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As if Nana can read my mind, she says, “Oh, it’s very easy. I’ll give you the recipe. You can add it to your shop.”

“That would be amazing, thank you.”

“These are Swiss brownies,” she tells me, pulling out another dessert made of chocolate. “We call them brunsli.”

“I can’t wait to try.”

“I’m trying so many new dishes and desserts that I can’t wait to make myself. There are customers who are always wanting to try something new.”

“I can give you a few more recipes,” she says excitedly. “Your parents must be so proud that you have your own business at such a young age.”

The mention of them brings a wave of sadness, still strong as ever, and my smile falters. I tuck my hair behind my ear as I share in a small voice, “I wouldn’t know. My parents and I have sort of drifted apart.”

She stills and frowns. “You don’t talk to them?”

“It’s been three years since I last talked to them.”

Sympathy and confusion etch on her beautiful face. “But why, sweetie?”

“Their divorce wasn’t an amicable one. I had to learn to take care of myself while they were too busy fighting or using me as a pawn in their immature games. They both eventually got married a second time and once I got into college, we talked less and less. Their new families became a priority. Unless I reached out, I wouldn’t hear from them. So, I stopped. It hurt too much.”

“Have you ever told them all this?”

“No,” I whisper, fighting tears.

Closing the gap, she wraps me in a hug until I’ve controlled my fragile emotions. Pulling back, she gives me a piece of advice in a serious yet gentle tone. “Life’s too short, honey. It’s never too late to be the bigger person and extend an olive branch. Most times, a heartfelt conversation is all it takes to fix a relationship.”

“What if it doesn’t?”

“No parent just forgets about their child or stops loving them. Just talk to them when you’re ready, Twinkle. Even if it doesn’t work out, you would’ve said your piece and got closure. It’s not healthy to carry so much pain. It’ll eat away at you.”

Hugging me once more, she smiles brightly and we carry the desserts out to the living room. The men look up at the sound of our heels.

My heart skips a beat when Kingston stares at me the same way his grandfather is looking at his wife.

Like I light up his world.

As soon as I sit down beside him on the couch, he takes my hand and places it on his thigh.

“I think it’s time to open the presents,” announces Nana after we’ve taken the first bite of our desserts.

The nut cake is something else.

So yummy and gooey.

Nana picks up the box brought by her grandson and carefully unwraps it. I inch forward to see what it is and judging by the speechless expression on her face, I’d say she loves it.

“You didn’t!” she gasps. “Is it real?”

Kingston murmurs, “Yes, it is, Nana. Merry Christmas.”

“What is it, love?” asks Kingston’s grandfather.

“He got me Al Pacino’s autograph.”

My mouth drops open in shock, debating if I heard correctly. Whipping my face toward his, I utter, “How?”

“It was pure luck,” he admits, pushing my hair back. “I ran into him at a restaurant and told him how my nana is a huge fan ofThe Godfatherand asked for his autograph. He was kind enough to agree.”