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Kids tear between tables clutching candy canes and half-finished cups of hot chocolate while volunteers weave around them carrying boxes, wrapping paper, and armfuls of donated toys. Glitter has somehow spread across three rooms before midmorning, and every display I straighten lasts about five minutes before a pack of excited children tears through it again.

By noon we're running out of places to stack donations.

It's a good problem to have.

Redwood Run always shows up when people need it.

After everything that's happened these past few months, seeing the town packed with families, laughter, and enough toys to fill half the building feels damn good.

Unfortunately, Lucy has decided she's in charge of quality control.

I catch her sneaking toward the stuffed animal table with a determined look on her face.

"Absolutely not."

She freezes.

I point at the armful of plush toys she's carrying. "What are you doing?"

Her expression turns scandalized. "Rescuing them."

"You can't rescue donated toys."

"Sure I can."

"You really can't."

Lucy holds up a teddy bear with one floppy ear. "He looks worried."

I stare at the bear. The bear looks perfectly fine. "He looks like a teddy bear."

"He looks abandoned."

"He arrived fifteen minutes ago."

"Exactly." She hugs him tighter. "That's practically forever."

Across the room, Torin nearly spits coffee all over himself.

I shoot him a look.

He grins into his cup.

Helpful.

Lucy shakes her head at me. "You don't understand emotional support bears."

"I'm pretty sure that's not a thing."

"It is now."

Before I can argue, she marches away with her bear tucked under one arm and all the confidence of someone who knows she's already won.

I let her get three steps before following. "Lucy."

"No."

"You don't even know what I'm going to say."