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T he past week in Aspen Grove with my family has been great. We don’t often get the chance to all be together, so the holidays are extra special when we’re under the same roof. The only problem is I haven’t been able to get Fallon out of my head. Whether I’m caught up in family activities or working in my dad’s home office, I find myself wondering what she’s doing at that particular moment.

I’ve gone as far as texting her a couple of times. A few days ago, I asked for her gluten-free gingerbread recipe when my mom was looking for one, and yesterday, I asked for her advice on the best way to sear a steak—never mind that I’ve done it plenty of times before.

Now, after a long morning holed up in my dad’s home office on back-to-back meetings, I’m unable to resist texting her again.

Harrison: Don’t tell my mom, but your lasagna beats hers, hands down.

Fallon: Your secret is safe with me.

Fallon: How’s your trip going?

Harrison: Good. My family goes all out for the holidays, so there’s never a dull moment.

Fallon: Not working too hard, are you?

Harrison: Who, me? Never.

Harrison: Have any plans for Christmas?

Fallon: Catering a brunch in Brooklyn and a Christmas dinner on the Upper East Side.

My stomach churns. I shouldn’t feel guilty, but the idea of Fallon being alone in my apartment for the holidays gnaws at me. I’m fortunate to have a close-knit family, and it makes this time of year that much more magical. No one should have to be alone for Christmas, not even Fallon.

Ready for a distraction, I head to my parents’ kitchen to join in on our yearly cookie decorating tradition. There are bowls of icing on the table in every color, a variety of edible glitter per Lola’s request, and candy cane pieces. I’m not a fan of glitter since it makes such a mess, but it’s all about spending time as a family. And if Lola’s happy, we all are.

My mom stands by the oven, taking out a fresh batch of cookies and slides them onto a cooling rack.

I notice a container of gluten-free ones she’s set aside for me. Since I was diagnosed with celiac disease, she’s gone out of her way to make sure all of my meals are cooked with separate utensils and cookware, careful to avoid any traces of gluten. She also has a cabinet dedicated to gluten-free foods, labeling everything clearly to avoid any mix-ups. It makes it so much easier to visit, not having to second-guess whether the food is safe to eat.

I step closer, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek. “It smells good in here. What can I do?”

She glances at me with a smile. “Go help your siblings with decorating. We’ve got twelve dozen cookies to decorate and less than two hours before we have to start delivering them.”

I nod. “Sure thing.”

It’s her way of making sure we spend every possible moment together when we’re all in town.

Mom pulls the oven mitts from her hands and sets them on the counter. “We’re aiming for Pinterest-worthy cookies. I can’t hand out ones that look like they were iced with a blindfold on,” she calls out, making sure everyone at the table hears.

“If that’s the standard expected, Marlow and Everly are the only ones qualified to decorate,” Presley answers with a chuckle.

She’s seated next to Jack, who’s glued to her side. Their chairs are pulled close together, with his arm draped around her shoulder.

“You’re doing great,” Jack praises her. “The design on your snowflake cookie may be abstract, but it’s bold and artistic.”

“Aww, that’s sweet of you, babe.” Presley flashes Jack a grin, nodding to the uneven lines of icing and clumps of sprinkles. “But that’s stretching the truth. It looks more like flies tangled in a sticky web than a snowflake.”

“It’s perfect because you made it, little vixen.” Jack plants a tender kiss on her forehead.

“Love you,” Presley murmurs, stars in her eyes as she gazes at him. She’s totally smitten, and he’s just as captivated by her.

“Don’t worry, you can thank me for my supportive comments later,” Jack smirks.

They fell in love two years ago during Christmas. When they got to Aspen Grove, Mom insisted they stay in Presley’s childhood room with only one bed since they told her they were a couple. She knew who Jack was the whole time, which is why I’m skeptical of anything she does.

“If you two get any cheesier, I’m going to have to bill you for emotional damages,” Cash complains, mimicking a gag.

“You’re one to talk,” Presley quips, gesturing to Everly, who’s perched on Cash’s lap, his hand resting possessively on her hip.

Cash shrugs, giving a lopsided grin. “There weren’t enough chairs for everyone, so we improvised.”

Presley rolls her eyes, then turns her attention back to her cookie, frowning when she notices the icing dripping off the edges.

I take the only empty seat next to Cash and Everly. His gaze is fixed on her as she’s immersed in decorating a Christmas tree, meticulously piping on green icing.

She glances at Cash, raising an eyebrow. “Afraid to get your hands dirty?” she teases.

