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Christopher felt a warmth spread through his chest at seeing Jackson’s genuine happiness. “I’m really glad to hear that. You deserve it, Jackson.”

“Philip is getting totally spoiled,” Jackson continued, shaking his head with a rueful smile. “But who can help it? The kid is so cute. He’s just started really smiling—like, full-on grins that light up his whole face—and Vanessa and I are just gone every time. We’ll do anything to make him smile like that.”

Christopher laughed. “That’s what babies are supposed to do. Turn rational adults into complete pushovers.”

“Mission accomplished then,” Jackson said. “Mabel and George gave him this little Santa outfit, and I swear we’ve taken about a hundred photos of him in it. We’re those parents now.”

Christopher clapped him on the shoulder, still chuckling. “I’m happy for you, Jackson. Really happy.”

But as Jackson handed him his change, Christopher noticed something—a shadow that passed across his friend’s expression despite the smile that remained on his face. It was subtle, but Christopher had known him for years. He recognized that look of thoughtfulness.

“Is everything okay?” Christopher asked, a bit more quietly. “You seem like something’s on your mind.”

Jackson’s smile faltered slightly, and he glanced around the diner as if checking to make sure no one was listening too closely. The nearest customers were absorbed in their own conversations, and the waitress on duty was busy refilling coffee at a booth near the window.

“It’s probably nothing,” Jackson said, but the way he said it suggested he didn’t quite believe that himself. He picked up the cloth he’d been using earlier and started wiping down the already-clean counter, as if his hands needed something to do. “I just—I worry sometimes. About whether Vanessa is truly happy here.”

Christopher felt his eyebrows rise slightly. “What makes you think she’s not?”

“You know… she used to have this big-city life,” Jackson said, his voice low. “She never paid much attention to the holidays back then, but she had a job that kept her busy, made her feel important. And here we are in Fir Tree Grove, where the biggest excitement is the tree lighting in the town square and the Christmas market.” He paused, his jaw working slightly. “But more than that, she wasn’t really into Christmas after her parents passed. It was too painful for her, all those memories. So I wonder sometimes if she just tolerates Fir Tree Grove’s over-the-top celebrating. If she’s doing it for me, you know? Pretending to enjoy it because she knows how much I love it here.”

Christopher studied his friend’s face, seeing the genuine concern there. “Jackson,” he said, his voice firm but kind, “I’m sure you’re worried over nothing. Vanessa is clearly happy. I’ve seen the two of you together, and I’ve seen her around town. That’s not someone who’s just tolerating things. She’s built a life here, with her grandmother and with you. She loves that toy shop as much as Mabel does now. And she loves the life the two of you have..”

Jackson looked up, his lips pressed together. “You think so?”

“I know so,” Christopher said. “People can’t fake that kind of happiness, not day in and day out. And from what I’ve seen, she’s not just participating in the Christmas stuff—she’s enjoying it. There’s a difference, and it shows.”

Some of the tension seemed to ease from Jackson’s shoulders. “Thanks. I guess I just needed to hear that from someone else.”

“Anytime,” Christopher said, picking up the bakery box. “That’s what friends are for.”

He was about to head toward the door, already thinking about the afternoon ahead—he needed to make sure the guest rooms were all freshly stocked with towels, and he wanted to get the fire going in the sitting room before the temperature dropped any further—when the bell above the door jingled again.

Layla stepped inside, bringing with her a gust of cold air and a few snowflakes that clung to her blonde hair. She was wearing the same peacoat he’d seen her in before, and she had a leather messenger bag slung across her body. Her cheeks were pink from the cold, and she had a focused, determined energy about her that was becoming very familiar.

Their eyes met across the diner as she made her way toward the counter, and Christopher found himself staying put rather than heading for the door.

“Good morning,” he said as she approached. “How’s the article coming along?”

Layla pulled off her gloves, tucking them into her coat pockets. “It’s coming,” she said, and there was something in her tone that Christopher couldn’t quite read. “I’ve been documenting all the charming small-town Christmas activities. The tree lighting, the caroling, the decoration displays on every corner fighting for supremacy. All the fluff that makes for good lifestyle content.”

The way she said “fluff” bothered him more than he wanted to admit. There was a dismissiveness to it, a casual disregard for things that mattered deeply to the people who lived here. These weren’t just activities or content opportunities—they were traditions, connections, the threads that wove the community together. But he kept his expression neutral, reminding himself that she was from a different world.

“Have you been to the skating rink yet?” he asked, shifting the bakery box to his other hand. “It’s one of the highlights of the season. Lincoln really goes all out with the lights and the music.”

Layla laughed. “I stopped by to interview the owner.”

“But you didn’t actually go skating?” Christopher raised an eyebrow, and she snorted lightly.

“No, that kind of frivolity isn’t really my thing,” she said with a shrug. “ I’m more focused on getting the work done so I can get back to Portland.” She paused, then added, “I am planning to go for a little hike this afternoon, though. I want to get a picture of the town from up high, get that classic overview shot for the article.”

Christopher glanced toward the window, noticing what he’d been aware of peripherally for the last few minutes. The wind had picked up, and the snow that had been falling gently earlier was now coming down with more intensity. The sky had taken on that particular gray-white quality that locals recognized as a sign of heavier weather moving in.

“You might want to reconsider that,” he said, keeping his voice casual, although he couldn’t entirely lose the note of concern. “It looks like the snow and wind are really kicking up out there. The weather can change quickly in the mountains, especially this time of year.”

Layla followed his gaze to the window, then turned back to him with a smile that suggested she found his concern somewhat amusing. “I’m sure it’s no big deal,” she said. “It seems like everything gets blown out of proportion in small towns. Probably to alleviate how quiet it is, give people something to talk about.”

Christopher felt a small flare of irritation at that, at the casual way she dismissed not just the weather but the entire town’s way of being. But he pushed it down, reminding himself that she was used to the city, where a few inches of snow was just an inconvenience rather than something that could genuinely become dangerous. She didn’t understand the way weather worked here. A pleasant morning could turn into a serious situation by afternoon.