Page 73 of Dark Christmas

“You think we’re good?”

He nods once. “We’re clear.”

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding and text Claire, telling her I’m ready to see the baby. She immediately replies, telling me to get my butt up there now. I smile, the anxiety slowly draining from my body as we head inside the hospital.

When we step into the room, everything else fades away. Claire’s lying in bed, glowing like she’s never been more alive. David’s standing next to her, beaming down at the tiny bundle in her arms. The world outside, the chaos downstairs, ceases to exist.

“Meet William,” David says, his voice full of pride as he introduces their baby boy. I lean over, peeking at his little face, so peaceful and perfect.

Claire looks up at me, her face glowing with pure joy. In that moment, I can’t help but marvel at how beautiful life can be, how it just keeps going.

Chapter 37

Melor

Istep back from the front of the house and dust off my hands, taking in the final result.

The lights are strung up, the wreaths are set, and everything is in place. It’s Christmas Eve, and even though it took longer than I’d planned to get things right, the house finally looks ready for the holidays.

"Better late than never," Amelia says at my side, adding a teasing wink. I glance down at her, bundled up against the cold. She’s watching me closely, her breath visible in the sharp air.

“It’s cold,” she mutters, rubbing her hands together, her eyes sweeping across the street to her house.

The “For Sale” sign glares back at us. I’ve been thinking, and I can’t help but offer, “If you miss it, you could keep it as a private writing space.”

She looks back at me, shaking her head slightly. "No, I like the room upstairs just fine." She pauses, then adds with a sly smile, "And my roommate’s not so bad either."

There’s a light in her eyes that makes my chest tighten. I take a step closer. We’re about to kiss, the cold air between us practically sizzling, when her phone buzzes. She grins, her breath fogging the air as she pulls back slightly. “It’s Claire, about dinner tomorrow.”

I turn my attention back to the house, taking in the lights strung up along the roof, the wreath on the door. The place finally feels like Christmas, something I haven’t bothered with in years. But for her, it’s worth the effort.

“There might even be snow tonight,” I say.

She looks up at me, surprised. “A white Christmas? Here?”

“White for this part of the world,” I reply. “A light dusting maybe. But it’s better than nothing.”

She chuckles. “I’ll take it.”

I glance at her, catching the way she’s still focused on her phone. I tell myself not to read too much into it, but then a thought crosses my mind. “Next year, let’s go somewhere with a lot of snow for the holidays,” I suggest, picturing us somewhere remote, where the snow falls heavy and silent.

Her expression falters, just for a second, and a flicker of what looks like uncertainty takes over. It’s gone as quickly as it came, replaced by her familiar smile. “That could be nice,” she says, her voice warm but distant, like she’s thinking about something else entirely.

“Let’s go inside,” she suggests, slipping her phone back into her pocket, the lost moment between us still lingering.

The house feels like a different place. Warm. Alive. Amelia had free rein to decorate, and she went all out. Twinkling lights ofgarland wrap around the banister, and a towering tree stands in the corner, loaded with ornaments that make the space feel both festive and personal.

Duke is curled up in front of the crackling fire, lost in a Christmas slumber, perhaps dreaming of catnip balls and play mice. Gifts are piled under the tree, wrapped in Amelia’s bright, quirky style—nothing matches, but it all comes together somehow.

There’s a smell of something hearty and festive in the air, drawing me toward the kitchen. I lift the lid on the roasting pan, catching the rich aroma of honey-glazed ham with rosemary and cloves. Alongside it, mashed potatoes and roasted vegetables are warming in the oven. It's a perfect Christmas dinner—something else I hadn’t bothered with in years.

Amelia follows, her phone in hand. She taps the screen, and soon the kitchen fills with the sound of Christmas music.

“Frank Sinatra?” I ask with a smirk.

“My dad’s favorite. I like to play it every year and think of him on Christmas morning belting it out with the Santa hat on.”

I chuckle at the mental image.