Page 17 of All in for Christmas

“Sounds perfect,” I say and smile at him. Might as well enjoy the fantasy while I’m here, and that will be at least until bedtime, as far as I can see.

“Yeah.” He smiles and I feel like we’ve spoken telepathically.

That he’s saying everything is perfect in our world.

Which only makes my heart ache more, because I know what Dean doesn’t.

This isn’t my actual existence, the reality that I came from and am more than likely destined to go back to, once this holiday magic ends.

Later that evening, Dean and I sit drinking our hot cocoa on the living room sofa.

A real wood fire blazes before us, logs crackling merrily.

Eleanor slumps against her daddy’s shoulder, snoozing soundly and curled up in a sofa blanket.

Henry’s passed out with his head in my lap with another blanket draped over him.

Dean’s arm is around my shoulder and he holds me close, while Scout sleeps at our feet between us and the coffee table. “Hmm, this is nice,” I say softly.

Dean sighs contentedly. “Yeah.”

He added a jigger of bourbon to the adults’ libations, and the effect’s delightfully mellowing.

Deliciously chocolatey with a nice warming kick.

I survey my gorgeous husband and the family that resembles a holiday card.

If only life were really this way for everybody—but it isn’t for me.

I’m experiencing what my life might have been like with Dean if we’d never broken up.

Still. None of this feels like an alternate universe.

The heat of Dean’s body next to me is so real.

Could I honestly have had this life? I search the room for signs of my Christmas ghosts, but don’t see them anywhere.

If I did see a spirit, like one of the specters who visited Scrooge, I’d have someone to ask about what’s going on.

Failing that, I’ll have to track down that holiday market vendor.

Maybe she can explain how all of this happened, and how long I’m fated to stay.

If I’m still here tomorrow, that’s precisely what I plan to do.

“Dean,” I ask as flames leap in the hearth, “can you tell me more about getting that advent calendar?” Maybe he can give me some hints as to where I might find its vendor.

He looks at me perplexed. “You were there with us when we bought it last week.”

“Yes, but there’s been so much going on this holiday season.” I think up some excuses. “Between work.” I sigh. “And Mom.”

He chuckles warmly. “Do you really think she’ll run away with Roger to go live on a houseboat?”

“Oh gosh, I hope not.”

“I’m glad we’re meeting him, though,” he says. “Good call.”

My heart twists because I’m so worried about her. “Yeah.”

Dean watches the fire for a moment before turning toward me to answer my earlier question. “We got the advent calendar from the older woman at the booth near the end of the row under the big tent, don’t you remember?”

I squint up at him and say vaguely, “Think so.”

“You have been working too hard.” He chuckles. “She was dressed like Mrs. Claus, so I would have thought she was pretty impossible to forget. Red Santa cap, nice round middle? White hair and wire-rimmed glasses?”

I start to picture her in my mind, and she does look jolly, with big round cheeks like her famous husband. “Oh-ho!”

“Oh ho, ho, ho ,” he teases with a twinkle in his eye.

Though it seems superstitious to believe in a magical advent calendar, that’s no more outlandish than my being here in this duplicate world, with its unique differences and nuances.

And there’s no denying it. Some of the differences here are pretty great.

In only one day I’ve found myself falling for these children, and Dean .

I steal a glance at his handsome face and my heart flutters.

Our snowball fight was really fun and I felt so much a part of things. A part of this family.

Henry’s tiny body’s heavy with sleep, molding into me.

I stroke back his golden hair, smooth down his pint-size brow.

He’s a beautiful child, and so is Eleanor, both even more special because of what they represent.

The very best of the two of us. Of Dean.

Of me. Of what we might have had together as a family.

Hot tears brim in my eyes until they’re full to bursting.

I stare down at the boy, remembering his actions earlier. “Funny that Henry put up the snowman on the advent calendar this morning and then we built one today, don’t you think?” Maybe if Dean believes that calendar’s magical, he’ll trust me more about the dual realities.

“That wasn’t really predicting the future. Come on.” Dean shakes his head. “It’s more like today’s pocket item in the calendar gave us an idea about what we might do.”

“I suppose you’re right.” I snuggle up against him, feeling happy through and through. “Still,” I say. “What if that Mrs. Claus lady was on the level?”

He peers down at me. “What?”

I hold my breath, then plow ahead. “She didn’t only say the calendar could predict the future, Dean. She also claimed it could change lives, right?”

“Paige,” he asks warily, “are you back to that ‘I came from the future’ thing again?”

“No, no! It’s not the future.” I nervously rub my nose. “More like an alternate life.”

“I thought it was the margaritas?” He goads me with a grin.

“Ha. Ha. ”

“If other things start happening, though,” Dean teases about the calendar, “I might be tempted to believe you.” He shrugs. “I think a poinsettia’s in the pocket for tomorrow, the twenty-first, and we sure haven’t got one here.”

I glance around the room and at the brightly lit Christmas tree.

No poinsettias in sight. It’s hard to see how one of those might materialize from out of the blue.

“Well, we certainly can’t grow a plant in these conditions,” I joke.

Snow still falls heavily outside the windows, coating the night sky.

“Nope.” He kisses the top of my head. “That’s true.”

My cell phone dings on the end table beside Dean. He reaches over, passing it to me. “Looks like your mom,” he says, seeing her text pop up the screen.

“Looks like we’re having company!” I tell him.