Chapter 16
The cottage glowed like a snow globe come to life, every window casting golden rectangles across the white-blanketed yard.
Tara settled into her favorite armchair with a mug of hot chocolate, watching her family arrange themselves around the living room with the unconscious choreography of people who’d learned to fit together.
Ryan sat cross-legged on the braided rug, the worn copy of “The Night Before Christmas” balanced on his knees, while Sam curled into the corner of the couch with Bella at her feet.
The fire crackled and sent the rich scent of burning oak into the room, mixing with the lingering sweetness of the sugar cookies they’d finished decorating after dinner.
“Are we finally doing this story?” Christina called from the kitchen, where she was heating milk for more hot chocolate. Her voice carried that particular Christmas Eve excitement that made Tara smile. Some things never changed, no matter how old your children were.
Will appeared with the last of the Chinese takeout containers, the savory smell of garlic and ginger still clinging to the cardboard.
“Food’s cleared away. Ryan looks like he might spontaneously combust if we don’t start soon.
” The takeout was tradition and even though she’d offered to cook a big meal, everyone wanted Chinese.
Emily shifted beside Sam on the couch, trying to get comfortable. “This little one’s been doing gymnastics all evening. I think she’s excited about Christmas too.”
Ally emerged from the kitchen carrying a tray of fresh hot chocolate, each mug topped with carefully arranged marshmallows. She’d been quieter than usual since returning from New York, but tonight she seemed more present, less like she was holding herself apart from the family gathering.
“Sam taught me the marshmallow art,” Ally said, setting the tray on the coffee table. “Apparently, I’ve been drinking hot chocolate wrong my whole life.”
Sam ducked her head, but Tara caught the pleased flush that colored her cheeks. Two weeks ago, the girl wouldn’t have shared something so personal. Now she was teaching the family the small traditions she’d created for herself, letting them become part of the cottage’s Christmas rituals.
“Before Ryan starts,” Sam said, her voice cutting through the comfortable chatter, “I wanted to tell you all something.”
The room settled into expectant quiet, the kind that happened when someone was about to share news that mattered. Through the windows, snow continued to fall in fat, lazy flakes that caught the porch light before disappearing into darkness.
“Mrs. Collier, my grandmother, she asked me to spend Christmas Day with her,” Sam began, her fingers tracing the rim of her mug. “She has my mom’s old room all ready, and photo albums, and she wants to tell me stories about when my mom was little.”
Tara felt a flutter of something that might have been loss, quickly followed by maternal pride. Of course, Sam would want to be with her family, especially after being alone for so long.
“That sounds wonderful,” Tara said warmly. “She must be so excited to have you.”
“She is. And I want to go, I really do. But I told her I needed to spend Christmas morning here first.” Sam looked around the room at all of their faces.
“Because you’re the family that found me when I needed finding.
And Ryan promised to read me the story, and I’ve never had anyone read me a Christmas story before. ”
The silence that followed was thick with emotion, but it was the good kind, the kind that happened when love expanded to make room for more love.
“We wouldn’t dream of starting Christmas without you,” Tara said, her voice slightly rough around the edges.
“And there’s something else,” Sam added, her words coming faster now. “Mrs. Collier wants me to move in with her permanently. She says I could have my mom’s old art studio and go to the high school in town if I want to, and it would be a real home with a real family.”
Christina appeared in the doorway, carrying her own mug, steam rising from the surface. “That’s amazing, Sam. You deserve that.”
“I want to say yes,” Sam said carefully, “but only if I can keep coming here too. I know it sounds greedy, wanting two families, but—”
“There’s nothing greedy about love,” Will said quietly. “Love multiplies. It doesn’t divide.”
Ryan grinned and nudged Sam’s shoulder. “Plus, someone has to help me beat everyone at board games. I can’t carry this family’s competitive reputation alone.”
The tension that had been building in Sam’s shoulders visibly melted away. “So you really don’t mind? Sharing me with Mrs. Collier?”
“Honey,” Tara said, leaning forward, “we want what’s best for you. And what’s best is having all the family you can handle. We’re not going anywhere.”
Christina settled into the big armchair with a soft sigh, and Tara noticed the way her daughter moved, carefully, as if her body wasn’t quite behaving the way she expected. Hopefully, she wasn’t coming down with something again. They’d all been running on excitement and sugar for days.
