Inside, the fire crackled gently.
It was the kind of Christmas she’d once imagined having when she was young, although the details were different from anything she’d planned.
There were fewer expensive decorations than the Christmases she’d grown up with. The furniture didn’t quite match. One corner of the rug had been folded over because Sophie had recently discovered the pleasure of pulling it up.
A small wooden train lay abandoned beneath the coffee table.
Nothing was particularly perfect.
Maria liked it that way.
At half past four, Daniel brought another log to the fireplace and sat beside his wife.
He slipped an arm around her shoulders.
“Tired?”
“A little.”
“Happy?”
Maria looked at the children.
Oliver had fallen asleep on the carpet, still holding a small green dinosaur. Sophie was curled against her mother, breathing softly.
She leaned her head against Daniel.
“Very.”
He kissed her hair.
They sat quietly for a while, watching the fire.
On the mantelpiece stood a collection of family photographs.
One showed Daniel and Maria on their wedding day, smiling beneath the white roses in the garden.
Another captured the twins shortly after their birth, bundled in matching cream blankets while Daniel looked rather overwhelmed by the sudden responsibility of holding two babies at once.
Beside them was an older photograph of Maria as a child, sitting on her mother’s lap beneath the pear tree in Richmond.
Eleanor was smiling at the camera.
Maria had placed the photograph there that morning.
Daniel noticed her looking at it.
“Thinking about your mum?”
“A little.”
“She would have loved this.”
Maria smiled.
“She would have brought far too many presents.”
“Like someone else I know.”
“Who?”
“Your father.”
Maria laughed.
“Dad’s getting better.”
“Last year he bought Oliver a bicycle.”
“It was a very small bicycle.”
“He was two.”
“He was nearly three.”
Daniel raised an eyebrow.
Maria grinned.
“All right. Perhaps he’s not getting better.”
They laughed quietly, careful not to wake the twins.
Then Maria reached for Daniel’s hand beneath the blanket.
“I wish she could have met them,” she said.
Daniel gently squeezed her fingers.
“I know.”
There was no need to say more.
Outside, the snow continued falling.
At five o’clock, someone knocked on the front door.
Three cheerful knocks, followed by a fourth, rather impatient one.
Oliver woke immediately.
“FATHER CHRISTMAS!”
He scrambled upright, nearly tripping over the wooden train.
Daniel stood.
“Father Christmas usually comes later.”
“Maybe he’s early!”
“Perhaps.”
Oliver raced toward the hallway.
Maria carefully lifted Sophie from her lap and followed at a slower pace.
Daniel opened the front door.
A gust of cold air swept into the house.
Standing on the doorstep was Richard Bennett, wearing a charcoal wool coat, a burgundy scarf, and an expression of enormous satisfaction.
Snow had settled across his shoulders.
In one hand, he held a leather suitcase.
In the other, an alarmingly large shopping bag decorated with Christmas trees.
“Happy Christmas!”
“GRANDDAD!”
Oliver launched himself forward.
Richard barely managed to put down the bag before catching his grandson.
“Good heavens! You’ve grown again!”
“I’m three!”
“So I’ve been told.”
“And Sophie is three too!”
“An extraordinary coincidence.”
Oliver giggled.
Maria appeared behind Daniel.
“Dad?”
Richard looked up.
For a moment, his expression softened.
“Hello, darling.”
She stared at him, smiling in disbelief.
“You’re supposed to be in London.”
“I was.”
“You said your flight was cancelled.”
“It was.”
Maria folded her arms.
Richard paused.
“Well, the original flight was cancelled.”
“Dad.”
“I may have neglected to mention the replacement.”
Daniel leaned against the doorframe, grinning.
Maria turned toward him.
“You knew?”
Daniel raised both hands.
