Page 46 of Falling for Santa

Scott set the letter down for a moment, running a hand through his hair as emotion threatened to overwhelm him. He'dhoped, of course. Dreamed, even. But seeing Megan's feelings laid bare on paper made everything suddenly, breathtakingly real.

He picked up Ruby's drawing next, a smile tugging at his lips. She'd drawn him in his Santa suit, complete with a red hat and rosy cheeks, driving a sleigh that seemed to be filled with hearts. Cupid pranced in front, adorned with what appeared to be silver bells and a very red nose.

The coffee grew cold as Scott read the letter again, then a third time, each reading revealing new layers of meaning, new glimpses into Megan's heart.

I don't know what the future holds. The practical choice would be San Diego, with its promises of security and stability. But when I imagine leaving Palmar Island—leaving you—something inside me rebels against all that practicality.

I'm not asking for anything. I'm not even sure what I could offer, given how broken and uncertain everything still feels. But I needed you to know that you matter to us. That whatever happens, you've given Ruby and me a gift we never expected to find here—a sense of home.

Thank you for being you, Scott. For your kindness, your patience, and the way you make both of us feel like we belong somewhere again.

-Megan

Scott reached for his phone, his heart racing as he dialed Megan's number. It rang several times before going to voicemail. His mind spun with questions. When had she dropped this off? Why hadn't she stayed?

He typed out a quick text:When did you drop these off? Why didn't you come in?

The response came faster than he expected, but its brevity sent a chill through him:You were busy.

Scott froze, his coffee mug halfway to his lips. Busy? Last night, the only person who'd been here was?—

"Oh, no," he muttered, realization dawning. Kara had stopped by on her way through town, their conversation running late as they caught up. She'd been animated, laughing, touching his arm as she told him about her kids' latest adventures.

To someone looking through the window, especially someone as uncertain as Megan, it might have looked... intimate.

His fingers flew across the phone's screen:That was my sister, Kara. Please call me so we can talk.

Minutes ticked by with no response. The message remained unread, and Scott's frustration mounted. How could such a simple misunderstanding threaten everything?

He stood abruptly, pacing the length of his kitchen. The letter sat on the table, its pages slightly curled at the edges, Ruby's drawing beside it like a splash of hope in the morning light. He couldn't let this slip away. Not when Megan had finally opened up about her feelings. Not when there was still a chance.

Scott picked up his phone again, this time pulling up his recent calls. "Hey, James, sorry to call you today. I was hoping for some good news about that proposal.”

As he outlined his new plan, Scott's determination grew. He wouldn't let a misunderstanding destroy what they'd built. Megan deserved to know the truth—about Kara, about his feelings, about everything.

The morning sun climbed higher, casting long shadows across his kitchen floor. Scott looked at Ruby's drawing once more, at the hearts floating around his cartoonish figure, and made a promise to himself. By the time the New Year dawned, Megan would know exactly where she belonged.

Right here, on Palmar Island. With him.

The morning sun had climbed higher by the time Scott pulled up to Mary's Diner, the familiar bell chiming as he stepped inside. The aroma of fresh coffee and baked goods wrapped around him like a warm embrace, but his mind was already racing ahead to the evening's plans.

"There's my favorite Santa," Mary called from behind the counter, already reaching beneath the glass display case. "One peanut butter pie, made fresh this morning. Extra creamy, just the way Megan likes it."

Scott's surprise must have shown on his face because Mary laughed, her eyes twinkling. "Oh please, I've seen the way you two look at each other. This pie isn't just dessert. It's part of something bigger, isn't it?"

"If everything goes right," Scott admitted, carefully taking the boxed pie. "Thanks, Mary. For everything."

"Just make sure to invite me to the wedding," she called after him, her laughter following him out the door.

The drive to Miss Doris's seemed shorter than usual, his thoughts consumed with everything that needed to fall into place. The old Victorian came into view, its weathered charm somehow perfect for the woman who'd become the heart of their small community.

Miss Doris opened the door before he could knock, as if she'd been waiting for him. "Come in, dear," she said, ushering him inside. "The basket's all ready."

Scott followed her through to the kitchen, where an oversized wicker picnic basket sat on the table. Miss Doris had lined it with a red and white checkered cloth that stirred memories of summer picnics and simpler times.

"Now," she said, opening the basket to reveal several carefully wrapped packages, "I've included my cranberry scones—Megan's favorite—and some of those butter cookies Ruby can't resist. And this—" She produced a bottle of sparkling cider with a flourish, "—is for toasting new beginnings."

"Miss Doris, you didn't have to?—"

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