Chapter 6
Kat
I drum my fingers against the passenger-side window as we pull up to Pinecrest Elementary. It’s a cute little school—all brick and expansive windows with children’s artwork taped up inside—nothing like the stuffy private academy my grandfather sent me to when I was Nora’s age.
“There she is,” Ella says, pointing toward a group of kids spilling out of the front doors.
Nora spots the SUV immediately, her face lighting up when she realizes it’s not just her mom waiting. She races over, blonde braids bouncing.
“Auntie Kat!” she squeals as I roll down the window. “And everybody else! Why are you all here?”
“We’re kidnapping you and your mom for a super-secret Christmas mission,” I announce dramatically. “Think you’re up for it, squirt?”
Her eyes widen to saucers. “A Christmas mission? Like Santa’s helpers?”
“Exactly like that,” Wren confirms from the driver’s seat. “We need an expert kid consultant.”
Nora practically throws herself into the SUV, buckled in and ready before Ella can even ask about homework.
“It’s Friday, Mom,” she says, anticipating the question. “Ms. Peterson says weekends are for family time.”
“Smart teacher,” I wink at her. “And we’re family, so this definitely counts.”
As we drive toward Evergreen, I turn around in my seat to face Nora. “So, what’s your professional opinion on Christmas trees? Real or fake?”
“Real!” she declares without hesitation. “They smell like the forest, and that’s how Christmas is supposed to smell.”
“The kid is wise beyond her years,” I say solemnly to Ella. “We’re definitely getting a real tree. Possibly several.”
Ella rolls her eyes but doesn’t protest, which I count as a win.
She’s been so tense since we showed up at the bakery, constantly scanning our surroundings like she’s expecting trouble.
I know there’s more to her story than she’s told us—something beyond the Russian baby daddy she mentioned.
Something that keeps her looking over her shoulder.
But today, she seems to be relaxing by increments. By the time we reach Evergreen, she’s actually laughing at Lana’s terrible rendition of “Jingle Bells.”
The Christmas store, aptly named ‘Holly Jolly’, is exactly as magical as Ella promised. The Victorian-style building is lit enough to be visible from space, with animatronic reindeer on the roof and a life-sized Santa waving from the porch.
“It’s like the North Pole threw up,” Lana murmurs as we park.
“It’s AMAZING,” Nora breathes, her face pressed against the window.
Inside is even more overwhelming—three floors of Christmas overload, with themed sections for every conceivable decoration style: traditional, rustic, modern, vintage, and even sections dedicated to specific colors.
“Okay, we need a plan of attack,” I announce, grabbing a shopping basket. “Ella, you and Nora hit the ornament section. Lana and Mia, you’re on garlands and wreaths. Wren, you and I will tackle lights and outdoor decorations. Kori, you’re in charge of stockings—we need one for everybody.”
“Do I get a stocking too?” Nora asks, bouncing on her toes.
“Of course you do, peanut,” I assure her. “You’re a MacGallan now, whether you like it or not.”
Her smile is so bright it could power the entire store’s light display.
We scatter to our assigned sections, and I link arms with Wren as we head toward the lighting department.
“Think we can convince Ella to let us put lights on her cottage too?” I ask, eyeing a display of icicle lights that would look perfect along her roofline.
“One battle at a time,” Wren advises. “Let’s start with the main lodge. Baby steps.”
We load up on outdoor lights—white for the roofline, multicolored for the trees around the property, and those cool projection lights that make it look like it’s snowing on the building. I throw in some light-up reindeer for good measure, ignoring Wren’s skeptical expression.
“What?” I defend myself. “They’re classy reindeer.”
“They’re eight feet tall and appear to be made entirely of sequins,” she points out.
“Exactly. Classy.”
An hour later, we reconvene at the checkout counter, our haul requiring two extra carts beyond what we’re already carrying. Ella’s eyes widen at the mountain of decorations.
“You can’t be serious,” she says, staring at the life-sized nutcracker I’ve insisted we need for the entryway.
“Dead serious,” I confirm, patting the nutcracker’s wooden head. “His name is Frederick, and he’s coming home with us.”
The total makes even me wince a little—and I’m not exactly known for financial restraint—but we split it between our credit cards before Ella can protest.
“Consider it our contribution to the family estate,” Wren tells her as the cashier begins the lengthy process of ringing everything up.
“Mom, can we get hot chocolate?” Nora asks, tugging on Ella’s sleeve. “There’s a café next door with whipped cream mountains!”
“Sure, sweetheart,” Ella agrees, looking relieved at the chance to escape the chaos of our checkout process. “We’ll meet you all back at the car?”
“Perfect,” I nod, already arranging for the store employees to help us load everything.
Twenty minutes later, we’re somehow managing to Tetris all the decorations into the SUV, with only minimal squishing of people.
