Page 3 of A Crawford Family Christmas

Children shriek with laughter near the ornament-decorating booth, while someone’s tiny purse dog is wearing a single antler like Max from How the Grinch Stole Christmas struts around like he’s an actual reindeer. A line of people snakes past the “Photos with Santa” sign toward a roped-off patch of trees strung with white lights.

This is chaos. Beautiful, perfect chaos.

“Buttons,” Roe calls over the noise. He’s grinning over at me, looking like a thirst trap in his jeans and flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up. “Did you bribe the elementary school choir with cookies again?”

“I never bribe. I prefer calling it incentivizing.” I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.

He chuckles, the sound low and warm. “Well, it worked—they’re singing ‘Feliz Navidad’ on repeat.”

That makes me smile.

“You running the craft tent or the cocoa stand now?”

“Both. Madison’s running the cashier tent, and Quinn’s trying to keep people from taking selfies with the tractor again.”

Roe grins. “Good luck with that. I told him if he didn’t want kids climbing all over it, he shouldn’t have decorated it with lights.”

The place looks like a Hallmark movie exploded: garlands, hay rides, and twinkle lights on every pine.

“Your grand opening’s a hit,” I say.

“Our grand opening.” He touches my elbow. “This was your idea, remember?”

“My idea was a book club under the trees.”

“Exactly. And look what it turned into.”

I laugh.

A group of kids sprints past, waving candy canes, and Roe’s eyes soften. “Worth every sleepless night.”

He’s right. Seeing him like this—relaxed, laughing, happy—makes all of it worth it.

“You should go take a break,” he says quietly. “Let someone else man the cocoa station.

“I wish Rosie-June was here with us tonight,” I say.

He pulls me into his arms. “Our daughter is going to love this, but you know, tonight would have been twice as hard if we’d let her come. And she would have been miserable.”

“She would end up being miserable, but not until she ate too many marshmallows and the sugar buzz wore off.”

“True story.” He kisses my head. “We have years for all of the younger Crawfords to enjoy this. Then we’ll be able to put them to work.”

“I know you’re right. I just miss her.”

He leans close, voice a rumble only I can hear. “Come with me.”

“Roe—”

“Ten minutes. Promise.”

I follow him down one of the paths that winds through the trees, the noise fading until it’s just the crunch of gravel and the whisper of wind through pine needles. He stops where the branches form a little green tunnel, lights twinkling overhead.

“I strung these yesterday,” he says softly. “Thought you’d like it.”

It’s breathtaking—the way the lights halo the rows of trees, the scent of sap and cedar thick in the air. “It’s beautiful.”

He slides his arms around me from behind, chin brushing my temple. “You’re beautiful.”