Chapter Text

Tuesday, November 26th, 2002

There were moments—rare ones—when being Santa Claus actually felt like too much.

This was one of them.

Scott Calvin slumped back into the red-cushioned armchair in his office at the North Pole, the ancient carved wood creaking faintly under his weight. Or... decreasing weight, as Bernard the Arch Elf had so helpfully pointed out. His belt had loosened on its own. His beard had shrunk two inches. And his once-rosy cheeks were already fading to the dull winter pallor of a middle-aged man with a mortgage.

"Twenty-eight days," he repeated numbly, staring down at the red-and-white card Curtis had just shoved into his hands. The same contract card he had picked up eight years ago—the one that stated that whoever puts on the suit and enters the sleigh is obligated to become the new Santa. He had done that, and he’d been Santa for years now.

No one mentioned a second clause. Ever.

He looked at the card again and huffed. The second Santa clause wasn’t even readable unless you used a magnifying glass.

“Find a wife or stop being Santa,” he said aloud to the empty room. “Simple. Totally reasonable. Nothing like forcing eternal magical contracts with binding legal loopholes on unsuspecting toy execs...”

A knock sounded at the door. He didn’t answer.

Didn’t matter.

Curtis poked his head in anyway, nervous as ever, holding a clipboard with a fresh list of rapidly growing problems.

“Sir, I hate to interrupt—”

"You don't hate it. You live for it.” Scott gave him a tired smile, then waved him off. “Give me an hour.”

Curtis hesitated, then nodded and disappeared.

Scott let his head fall back against the chair. The fire crackled in the hearth, casting golden light on the red and green ribbons that lined every corner of the room. A mug of untouched cocoa was growing cold beside him.

He’d been Santa Claus for eight years. Eight years of flying reindeer, sugar-fueled meetings with elves, and late-night cookie-fueled negotiations with parents who didn’t believe anymore. It was exhausting and wonderful and... it mattered. It mattered.
And now, apparently, it all came with a marriage clause no one had ever bothered to mention.
He rubbed his hands down his face. How in the world was he supposed to get married in twenty-eight days? He hadn’t gone on a date in—what? A decade? Longer?

“I don’t even know how to talk to women anymore,” he muttered. “I’ve been having in-depth conversations with polar bears and reindeer.”

And let’s be honest—what woman would sign up for this gig? Life at the North Pole. Flying sleighs. Rogue toy soldiers. Magic cocoa machines. Not to mention the thousands of kids depending on him to pull off the most logistically insane night of the year.

What kind of woman falls in love with Santa Claus?

That was the thing. It couldn’t be just anyone. Not if the clause wanted “true love.” This wasn’t a contract marriage. This wasn’t a workaround. Whoever she was, she had to love him. The real him. Scott Calvin, underneath the beard and the belly. The simple guy without the magic.

Which led to the even bigger problem…

Who the hell was Scott Calvin anymore?

He wasn’t just a dad or a toy exec. He wasn’t even the same man who first put on the red suit eight years ago. Being Santa had changed him. Shaped him in ways he hadn’t fully noticed until now. He’d grown softer, yes—but also more patient. More grounded. He’d finally found purpose. Joy. He'd found magic again.

And now it was all slipping away.

Because of a clause no one read.

He chuckled humorlessly to himself. “You’d think someone would’ve mentioned this before the ninth Christmas…”

His thoughts drifted, unbidden, to Charlie. His son was on the Naughty List this year—a list Scott knew by heart and had double-checked in disbelief. Vandalism. For a girl, no less. Danielle, was it?
He hadn’t seen Charlie enough. He knew that. The Santa gig, as beautiful as it was, kept him away more than he wanted. Maybe that was the cost of this life, too. Missing real moments.

He couldn’t afford to miss any more.

Not with Charlie. Not with this chance at love. Whoever she might be.

Scott stood, letting the heavy handbook fall closed in his hands.

“Okay, fine,” he said aloud. “Twenty-eight days. I’ve faced toy uprisings, sleigh malfunctions, and enough cocoa-induced stomachaches to last a lifetime. I can handle this.”

A beat passed.

“…right after I figure out how to flirt again.”

