Chapter 12
Ella
I wake early the next morning, though "early" might be generous—the sun is already streaming through the unfamiliar windows of the guest bedroom at the lodge.
Nora's warm body is curled against mine, her breathing deep and even.
For a moment, I watch her sleep, cataloging the delicate sweep of her eyelashes, the slight part of her lips. Safe. She's safe.
The events of last night replay in my mind—that glimpse of a figure that may or may not have been Mikhail. My logical mind says it's impossible, that I'm jumping at shadows. But eight years of vigilance don't switch off easily.
I ease out of bed, careful not to wake Nora. Scout lifts his head from his position at the foot of the bed, his tail thumping softly against the comforter.
“Morning, boy,” I whisper, scratching behind his ears. “Let's get you outside.”
The lodge is quiet as I pad down the hallway in borrowed pajamas, Scout following dutifully at my heels. I'd expected everyone to still be asleep after our late night, but the scent of coffee guides me to the kitchen, where I find Kane already up, staring out the window with a steaming mug in hand.
“You're up early,” I say, my voice still rough with sleep.
He turns, offering a tired smile. “Couldn't sleep. I… Ah, opened that package that you left with Marie.”
I freeze mid-step and look at him, unable to talk as the scrapbook flashes in my mind.
My small hands at seven years old, carefully pressing photos onto the thick paper.
Declan as a toddler with his gap-toothed smile.
Connor hugging a stuffed bear on his first birthday.
Kat, as a baby, swaddled in a pink blanket—Kane’s mother, holding him just after she’d given birth.
I’d treasured each memento Tomas had given me, especially that wisp of Kane’s hair I'd bound with a lock of my own using red embroidery thread. Over the years, the photos kept coming, and I kept adding to the collection. But in the back of the book, tucked in a protected plastic sleeve, was our hair and Kane’s birth certificate with ‘MacGallan’ printed in official black ink, not ‘Murphy.’
He stands there, awkward, as I see a hint of tears in his eyes, not asking for a hug but clearly aching for it. I took a step towards him and wrapped my arms around his waist.
“I was a weird little kid,” I muttered into his shirt.
“Used to stare at that scrapbook for hours, wishing we were all together.” I paused, leaned back, and looked at him as I tried to swallow the sting of unshed tears in my throat.
“Did Marie tell you Tomas told me to burn all of it when I turned sixteen? Said it was time to forget childish things. I just couldn’t.
So, I wrapped it up and asked her for a manila envelope and gave it all to her for safekeeping. ”
He wrapped me in his arms, with his chin resting on my head, he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m glad you did.” He set me at arm’s length. “How's Nora? Still out?” he asked, changing the subject.
“Like a light,” I walked over to the counter and set to pouring myself a cup of coffee. “She was exhausted by the time we got back.”
Kane nods, his eyes studying my face a bit too intently. “And you? How did you sleep?”
“Fine,” I lie, avoiding his gaze as I add cream to my coffee. The truth is, I spent half the night staring at the ceiling, jumping at every creak of the old lodge.
He doesn’t press but instead gestures toward the back door. “Want to let Scout out? I’ll keep you company.”
The morning air is brisk but not unbearable as we step onto the wide back porch. Scout bounds into the yard, immediately burying his nose in the snow to track some unfortunate woodland creature.
“Thanks for letting us stay,” I say, wrapping my hands around my mug for warmth. “I know it was last-minute.”
“This is your home too, Ella,” Kane says simply. “You don’t need a reason to stay here.”
His words catch me off guard. Home. Such a loaded concept for someone who’s spent most of her life running.
Before I can respond, the back door opens, and Kat emerges in a fluffy robe and slippers, her hair twisted in a messy bun.
“Oh, good, you’re both up,” she says, bouncing on her toes with surprising energy for the early hour. “I’ve been waiting for reinforcements. Today’s the day!”
Kane groans. “What day?”
“Decoration Day!” She gestures dramatically toward the SUV, still packed with our haul from our shopping spree. “The Great MacGallan Christmas Transformation begins now!”
“It’s not even nine in the morning,” Kane protests, but I can see the fondness beneath his gruff exterior.
“Christmas waits for no man,” Kat declares solemnly. “Besides, we have a literal mountain of decorations to sort through. It could take all day.”
As if summoned by the promise of chaos, the others begin to appear—Wren and Lana with matching bedhead, Kori looking suspiciously well-rested, and Mia clutching her coffee like it’s the only thing keeping her vertical.
“I heard the word ‘decorations,’” Wren yawns, joining us on the porch. “Please tell me there’s breakfast before manual labor.”
“Pancakes are non-negotiable,” Lana agrees, wrapping her cardigan tighter around herself.
