I sat back in my chair, took the rubber band off one of the bundles, and started to shuffle through today’s letters. Scanning the names and addresses, nothing seemed to jump out at me, until I got to one particular envelope and froze.

B. Maxwell.

Holy shit. Birdie wrote to Santa again?

I couldn’t rip the letter open fast enough.

Dear Santa,

I’m not sure if you’ll remember me or not, but my name is Birdie Maxwell. I wrote to you a few months ago and asked you to bring my dad and me some stuff. Don’t worry, I’m not asking for more already. I have everything I need. But here’s the thing: I don’t think you’re real anymore. It wasn’t too hard to figure out.

You see, in history we’re studying population. My teacher, Mrs. Parker, said the population of the North Pole is zero. She said that humans can’t survive the temperatures and pretty much only narwhals live there. Zero people at the North Pole where you’re supposed to live!

Then there’s Suzie Redmond, this girl at school. I told you about her before. She saw her mom putting out the presents Christmas morning last year. Also, if you make the toys in your workshop, why do the dolls I got last year say Made in China? Something’s fishy with that.

Oh, and I did the math. Mrs. Parker said there are 1.9 billion kids in the world living on over two hundred million square miles, and the average family has 2.67 children. That would mean that you’d have to go 5,083,000 miles per hour to visit everyone on Christmas Eve. How can that old wooden sleigh go so fast?

Plus . . . you can’t get in our fireplace! Duh!

So, since I’m pretty sure you’re not real, you’re probably wondering why I’m even writing at all. Well, I’ve decided that when I grow up, I want to be a writer, just like my special friend Sadie. Sometimes she comes over so that my babysitter can go home early, and we sit at the dining room table doing our work together. Like right now, she’s on her laptop typing across from me, and I’m pretending to do my homework. But really, I did my homework in class while the teacher was talking about something boring today, so I’m writing to you just to practice my writing.

I covered my mouth with my hand and started to crack up.

What a little twerp. We did sit across from each other when I came over early and had work to finish. I had no idea she wasn’t doing homework. Still laughing, I went back to finish her letter.

Anyway, it’s okay that you’re not real. I have everything I could ever want. My dad smiles all the time now. That’s pretty much because of Sadie. She makes me smile, too. Even if you were real, I wouldn’t ask for any presents for me this year. Well, except maybe for Sadie to say yes to what Dad’s going to ask her on Christmas.

Love,

Birdie Maxwell

My eyes widened.

To what Dad’s going to ask me on Christmas?

Christmas Eve had me on pins and needles. This was going to be perhaps the biggest night of my life. I carefully selected my wardrobe, choosing a red dress that I knew Sebastian loved based on the one time I’d worn it before. If he was going to be proposing to me tonight, I wanted to make sure that I was dressed for the occasion.

The plan tonight was for Sebastian, Birdie, and me to have an intimate Christmas Eve along with my dad, who would be coming down from Suffern to spend the night in Sebastian’s office, which doubled as the guest room. I couldn’t wait to show Birdie some of Dad’s and my Christmas traditions and to spend a cozy evening at home with the people who mattered to me most.

After catching an Uber to Sebastian’s house, I stopped to really take in the cold night air as I exited the car. A few small snowflakes started to appear. Could this be any more perfect of a night? On top of everything, we were getting a white Christmas, too? Was this the last time I’d be standing on this sidewalk as a nonengaged woman? Wow. Let that set in for a moment.

I clutched my coat and looked up at the already darkened sky, thanking the man above for making this life possible, for leading me to this family, and for granting me the opportunity to have them as my own.

Sebastian opened the door before I had a chance to ring the doorbell.

“What are you doing standing out here in the cold, beautiful?”

“I was just thanking the stars above—literally—for everything. I feel like the luckiest woman alive.”

He nudged his head. “Get in here so I can kiss you.”

Once up the stairs, Sebastian enveloped me in his arms. The warmth of the sweater he wore brought immediate comfort. He smelled so good, like a blend of juniper and sandalwood. He kissed me long and hard, and I could actually feel his heart beating through his chest. I wondered if he was nervous about what might possibly be happening tonight.

“Sadie! You’re here. It’s about time!” Birdie came running out.

She wore what many might deem an ugly Christmas sweater with cats on it and had her hair in two pigtails.

The three of us fell into a group hug.

“I’m so excited for tonight,” I said. “Are you ready to get started in the kitchen?”

Birdie clapped and jumped. “Yes!”

Sebastian removed my coat. He took a moment to ogle me in my dress and groaned subtly as he shook his head. I fully looked forward to him taking this dress off me later. We’d need to be quieter than usual with my father in the room next to us, but there was no way I wouldn’t be getting some Christmas Eve lovin’ tonight.

Birdie ran ahead of me to the kitchen. The doorbell rang before I even had a chance to follow her.

“That must be Dad.”

Sebastian went to open the door. My father wore his famous winter hat with the furry flaps on the ears.

“George! Glad you made it safely.” Sebastian patted him on the back.

Dad’s cheeks were red from the cold.

“How was the train ride?” I asked as I pulled him into a hug.

“Uneventful.” My father looked around. “Where’s Miss America?”

“I’m right here!” Birdie said, returning from the kitchen.

She ran to give my father a hug. “Sadie’s daddy!”

“Merry Christmas, sweetie. It’s so wonderful to meet you.”

He hugged her extra tight. I knew Dad must have been thinking the obvious: that she could be his granddaughter.

Sebastian took my dad’s coat. “What can I get you to drink, George?”

“Some of my daughter’s delicious rum punch would be nice.”

“I was just about to go make that, Daddy. Making a nonalcoholic version for Birdie first, then adding the rum to ours.” I winked.

Birdie and I ventured into the kitchen to start working on the evening’s fixings. We roasted chestnuts, made punch, and prepared trays of cut-up vegetables with various chips and dips.

Sebastian had had the chef at Bianco’s prepare a special lasagna for us, which was sitting in the fridge waiting to be put into the oven later.

At one point, Birdie fell into a daydream. Then she said, “My mom used to make little gingerbread men on Christmas Eve.”

My heart clenched. The fact that she was thinking about her mother right now had a profound impact on me. Here I was doing the best I could to be motherly tonight when in fact I’d never be able to replace Amanda.

“Really?” I said. “Gingerbread men. I love that.”