Chapter Text

Wednesday, November 27th, 2002

Scott Calvin’s POV

Landing Comet in the Millers’ backyard in the middle of the day wasn’t exactly inconspicuous, so they touched down under a cloaking spell Curtis had whipped up.

The watch on Scott’s wrist pulsed with a faint golden glow—the clock hands still pointing steady at ten on the magic reserve.

Don’t use magic unless you have to.

Easy for Bernard to say. He wasn’t trying to save Christmas, keep his job, and figure out how to casually date again after almost a decade spent ho-ho-ho-ing his way through toy production meetings.

Scott tugged his coat tighter as he approached the front of Sycamore Secondary, already knowing why no one had answered back home. The cold hit different here—not like the crisp, enchanted winter of the North Pole. This was the sharp, suburban chill of early December in the real world. The school’s brick façade hadn’t changed, though. Still institutional. Still bleak. Still smelled vaguely of boiled carrots and teenage rebellion.

He didn’t need elf intel to find Laura and Neil. They were waiting just past the hallway leading to the principal’s office, both wrapped in the kind of practical coats only non-magical parents wore.

“Scott! Hey!” Laura called, her breath misting in the air.

Scott smiled, a little winded from the nerves—not the walk. You’ve flown through a blizzard in nothing but pajamas and boots. You can handle this.

“You trimmed your beard,” Laura said, surprised.

He rubbed at his now-normal-length beard. “Yeah.”

“Come here, big guy.” Neil gave him an honest hug. “Whoa. Lost some weight there, huh?” He patted Scott’s back affectionately. “Slim-Fast?”

Scott patted his ever-decreasing stomach. “You don’t know how fast.”

They both chuckled, and for a moment, things felt almost normal.

“We should get going. They’re waiting for us,” Laura said, eyes flicking toward the office at the end of the hall. Then, as if on second thought, she asked, “How do you always know when there’s a problem?”

“I see you when you’re sleeping. I know when you’re awake,” Scott replied dryly—a weak attempt at humor.

Neil blinked. “Which is a pretty frightening concept, when you think about it.”

“Tell me about it,” Scott muttered.

They started walking. The halls were just as he remembered: noisy lockers, lingering students, too much deodorant, not enough supervision. But beneath it all, Scott could feel the wrongness in the air—the unease of being back, not just as Charlie’s dad or Santa, but both... and neither.

“We’re really worried about Charlie,” Laura said as they neared the office. “He keeps upping the ante. This time he defaced school property.”

“It’s classic acting out,” Neil added. “I’m blaming myself for this.”

Scott looked at them both. “We’re both his parents.”

They nodded. United, but tired. That part hadn’t changed either.

“Where is he?”

“He’s waiting for us in Principal Newman’s office.”

Principal Newman.

The name registered before he even fully processed it.

Something about it was familiar… irritating, almost.

“Principal Newman. There’s something about that woman that makes me want to deface school property,” he said just as she stepped out of her office.

And suddenly, it wasn’t just the cold making his heart jolt.

Blonde hair. Tight updo. Intelligent eyes. That sharp, assessing look that said she had seen every trick in the book and wasn’t remotely impressed by any of them.

“Hello, Mr. Calvin. Laura. Neil,” she said with cool professionalism.

He blinked.

“Principal Newman,” he said, saluting her. She gave him a pointed look.

He hadn’t seen her since the last time Charlie got into trouble. She’d been sharp then, too, but now... now there was something about her presence that pulled him up short. Not just her authority. Something underneath it.

She’s... beautiful.

He mentally scolded himself. Not the time. Not the place.

“I’ve been traveling for work,” he offered.

She raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Maybe if you spent more time with your son, there’d be fewer problems.”

Scott smiled thinly. “Then I wouldn’t spend so much time with you, which is always such a pleasure.”

Her lips twitched, but her eyes narrowed.

“A battle of wits. It’s a shame you come unarmed,” she returned smoothly. “Excuse me.”

Scott winced. “Ouch.”

Still got it, Newman.

He followed her with his eyes as she walked down the hall, rubbing the back of his neck—feeling like a kid summoned to the principal’s office himself. Which, given his shrinking beard and less-than-jolly figure, wasn’t far from the truth.

