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They bought Susan's cider, Greg's stories, and the brothers' hilarious banter.

And the memory of that little stop in the snow right before Christmas?

That's something money can't buy.

They bought the feeling of Christmas. And the Strattons practically gave it away for free.

By midnight, the Milford order is rebuilt, tagged and staged for morning delivery.

The family collapses around a bonfire behind the barn and Hunter produces a giant bag of marshmallows. Susan digs out some blankets from the farmhouse and I sit inside Miles's coat with pine needles in my hair.

I'm holding a stick over the flames while Hunter tells the story of thirteen-year-old Miles crying after his first hockey tryout.

"I didn't cry," Miles says.

"There was moisture, Miles. Facial moisture."

Will's marshmallow catches fire for the third time because he's too busy squinting at me across the flames. "So, Audrey. What exactly are your intentions toward our brother?"

"Will," Miles growls.

"I intend," I say solemnly, "to keep his team respectable through Christmas."

"She's evasive," Will tells Hunter. They both nod. "I respect it. Oh, shit. My marshmallow's on fire again."

The laughter fades as Greg pokes at the coals with a long stick.

"What my son's mean to say, is thanks for helping out tonight," Greg says quietly. "I'm glad you got to see what this farm is all about. That family's the first walk-in we've had all week."

He nods like he sees the shock written in my eyes.

"Every season costs more," he continues. "Fuel, insurance, labor. And the wholesale orders keep shrinking because the big-box lots undercut us." He exhales smoke-colored breath into the cold. "Of course, one bad year you can survive. We've had three. That developer who keeps calling..." He shrugs. "Their offer used to be an insult. Now the dollar signs are starting to look pretty good."

Miles goes still beside me.

Every admission of how bad his family is struggling lands on his shoulders, and I watch him hate that I'm hearing it.

I don't offer them a miracle. I'm not arrogant enough for that after one night.

But I look around at this family, exhausted and laughing under the stars on one of the most beautiful Christmas properties I have ever seen, and I cannot believe this place is already lost.

They've been counting the trees leaving the farm while a resort up the mountain proves people will pay a fortune to feel like they're inside Christmas.

Private tree-selection evenings. Cider tastings. Festive-themed family photos by this exact bonfire with the gorgeous farm house in the background.

The ideas stack up in my head, and I file them away until I understand the numbers.

For now, I say the only thing that's fully true.

"Greg, I've worked events for companies that spend fortunes trying to manufacture what you have out here. Authenticity and heart. Believe me when I say this… You can't fake what you have here. Trust me, people try."

Greg looks at me across the fire. Then he looks at Miles and smiles.

"I like her."

Miles just smiles, and shuffles in closer to my side.

Eventually, everyone drifts toward the farmhouse, yawning and needing rest before they all do it again tomorrow.