Lauren
Snow drifted past the windows in lazy spirals.
It looked exactly the way she’d imagined.
No. Better.
Full of color, ribbon, fabric, sketches, half-finished commissions stacked neatly on shelves Tom had built himself.
From the living room came the rumble of two very different families trying to coexist.
“Gerald, stop sampling the cookies!”
“I’m ensuring quality control!”
“That’s your fifth one!”
Tom’s mother’s voice rose in its familiar clipped pitch: “Richard, I swear if you track snow on this rug I will—”
Followed by Linda’s warm, unbothered: “Oh hush, Judith. It’s Christmas.”
Lauren smiled, wiped her hands, and reached for the piece she needed: the tree topper she’d made—an explosion of ribbon, gold wire, and tiny glowing stars. Whimsical. Dramatic. Just right.
Tom peeked around the doorframe, wearing the red sweater she had knitted him.
“You’re missing the show,” he said.
She lifted the tree topper. “Had to grab the star.”
He stepped into the studio and into her arms, kissing her forehead. His gaze dipped, as it always did, to the necklace at her throat—his necklace, still a little lopsided, still perfect.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Let’s do it.”
They walked into the living room hand in hand.
The tree was overboard. Spectacularly. Full of mismatched ornaments, heirlooms, papier-maché, and glittering garlands.
Mia stood beside Jake, wearing reindeer antlers and holding a plate of cookies.
Judith tried—tried—to smile.
Richard cleared his throat every few minutes but hadn’t insulted anything yet, which was progress.
On the mantel sat a new piece of Lauren’s: CHRISTMAS AF
Bright. Loud. Joyful.
Gerald clapped once. “All right, let’s get this tree finished!”
Lauren stepped forward with the topper. Tom steadied her waist as she stood on a chair, reaching up to place the star on the highest branch. It glowed softly, tiny lights flickering to life.
She stepped down; Tom’s hand stayed warm against her back.
“Moment of truth,” Jake said, backing up.
Lauren reached for the plug. Tom covered her hand with his.
“Together?”
She nodded.
They plugged in the tree.
Lights burst to life—warm gold, snowy white, wild rainbow, the topper blazing like a small, enchanted sun.
Everyone gasped.
Mia applauded.
Gerald sniffed suspiciously like he might cry.
Judith muttered, “Well… it’s very…”
Linda finished gently, “Beautiful.”
Tom didn’t watch the tree.
He watched Lauren.
Her eyes glowed brighter than all of it.
He leaned in, voice low. “Merry Christmas, Lo.”
She turned, her lips soft against his. “Merry Christmas, Tom.”
Behind them, both families bickered and laughed—the house buzzing with warmth, chaos, cookies, and love.
Lauren looked at her husband, her studio upstairs, the glittering tree, their mismatched family all under one roof—and felt it down to her bones.
She felt greedy in the best way.
She squeezed Tom’s hand. “Next year,” she whispered, “I’m making the tree even brighter.”
Tom grinned, utterly smitten. “I can’t wait.”