There was something about her—Principal Newman. Carol—that made his carefully polished confidence wobble. She didn’t care who he was or what job he claimed to have. She saw right through him... and didn’t look away.

He liked that.

Which was terrible. You’re on a deadline. This is about Charlie, not... whatever this is.

Still, the flicker of something unnamable stayed with him, even as she turned her attention to the poor student who dared cross her.

“Good morning, Principal Newman.”

“Mr. Picardo, I want you to look into my eyes. What do you see?”

Scott paused in his musings, watching the interaction with a mix of amusement and awe.

“It’s dark. And it’s cold,” the student replied.

“It’s your future, Mr. Picardo. Keep this up, and you’ll spend your life stabbing trash.”

Scott leaned toward Laura. “Is that... effective?”

Laura didn’t answer, but even Neil looked mildly impressed.

“Do I make myself clear?” Carol said.

“Yes,” the kid mumbled.

“So what are you gonna do?”

“I’m going to geometry,” the boy muttered.

“Have a nice trip,” Carol said as he scurried off, skateboard in hand. She turned to them with perfect composure.

“Now. Let’s talk about Charlie.”

Scott met her eyes again.

And for a second—for a heartbeat—he wondered:

What’s the deal with her?

***

The computer screen glared back at him like a glowing billboard of failure.

Charlie’s graffiti—a sprawling mess of colors and rebellion painted across the gymnasium wall—looked worse in digital resolution. Scott stared at it, his stomach twisting in a way that had nothing to do with cocoa withdrawal.

Carol sat behind her desk like a queen on her throne, posture perfect, eyes sharp. Her voice, though calm, cut like ice.

“It’s an affront to authority and blatant disrespect for property. If this continues, I’ll have no other recourse than to suspend.”

Scott shifted in his seat by the window, the radiator barely offering any warmth. The room felt tight, like it was closing in on him. He wasn’t used to feeling small. He’d gone toe-to-toe with Jack Frost, corralled armies of elves, negotiated with polar bears. And now?

Now he felt like he was getting dressed down by a principal in front of his ex-wife and son.

“Excuse me,” he said, raising a hand. “Is there a rest stop between here and the end of the lecture? I’m more interested in why this happened in the first place.”

Carol didn’t flinch. Impressive.

“So am I,” she said, folding her hands and turning her gaze to Charlie. “Charlie, we’re all worried about you. It feels like you’re trying to get someone’s attention. What’s bothering you?”

His son stayed silent. Head down. Eyes averted.

Scott’s heart sank. C’mon, Charlie. Talk to us.

Carol didn’t press. She turned instead.

“Dr. Miller?”

“Neil.”

“Neil. Any theories?”

Why did she say it like that? Scott thought, biting back a grin. There was a flicker of something—dry amusement? Restraint?

Neil cleared his throat, eyes shining with way too much confidence.

“Well, frankly, I have several.”

Scott groaned inwardly. Here we go.

“Let’s just order a pizza.”

Laura shot him a sharp look. “Scott, you’re not helping.”

“No,” he admitted silently, but someone had to cut off the psychoanalysis before Neil started quoting Carl Jung.

Neil plowed ahead.

“I was listening to a tape series on child development last night. You know what the problem is—”

Scott cut in before Neil could monologue the room into submission.

“Excuse me, Neil. It’s four weeks until Christmas.”

He turned deliberately to Carol. She met his eyes—cool, professional, and unreadable.

“That’s a holiday in December.”

“Oh,” she said mildly.

Not much of a reaction.

He forged ahead anyway, gesturing vaguely around the office.

“Have you noticed the hallways? Not a decoration, not a twinkle light, not an expression of the joy kids are supposed to be feeling. What kind of school is this?”

Carol straightened. A spark lit behind her eyes—one that told him she’d been waiting for a fight.

“A public school. A top-rated public school. That takes effort. And money. Spending any of that money on holiday decorations would take away from the things that truly matter.”

Scott blinked. That was… not the answer he expected.

She wasn’t just stubborn. She was passionate.

“Forgive me,” he said, almost sincerely, “but I think holiday cheer really matters.”