He shakes his head, reaching out and swiping a speck of frosting from her cheek. “Nope. Just enjoying the view.” He winks, licking the frosting off his finger.

“Maybe you two should take this somewhere private,” I taunt, trying to keep a straight face. “Are you forgetting there’s a kid present?” I nod toward Lola, who’s drowning her snowman cookie in white frosting, her tongue sticking out in concentration.

Cash scoffs. “Oh, right. Like Dylan and Marlow are any better at keeping their PDA under control.”

“We’re literally just holding hands,” Dylan says, lifting up their intertwined fingers. “That’s tame compared to sitting on top of each other,” he says, nodding at Cash. “Or exchanging those ridiculous googly eyes every five seconds,” he adds, eyeing Presley.

“Yes, and even that makes it very difficult to decorate,” Marlow teases as she puts the finishing touches on her gingerbread man’s perfect smile with her other hand.

“Look how silly Waffles, Muffin, Jellybean, and Cheez-It look running around in the snow,” Lola interrupts with a giggle.

Everyone turns toward the windows, looking out into the backyard to see Waffles bounding through the snow with three tiny furballs with floppy ears trotting closely behind him, yipping with excitement. My dad installed a doggy door leading from the heated garage to the outside, and even in the cold, they prefer it.

“It’s going to be a pain to clean them all up when they come inside,” Dylan grumbles, his voice softening as he glances at Marlow with affection. “Please tell me we’re not adopting another dog anytime soon.”

“Not as of now,” she says vaguely. “But I make no promises if any others come to the shelter that fit with our family.”

“That’s what I thought,” Dylan mumbles.

Marlow swats him on the chest. “You love our dogs, and if another came into the mix, you’d feel the same.”

“You’re right, sunshine.” He assures her with a smile.

“Let’s hope you have better luck training any future dogs than you did with Waffles and the puppies,” Cash taunts with a playful smirk.

“Hilarious,” Dylan responds dryly.

“I thought so.” Cash grins triumphantly, squaring his shoulders.

“Leave your brother alone,” Mom scolds as she brings over another tray to the kitchen table.

While everyone is caught up in conversation, my dad tries to sneak a fresh cookie, only for my mom to swat his hand away as she walks over with more cookies.

“What was that for?” He scowls.

“You’ve eaten three cookies and haven’t decorated a single one. At this rate, there won’t be enough to give to the neighbors.”

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Someone has to make sure every batch is safe for consumption. It’s a tough job, but I’m willing to make the sacrifice.”

Mom sighs, shaking her head. “What am I going to do with you?”

Dad winds his arm around her waist, guiding her head down for a kiss. They might tease each other, but their love is undeniable. When Dad was still running Stafford Holdings and had a hectic work schedule, he always found ways to show Mom how much he cared—bouquets of flowers from the local farmers’ market, weekly Saturday date nights, and love notes tucked under her pillow.

He stayed at Stafford Holdings longer than he wanted to, but he was concerned about leaving me to shoulder all the responsibility. Since retiring, he and my mom have been able to travel, attend cooking classes, and spend time working in the garden, filling their days making new memories and making up for lost moments. It’s made all the late nights and sacrifices worth it to see them finally enjoy the freedom they’ve earned.

“Eww,” Lola shouts, wrinkling her nose. “Kissing is gross.”

Laughter erupts around the room. “Couldn’t have said it better myself, ladybug.” I wink.

“Careful, Harrison,” Cash interjects. “You might change your tune when you meet the right person and can’t keep your hands off her.”

Fallon’s face flashes in my mind, uninvited. Her blonde hair tangled in a messy bun, her lips curving into a half-smile when she’s giving me sass, and her bright eyes lighting up when she’s making one of her favorite dishes.

Though I’ve sent her a few texts, I’ve purposely avoided checking the cameras in my apartment. I turned off the notifications before I left, not wanting to give in to the temptation to watch her while she works in the kitchen.

The guilt persists, weighing on me as I can’t stop thinking of her alone for the holidays. Even though she’s busy catering events in the city, she’ll be home at night. It strikes me that there are no decorations or a Christmas tree at the penthouse. I never bother since I’m usually in Aspen Grove and prefer a clutter-free space. I hadn’t considered that Fallon might want a more festive atmosphere.

Before I can change my mind, I send an email to Cabrina, instructing her to have a tree delivered to my penthouse and to hire someone to decorate it. Mom would probably disown me if she found out I skipped putting up a tree, so this is the practical solution. It’s not about wanting Fallon to be happy or making her feel at home for the holidays. That’s the excuse I’m running with anyway.