“Cupid’s got quite the fan club,” Scott said, chuckling. “But I think Ruby’s my favorite visitor so far.”
Megan shook her head, brushing glitter off her sleeve. “You’re good with kids, you know. It’s not just the Santa suit.”
Scott leaned against the fence, his expression softening. “Thanks. I guess it comes with the territory. But to be honest...” He hesitated, glancing down at his boots before looking back at her. “Most holidays, it’s just me. No family around, so it’s usually just the reindeer, a couple of old Christmas movies, and whatever I decide to cook.”
Megan felt a pang of sympathy at the quiet admission. She studied his face, the ever-present warmth still there but tinged with something more vulnerable. “That sounds peaceful,” she said, though her voice softened with understanding.
Scott gave a small smile. “It is. But sometimes peaceful can get a little lonely.”
Megan nodded, the truth of his words resonating more than she cared to admit. “I know what you mean,” she said quietly.
For a moment, they stood in silence, the festive hum of the Village around them. Then Scott cleared his throat, his voice slightly more hesitant. “You know, I was thinking. How about dinner on Christmas Eve? Just me, you, and Ruby. Nothing fancy, but it’d be nice to have some company.”
Megan blinked, caught off guard by the invitation. “Dinner?”
Scott nodded, his expression earnest. “Yeah. We’ll keep it simple—something good to eat, maybe a few stories for Ruby. You two deserve a special Christmas.”
Megan hesitated, her heart caught between gratitude and apprehension. The offer felt genuine, but the intimacy of it made her nervous. “I don’t know, Scott.”
Scott smiled gently, as if sensing her hesitation. “No pressure,” he said quickly. “But it’d mean a lot to me. And I think Ruby would have a good time.”
Megan’s lips curved into a small smile despite herself. His sincerity was impossible to ignore, and the thought of giving Ruby a warm Christmas memory tugged at her heart. “Okay,” she said finally, her voice quiet. “We’d love to.”
Scott’s grin returned, lighting up his face. “Great. I’ll make sure it’s a night to remember.”
Before Megan could respond, a small boy ran up to them, his Santa hat askew and a candy cane clutched in his hand. “Santa!” he called, pointing at Scott. “Do you like candy canes too?”
Scott crouched down, his eyes twinkling. “I sure do. But I try not to eat too many—I’ve got to save room for cookies on Christmas Eve!”
The boy giggled, waving his candy cane in the air. “Okay! Don’t forget mine!”
As the boy ran off, Megan let out a soft laugh. “You’ve got quite the fan club yourself.”
“Part of the job,” Scott said, straightening with a playful shrug.
Megan felt a weight lift from her shoulders, the tension between them dissipating in the shared laughter. She glanced at the photo tucked safely in her bag, her thoughts swirling as she turned to head back to her station.
By the time Megan drove home later that evening, the memory of Scott’s invitation lingered in her mind. She pulled the photo of Ruby and Santa from her bag, studying her daughter’s glowing face.
For the first time in years, Megan allowed herself to believe that this Christmas might bring more than just survival. It might bring connection, hope—and maybe even something more.
Chapter Ten
Scott stood in his workshop, the scent of fresh cedar and pinewood filling the air as he ran his fingers over a smooth block of wood. The afternoon sunlight streaming through the wide windows cast a golden glow across the neatly arranged tools and stacks of lumber. It was his favorite time of day, a quiet moment to lose himself in a project. Today, though, his mind wasn’t fully on the work.
He traced the rough outline of a reindeer he’d sketched onto the wood, a small smile tugging at his lips. The idea had come to him last night after dinner. It was a simple ornament for Ruby, with Cupid’s name etched into the side. He could already imagine the way her eyes would light up when she saw it, how she’d clutch it tightly and probably insist on showing it to everyone she met.
As he guided the wood beneath his carving tool, his thoughts wandered to Megan. She’d said yes. Not just to the dinner invitation, but to something more—a small opening of the door she seemed so determined to keep closed. Her cautious smile and quiet gratitude replayed in his mind, and he felt a warmth he hadn’t experienced in a long time.
He paused, setting the carving tool down to inspect his progress. The reindeer’s shape was coming together, its rounded edges soft and inviting, just as he’d envisioned. Picking up a finer tool, Scott began etching Cupid’s name into the side, careful not to rush the delicate lettering.
As he worked, memories of his own childhood Christmases surfaced. His parents had tried so hard to make the season special, but the truth was, there hadn’t been much to go around. He could still picture the little tree they used year after year, its sparse branches strung with paper garlands he and Kara had made with construction paper scraps from school.
The Callahan house had been warm in spirit, but lean in every other way. Christmas morning often meant one or two small presents—a pair of socks, a hand-me-down toy, or something his mom had sewn or knitted. He remembered how his mom’s hands trembled one year as she handed him a wrapped package, her smile bright but her eyes wet with unshed tears. Inside had been a wooden train she’d picked up secondhand and painstakingly repaired. He had loved it instantly, though even as a boy, he’d sensed the strain behind her smile.
The hardest part was the moments they weren’t supposed to notice—his mom at the kitchen table late at night, her head bowed and shoulders shaking quietly as she stared at an empty ledger. Or his dad sighing heavily as he returned from a double shift, his voice low as he murmured,“Maybe next year we can do a little more.”
Scott’s chest tightened at the memories. His parents had given everything they could, their love filling the spaces where material gifts couldn’t. But he’d always understood the weight of what they carried, the quiet heartbreak of not being able to give their kids the Christmas they truly deserved.