Scout races back to the porch, snow clinging to his golden fur, his tail wagging with uncontainable joy. The simple happiness of a dog playing in the snow makes me smile despite the lingering unease from last night.
“Pancakes it is,” I decide, turning back toward the kitchen. “And then decorations. Nora will be thrilled when she wakes up.”
An hour later, the kitchen smells of maple syrup and coffee, dishes are stacked in the sink, and Nora is practically vibrating with excitement as Kat outlines her vision for “Operation Christmas Explosion.”
“The tree goes in the great room, obviously,” she says, pacing with the energy of a general addressing troops.
“Lights on the exterior of all outbuildings need to be hung today before the weather turns. Garlands on every staircase, wreaths on every door, and Frederick—” she pauses dramatically, “—Frederick gets put at the front entrance.”
“Who’s Frederick?” Nora asks, her eyes wide.
“Only the most magnificent life-sized nutcracker ever created,” Kat informs her solemnly. “You’ll love him.”
Kane catches my eye across the table, his expression a mix of amusement and resignation. “I’ll handle the outdoor lights,” he offers. “Kori, you want to help?”
She nods, already reaching for her coat. “I’ve got experience from helping my dad every year. The trick is to start from the bottom and work your way up.”
“Lana and I will tackle the garlands,” Wren volunteers. “Mia, you’re on wreath duty.”
“What about me?” Nora asks, practically bouncing in her seat. “What’s my job?”
“You, miss,” Kat says, tapping her nose, “are my special assistant for the most important job of all—the tree!”
Nora gasps with delight, and I feel that familiar ache in my chest—love mixed with a touch of sadness. All these years, it’s just been the two of us decorating our little cottage. Simple, quiet celebrations that, while meaningful, lacked the joyous chaos of a large family.
“And what about me?” I ask, trying to keep my voice light.
Kat grins. “You, sister dear, are our artistic director. You get to tell us if things look terrible.”
“So much power,” I deadpan, but I’m smiling.
We spend the morning unloading decorations from the SUV, creating piles that quickly overflow from the great room into the hallway. Frederick the nutcracker stands guard over the chaos, his painted expression seeming to judge our organizational skills.
I find myself helping Kane and Kori with the outdoor lights, grateful for the crisp air that clears my head. We work in comfortable silence for the most part, passing strings of lights and securing them along the doorways of the barn.
“This place is going to be visible from space when we’re done,” Kane mutters, but there’s no real complaint in his voice.
“That’s the goal,” Kori laughs, handing him another extension cord. “Christmas isn’t Christmas without the risk of blowing a fuse.”
I smile at their banter, remembering how strained things were between us all just a few weeks ago. It’s strange how quickly they’ve become family—how natural it feels to work alongside them, to share meals and memories and now, holiday traditions.
By midafternoon, the lodge’s transformation is well underway.
Garlands twist up the main staircase, punctuated with red velvet bows that Wren insists are “traditional, not tacky.” Wreaths hang on every door, some simple evergreen, others elaborate creations with pinecones and berries.
The outdoor lights are in place, ready to be tested once darkness falls.
But the centerpiece—the massive tree we purchased from a local farm and delivered this morning—still stands bare in the great room, waiting for its moment of glory.
“Tree time!” Kat announces, clapping her hands to gather everyone. “All hands on deck for Operation Tannenbaum!”
Nora giggles at the name, rushing to the boxes of ornaments we’ve arranged around the tree’s base. “Can I hang the first one? Please?”
“Of course you can,” I tell her, kneeling to open a box of delicate glass balls. “Which one would you like?”
She considers the options with adorable seriousness before selecting a sparkly silver star. “This one. It looks like the star we saw last night on the big tree in town.”
“Perfect choice,” Kane says, lifting her so she can reach a higher branch. “Right there looks good.”
I watch them, my throat suddenly tight with emotion. Kane holds her with such care, his large hands steady as she carefully places the ornament. There’s such tenderness in his expression—a side of him I suspect few people get to see.
“You okay?” Kori asks softly, appearing beside me with a box of candy cane ornaments.
I nod, not trusting my voice immediately. “Just... happy,” I manage finally. “This is all so much more than I ever expected.”
She squeezes my arm gently. “Family has a way of surprising you, doesn’t it? Even when it’s complicated and messy and found in the strangest ways.”
“Especially then,” I agree, watching as Lana and Wren debate the proper spacing of ornaments while Kat drapes tinsel with reckless abandon.
“Should we wait until Uncle Declan, Uncle Connor, and Rory come back to decorate the rest?” Nora asks, wide-eyed.
Kat’s hand freezes mid-swing, her hand full of tinsel. “Yes, I suppose we should. But if they aren’t back in two days, we decorate, deal?”
Nora grins. “Deal.”