Page 17 of The White Chocolate Christmas Wish

“It was made by Mildred Hawkins,” I said, pausing for effect. “She’s still around. Lives in a retirement community just outside Nashville.”

Hope’s lips parted in surprise, her fingers brushing mine. “You’re serious? She’s that close?”

“She is,” I said softly. “And if you want, we could visit her. Tomorrow, maybe?”

Hope’s gaze softened, and she leaned into me, her hand resting against my chest. “I’d love that. Thank you for findin’ her.”

“Of course, and tomorrow it is,” I said, kissing her forehead. “You know what we should do to pass the time on the drive out to see her?”

“What?”

“Tally up all the wishes from the time capsule list and see how many of them I’ve already made come true for you.”

She cackled with mock outrage as she swatted my chest. “Oh, really? For braggin’ rights or somethin’?”

“No, Hope,” I said, squeezing her hand against my heart. “To see which ones are left unchecked so I can make sure I get them all.”

CHAPTER NINE

HOPE

Mildred’s room was like stepping into a Christmas card. A small tree adorned with handmade ornaments twinkled in the corner, and tinsel draped along the shelves caught the light from a string of fairy lights. Bing Crosby crooned softly from an old radio, and in the center of it all sat Mildred herself. Her silver hair was swept back neatly, and her bright red sweater stood out like a pop of holly—not mistletoe, mind you—against the wintery backdrop.

“Well, hello there!” she called, her voice strong and warm. “You must be Hope and Colton. Come in, come in!”

I stepped inside, clutching the wrapped package containing the snow globe. “It’s so nice to meet you, Mildred. Thank you for havin’ us.”

“Oh, honey, the pleasure’s all mine,” she said, gesturing to the chair beside her bed. “Sit, sit. Let me get a good look at you two.”

I perched on the chair, feeling Colton’s steady presence as he leaned casually against the wall. Even he seemed quieter than usual, though his fingers tapped out a soft rhythm on his leg.

“You have your grandfather’s eyes,” Mildred said, her gaze locking onto mine. Her voice softened with emotion. “Oh, how I’ve missed seein’ those eyes. We were just kids the last time I saw him, but I still remember. He was my first love, you know. Puppy love, as it were, since we both went on to have beautiful families, I gather.”

My throat tightened, and I struggled to keep my voice steady. “Yes, he had a daughter, and she had me. Um, anyway, I can’t thank you enough for agreeing to share your memories of him with us.”

I didn’t mention I was the only one left, and thankfully, Mildred didn’t ask.

“Oh, I’ve got plenty of stories to share. But first, might I see what you’ve brought me?”

Carefully, I handed over the package, and she unwrapped it to reveal the old snow globe. Mildred’s hands trembled as she reached for it, cradling it like a long-lost treasure. Not quite the one we were expecting, but a treasure, nonetheless.

“Oh my,” she whispered. “It’s been so long.”

I watched her gaze at the swirling snow inside the glass, her expression a mix of wonder and sorrow. For a moment, it felt as though time bent, her memories pulling me into the past. I could almost see my grandfather as a young boy, his laughter echoingthrough the years.

“Your grandfather and I buried this thing with the help of his daddy when we were kneehigh to a grasshopper,” she said, her eyes far away. “Oh, how we loved Christmas...”

As Mildred spoke, her stories painted vivid pictures of Christmases past. The scent of gingerbread, the warmth of a crackling fire, the excitement of secret gifts exchanged—all of it came alive through her words. I leaned in, hanging on every detail, feeling a connection to my grandfather stronger than ever before.

Colton moved closer, his hand brushing mine briefly as he sat on the arm of my chair. His presence grounded me, a steady anchor in the tide of emotions.

Mildred’s laughter rang out as she recalled a memory. “And then your grandfather climbed right up that tree to rescue Mrs. Finkle’s cat—ornaments and all!”

I laughed through my tears, the image of my grandfather tangled in tinsel vivid in my mind.

“And this little treasure,” she said, nodding to the snow globe, “was our promise to keep the magic alive no matter where life took us.”

Her hands trembled more as she tilted the globe, watching the snow swirl. Gently, I reached out to steady them but found my own just as unsteady until they closed over hers. I wondered if that was why my grandpa eventually gave up on keeping that magic alive. He’d done it after life pulled him and his childhood sweetheart apart, but he just couldn’t do it after my grandma passed.

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