Chapter 1
Fayetteville, Arkansas
The Fayetteville Square smells like peppermint and hot cocoa—sweet, warm, and perfect. It feels like stepping into a snow globe. Christmas lights wrap every tree like candy canes, glowing red, green, and gold beneath the December sky.
I hold onto Daddy’s hand. His big, calloused fingers swallowing mine as we walk the brick-lined path. My other arm hugging my Razorback stuffed animal, the one Daddy bought me at the last home game.
Snowflake lights blink across shop windows. Holiday music floats from hidden speakers, mixing with the jingling bells on horse-drawn carriages. Kids squeal past light-up reindeer and giant candy canes. Everything feels dipped in sugar and sparkle.
“Daddy, can we get cookies next?” I ask, puffing tiny clouds with my breath.
He looks down and grins. His dark brown hair is messy and his warm chocolate eyes crinkle the way they always do when he smiles. He’s wearing his fire department jacket and smells like cinnamon and smoke. It’s the kind of scent that never washes off and always makes me feel safe.
“Course we can, Sugar Bear. But only if you promise not to eat five again like last time.”
“Did not!” I huff.
Mama laughs, balancing two cups of cocoa. “You did, baby. You just stopped counting after three.”
I gasp. “Rude!”
Daddy chuckles. “She gets that from you.”
As we pass the last row of glowing trees, I look up at them with sugar on my cheeks and cocoa on my lips and ask, “Daddy, do you think Uncle Jack and Aunt Claire are gonna make it to my Christmas dance recital?”
He scoops me into his arms with a playful grunt. “Course they are, Sugar Bear. Their plane lands first thing in the morning. Aunt Claire packed her sparkly sign and ten tissues.”
I giggle. “Uncle Jack too?”
Daddy grins. “Yep. And you’ve got just enough time to give Razorback a proper Christmas bath before showtime. That pig’s starting to smell like peppermint and trouble.”
I gasp again. “His name is Mr. Piggles and he does not smell like trouble!”
Mama laughs into her cocoa. “He kind of smells like frosting and mischief.”
I stick my tongue out and snuggle deeper into Daddy’s coat.
“Well, I think he’s perfect.”
???
We gather in the living room, celebrating my recital together like we always do. Just us, no fuss, wrapped up in love bigger than any fancy theater could hold. The fireplace crackles, casting a soft orange light across the floor and warming the house in that cozy, cinnamon-sweater kind of way.
The tree sparkles in the corner, dressed in red ribbons and glittering ornaments I’m not supposed to touch but do anyway. Twinkle lights line the mantle and the whole house smells like Mama’s homemade cider: cloves, oranges, and something that makes the air feel like a hug.
Pink and silver balloons bob near my chair.
A glittery sign that says, “Ballet Star!” is taped crookedly to the fridge.
Mr. Piggles sits proudly in my lap, still wearing the tiny tutu Mama had made just for him.
I’m sitting cross-legged on the rug, my sparkly recital costume still on, even though it itches.
I’m not ready to let go of the magic just yet.
Uncle Jack kneels by the coffee table, squinting at my new dollhouse instructions like they’re written in some sort of secret code.
But when I start telling the story of my final spin again, he looks up and smiles like it’s the first time he’s hearing it.
He laughs in all the right places, even as he drops a miniature door under the couch, and pretends not to notice the pink sticker I’d snuck onto his arm.
“She nailed her landing,” Daddy says proudly, lounging on the couch with a steaming mug. “Didn’t even wobble.”
“Probably all those afternoons practicing with the Razorback cheerleaders,” Aunt Claire adds with a wink, perched by the fire.
“Must be nice,” Uncle Jack says, raising his brows at me. “Season tickets and field access? Spoiled rotten.”
Mama laughs, shaking her head. “Well, her daddy is Razorback royalty, Jack. Quarterback legend, remember?”
“She’s got game day spirit in her blood,” Daddy adds. “Just like her mama.”
Mama’s smile softens. “She’s a Razorback baby. That stadium’s practically her second home.”
Mama always says Daddy spotted her first on the sideline, pom-poms flying, and decided right then he’d marry her. Daddy swears it was her sparkle. Mama says it was his throwing arm. I think it was both.
“Razorback Stadium is the best place,” I chime in, hugging Mr. Piggles tight. “Except here. I like the lake the most. But games are a little more fun ’cause of the fireworks and pom-poms and yelling.”
Daddy chuckles. “You’ve perfected calling the hogs, Sugar Bear.”
“Good lungs,” Mama says with a smile. “She gets that from you.”
He winks. “And she gets the sparkle from you, babe.”
Aunt Claire’s eyes flick toward Mama, just for a second. Daddy sees it too. He reaches over and gently squeezes Mama’s knee. His thumb moving in slow circles, pulling her back from whatever shadow she was drifting toward.
“Aunt Claire, wanna see Mr. Piggles do his big finale bow?” I ask, scooting toward the fireplace.
She smiles and nods. “Hey babe,” she says to Uncle Jack. “Why don’t you take Bella and Mr. Piggles over by the tree and let her show you the whole routine.”
I grab Mr. Piggles and skip across the room. The Christmas lights blinking behind me as I find my spot for my big finish. But just as I twirl into my starting pose I catch the low whisper of voices behind me.
“I keep feeling like someone’s watching us,” Mama says.
“We did everything right,” Aunt Claire says softly. “Jack called in favors at the precinct. I handled the medical records. There’s nothing left, Elise. No trail.”
Daddy’s voice drops to something hard and low.
“We’ve kept her safe for five years, changed her name and her records.
Her whole damn life. But if he ever finds out, if he even starts looking again, none of it will matter.
You know what kind of power he has, Claire.
If he wants her, no forged paper is going to stop him. ”
I freeze mid-spin. The sugar on my lips suddenly feeling sour.
Uncle Jack kneels beside me. He makes Mr. Piggles do a grand, wobbly bow, and says in a dramatic voice, “Your Highness, might I request a performance from the Star of the Tutu Kingdom?”
I squeal. The tightness eases.
He scoops me up, kisses my cheek, and twirls me in front of the fireplace like a ballerina superhero. His whiskers scratch my skin, but I giggle so hard I hiccup, and when we dips low into the firelight the magic comes back.