“I think the nutcracker is jabbing my kidney,” Lana complains from the back row, where she’s wedged between boxes of ornaments and Frederick’s wooden legs.
“He’s just getting comfortable,” I assure her, climbing into the passenger seat with a bag of tinsel in my lap. “Think of him as our new family member.”
“If he starts coming to life at night, I’m out,” Wren mutters, starting the engine.
We pick up Ella and Nora from the café, where they’ve secured to-go cups of hot chocolate for everyone. Nora is practically vibrating with excitement, her face smeared with whipped cream and chocolate.
“Did you buy the whole store?” she asks, eyes wide as she climbs over boxes to reach her seat.
“Just the good parts,” I wink at her. “Wait until you see what we got for your cottage.”
Ella’s head snaps up. “My cottage? I thought this was for the lodge?”
“Mostly,” I concede. “But we got a few things for your place, too. Nothing crazy, just some lights and a wreath. Maybe a small tree for Nora’s room.”
Instead of the protest I’m expecting, Ella’s expression softens. “That’s... actually really sweet. Thank you.”
The drive back to Pinecrest is filled with Christmas carols—some traditional, some decidedly not appropriate for eight-year-old ears until I remember to censor my lyrics. Nora joins in enthusiastically, if not always on key, while Ella watches her with a smile that makes my heart squeeze.
This is what family should be, I think. Not the cold, formal dinners of my childhood or the dutiful holiday cards exchanged with distant relatives. This chaotic, joyful mess of people who barely knew each other a month ago but are somehow becoming something real.
As we pull into Pinecrest, Ella suddenly sits up straighter. “Oh! I just remembered—Frank asked if Nora could help with the gingerbread village tomorrow. The bakery is entering a town competition.”
“Gingerbread village?” Nora’s eyes light up. “Like with candy and frosting?”
“Exactly like that,” Ella confirms. “But it’s a big project, and I’ll be working all day...”
“We’ll help!” I volunteer immediately, ignoring Wren’s side-eye. “How hard can building a gingerbread village be?”
“It’s not just any gingerbread village,” Ella warns. “It’s life-sized. Frank’s going all out this year.”
“Life-sized?” Lana repeats incredulously. “As in, human-sized gingerbread houses?”
“That’s the plan,” Ella nods. “He’s determined to beat Maggie’s Diner in the town decorating contest.”
“Oh, we are definitely helping,” I decide, already imagining the Instagram potential. “The MacGallans are officially joining Team Gingerbread.”
“Really?” Nora bounces in her seat. “You’ll all come?”
“Absolutely,” Wren confirms, catching my enthusiasm. “We’re expert gingerbread architects. Isn’t that right, Kat?”
“The best in the business,” I agree solemnly. “Our gingerbread structures are known throughout the land for their structural integrity and tasteful candy placement.”
Ella laughs, shaking her head. “I’ve created a monster. Frank will either love you or ban you from the bakery forever.”
“Only one way to find out,” I grin, already mentally planning my gingerbread construction outfit. “What time should we be there?”
“Eight AM,” Ella says, and my smile falters slightly.
“In the morning? On a Saturday?” I clarify, earning snickers from the others.
“Afraid of a little early rising, Sleeping Beauty?” Wren teases.
I straighten my shoulders with dignity. “I’ll have you know I am perfectly capable of functioning before noon when properly motivated. And gingerbread building is excellent motivation.”
We drop Ella and Nora at their cottage, promising to return tomorrow with the decorations earmarked for their place. As we drive away, I catch sight of them in the rearview mirror—Nora skipping up the path while Ella waves goodbye, looking more relaxed than I’ve seen her since we arrived.
“This was a good idea,” I say quietly to Wren. “Getting her out, making her part of things.”
Wren nods, her eyes on the road. “She’s been alone too long. Both of them have.”
“Well, not anymore,” I declare, patting Frederick the nutcracker’s wooden head where it protrudes between our seats. “They’re stuck with us now. The full MacGallan experience, Christmas edition.”
“God help them,” Lana mutters from the back, but she’s smiling too.
As we turn onto the main road leading to the lodge, I spot a lone figure on horseback watching us from the ridge above—a man in a cowboy hat, silhouetted against the setting sun. He sits motionless, observing our SUV as we pass, then turns his horse and disappears into the trees.
“Did you see that?” I ask, turning to look back, but he’s already gone.
“See what?” Wren glances in the rearview mirror.
“Nothing,” I say after a moment. “Just thought I saw something.”
But as we continue toward the lodge, I can’t shake the feeling of being watched—a sensation that clashes with the warm, festive mood of our shopping expedition. I hug the bag of tinsel closer to my chest, suddenly aware of how exposed we are out here in the mountains, how isolated.
How perfect a hiding place this would be to hide.