“Now can we please do this story?” Ryan asked, holding up the book. “I’ve been practicing my dramatic reading voice.”
“Oh no,” Christina groaned theatrically. “He’s going to do character voices, isn’t he?”
“I was thinking about it,” Ryan admitted with a grin that made him look younger than his almost sixteen years.
As Ryan opened the familiar book and began to read, Tara let her gaze drift around the room.
Emily dozed against Evan’s shoulder, his arm around her.
Christina listened with her eyes closed, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth.
Ally sat on the floor near the tree, Daisy’s gray muzzle resting in her lap, both of them illuminated by the soft glow of Christmas lights.
And Sam sat perfectly still, absorbing every word as if she were memorizing them, her face reflecting the wonder of someone experiencing Christmas magic for the first time.
Through the windows, the world had gone quiet under its blanket of snow. The cottage felt suspended in time, wrapped in warmth and light and the particular contentment that came from being exactly where you belonged.
When Ryan finished reading, no one moved for a moment, reluctant to break the spell.
“Time for bed,” Tara said finally, though she made no effort to get up. “Santa can’t come if anyone’s still awake.”
“Santa’s already here,” Will said softly, his arm tightening around her shoulders as he glanced around the room at their gathered family.
And looking at her unconventional, beautiful, complicated clan, Tara knew he was absolutely right.
* * *
The cottage had settled into the particular quiet of Christmas Eve, with everyone scattered to their evening routines but no one quite ready to let go of the day. Will stood at the kitchen sink washing the last of the mugs, watching snow fall past the window while Tara dried dishes beside him.
“That went well,” Tara murmured, her voice soft with contentment. She’d changed into flannel pajamas patterned with tiny reindeer, and her hair fell loose around her shoulders. The scent of her lavender lotion mixed with the lingering cinnamon from the cookies they’d baked earlier.
“Sam looked happy,” Will observed, scrubbing at a stubborn chocolate stain. “Relieved, too. She’s been carrying that decision around for days.”
“I could tell. She had that look, like she was bracing for disappointment.” Tara shook her head as she dried a mug painted with holly berries. “I can’t imagine what it would be like to spend your whole life expecting people to let you down.”
Through the kitchen doorway, Will could see into the living room where the family had regrouped for what appeared to be a spirited debate about Christmas morning logistics.
Christina was curled in the big chair with her laptop, probably finishing up some work before the holiday officially began.
Emily had claimed the couch, her feet propped up while Evan arranged pillows behind her back with the careful attention of a man who’d read every pregnancy book in existence.
“Christina seems tired,” Will mentioned casually, noting the way Tara’s youngest daughter had been moving more slowly all evening.
“She’s been working too much. I keep telling her she doesn’t have to prove herself so hard, but you know how she is about independence.” Tara’s smile was fond but worried. “Sometimes I think she’s afraid that if she slows down, everything will fall apart.”
Ryan’s laughter drifted from the living room, followed by Sam’s quieter chuckle. Will had watched their friendship develop over the past weeks, Ryan finally having someone close to his own age around, Sam learning to trust in small increments. It was good for both of them.
“Ally’s been different since she got back,” Tara said quietly, following Will’s gaze toward the living room where Ally sat near the bookshelf, scrolling through something on her phone. “Sad, but trying not to show it.”
“Heartbreak takes time to heal.”
“I know. I just hate watching her hurt and not being able to fix it.” Tara set down the dishtowel and leaned against the counter. “Do you think I’m doing the right thing? Not pushing her to talk about it?”
“You’re giving her space to figure it out herself. That’s love too.”
They finished the dishes in comfortable silence, the kind that came from months of domestic partnership and shared understanding.
Will found himself studying Tara’s profile in the soft kitchen light, the way she smiled at some private thought, the unconscious way she hummed along to the Christmas music playing softly from the radio.
Even after all these months together, he sometimes had to remind himself this was real. This life they’d built, this family they’d gathered around them, this feeling of being exactly where he belonged.
“The weather’s supposed to clear tomorrow,” he said, hanging up the dish towel. “Should be a beautiful Christmas morning.”