast to the girl who opened the door.

“You’re talented, and it looks like you had fun making it,” I say. That’s what matters. I point to a matching one a few branches up, this one missing an eye. "Especially since there are two.”

“Oh, my dad made that one.” She drops her voice. “He’s terrible at crafts. Don’t tell him I said that.”

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