Page 47 of If This Was a Movie

“Oh, Jules, you have to come! Daddy and I go to the farm and we pick the perfect tree and Daddy chops it down and then we go into the shop and get hot cocoa! With MARSHMALLOWS! And lots of whipped cream.”

“Well, you can’t have cocoa without marshmallows,” I say with a smile.

“Exactly!” she exclaims, hands tossed in the air. “And then we go to get new ornaments and bring the tree home and put up our decorations. You have to come!”

“It kind of sounds like something you and your dad do to bond, sweetie. It should be just you two, I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

She groans aloud. “No way! How are you ever going to fall in love with my dad if you keep avoiding him?”

Nate’s head pops up and he looks at his daughter, and I expect him to argue or to tell her that’s not cool, but he doesn’t.

Instead, he smiles.

“Yeah, Jules. How are you ever going to make a Christmas miracle happen if you keep avoiding me?”

My mouth drops open at his open taunt.

“I…I…” I start, looking from Nate to his daughter. “I’m not avoiding you!”

“Then prove it. Come with us tomorrow,” he says.

I glare at him, knowing I am so screwed.

He smiles wider, and then, because I have seemingly no choice, I nod tersely. “Yes. I would love to come get a tree with you two tomorrow.”

NINETEEN

JULES

The next day, when I walk over to the main house bright and early, Sophie is already awake, bouncing off the walls with excitement and telling me I need to dress extra warm for our outing to the tree farm. We’re in the car before nine and get there as soon as it opens.

Once we park, I watch Sophie and Nate argue about whether or not she has to wear a scarf and a hat and gloves. Nate wins, only for Sophie to tell her dad five minutes later thank you for making sure she was warm.

It’s interesting to watch them interact. Nate, who clearly wants Sophie to have the world—everything she ever wants or could want, yet having to weigh that against what’s best for her. Meanwhile, there’s Sophie, who thinks her father hung the moon, even if his rules suck sometimes.

I don’t have many early memories of my dad before the divorce, and the ones after are tainted with an air of not belonging or being a burden. Watching Nate interact with his daughter with a wide smile and a tap to her red nose, her resounding giggle at almost anything he does, heals something inside of me I thought I had long bandaged over.

After entering the farm, we wander for what feels like forever, and it takes us much too long to pick out a Christmas tree, with Sophie and I nitpicking at each and every option then shushing Nate anytime he has input. Eventually, we find the perfect tree that even Nate approves of, and I hold Sophie back while he cuts it down and hauls it back to the registers before we sit in a small cozy café for the required cocoa.

“Can we please pick out an ornament in the shop now? Please, please, please?” Sophie begs her dad, a chocolate mustache over her lips. I sit back and watch them, Nate sighing and grabbing a napkin before wiping his daughter’s face.

“We have a million at home, “ he says, and Sophie rolls her eyes at him like she’s fifteen instead of five.

“So? We get one every year! It’s a tradition.” She stares at her dad, and eventually he smiles and nods. “Yay!” she shouts, standing and then reaching for my hand. “Come on, let's go pick some out!”

“One,” Nate yells from behind us as she tugs me out of the café to the ornament shop next door.

“I need to get an Ashlyn ornament,” Sophie says, looking through the racks and racks of ornaments along the back wall of the store. It’s a mess of reds and greens and pinks and blues and whites, each meant to symbolize different milestones and interests in someone’s life. There’s a new baby one, an engaged and married one, ornaments for pets and sports and hobbies.

“You don’t have one already?” I ask with shock.

In the few days I’ve known her, I’ve come to realize Sophie’s biggest interest and obsession is Ashlyn. Most of her clothes are licensed for the magical doll, her entire room is decorated with it, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen her without the doll in hand.

“Nope, last year I didn’t even know about Ashlyn,” she says, as if to say, a year ago she was such a baby, she didn’t even know about the world's coolest toy.

“Really?” I ask, still a bit shocked, considering her level of devotion. I suppose kids do fall in and out of interests rather quickly, though. Hell, I think in the span of one year I told my mom I wanted to be a horse trainer, a ballerina, and an astronaut. It’s actually a miracle dance ever stuck.

“Yup! Daddy got me her when I broke my arm last year. He said she was magical and she’d make me feel better, and she looked like a pretty ballerina he knew. That’s why I knew that Santa could make Ashlyn come to life and marry Daddy.” A rush of heat rolls over me with understanding. “She already existed! He just had to find her again.”

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