He saw it then—a smirk on Charlie’s lips. Not a full smile, but something close. He filed it away, just for himself. Still in there, buddy.

Laura sighed. “What are we going to do? We are worried...”

Scott leaned forward.

“Let me handle this.”

All eyes turned to him, and for once, he wasn’t playing Santa. He was just a dad. A father who’d screwed up more than he wanted to admit—and needed to make this right.

He turned to his son.

“You know what you did is wrong. Right?”

Charlie shrugged. “I guess so.”

“There’s no guessing,” Scott said gently. “Guessing is gone. It was wrong what you did. And you’re not gonna do it again. Promise me.”

A pause.

Then: “Okay.”

“There you go,” Scott said, rising to his feet, brushing his hands off like he’d just solved world peace. “He won’t do it again. Meeting adjourned.”

Boom. Nailed it.

Now if only he could find someone to marry before his magic reserve hit zero.

He made for the door, already picturing his next step—figuring out where to even start looking for a wife—when Carol’s voice stopped him cold.

“It most certainly is not!”

Scott froze mid-step. Of course it’s not.

She turned back to Charlie, her voice softening. “Charlie…”

But he was already out the door.

Scott reached the threshold. He didn’t even turn around as he fished into his coat pocket and pulled out a crisp bill, dropping it onto the edge of the visitor table by the door.

“You know what else? Here’s a little donation. Why don’t you buy yourself a wreath?”

He didn’t wait for her reaction.

Okay, maybe he did.

But he wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction.

***

Carol Newman’s POV

Carol let out a slow breath as the door clicked shut behind Scott Calvin.

That man had a talent for leaving chaos in his wake—righteous, self-assured, maddening chaos. She looked down at the twenty-dollar bill he’d dropped on her table like a mic after a comedy show.

A wreath. Of all things.

She folded the bill and slid it into her drawer. She’d decide later whether to use it for a poinsettia in the lobby—or donate it to the school’s art department to clean up Charlie’s mess.

Turning her attention back to the Millers, she softened her tone.

“Neil, Laura, I appreciate you sitting through all of this. I understand that you’re upset. But if something’s bothering Charlie, I hope next time he’ll find a better way to say so.”

Laura gave her a tight smile. “Thank you, Principal Newman.”

“I’ll keep checking in with Charlie through the next weeks,” Carol said, already walking them toward the door. “If anything changes at home—or you need resources—let me know.”

“Of course,” Neil added.

He was already half-lost in thought, probably replaying his cassette tapes in his head. Carol managed not to sigh.

They stepped into the hallway—and there he was. Scott Calvin.

Of course he hadn’t left.

Scott stood against the lockers outside her door, arms folded over his sweater, hands in his pants pockets. He looked... uncomfortable. Not guilty, not even remorseful—just unsettled.

She didn’t know why that detail stuck with her.

Laura glanced between them, then—bless her—picked up on the tension in half a second.

“Charlie, let’s head to the car,” she said, touching her son’s shoulder. “Neil, could you...?”

“Oh. Yes. Sure.” Neil gestured vaguely at the hallway, then at nothing at all.

Carol didn’t miss the way Laura gave her the faintest raise of her eyebrows as she passed, then steered the two men out with practiced efficiency.

Now it was just her and Scott.

She crossed her arms and leaned against the doorframe, watching him.

“You have a habit of making an exit before the actual end of the meeting,” she said evenly.

Scott raised a brow. “I thought I ended it quite efficiently, actually.”

“A donation and a door swing,” she said. “Very diplomatic.”

He gave a small shrug, but didn’t quite smile. That was... unusual.

“Look, I get that you’re the professional here,” he said, his tone quieter now. “But when it comes to Charlie, I don’t need a lecture. I need solutions.”

Carol tilted her head. “And graffiti was your solution?”

“No,” he said quickly. “That was my son acting out. I’m talking about the part where I try to fix it.”

She studied him. Really studied him.

He looked tired. Not just run-down, but hollow-eyed. He wasn’t as jolly as she remembered—not that she ever thought of him as jolly, but... he had been vibrant. Larger than life. There was something off about him now. Something slipping just beneath the surface.

He glanced toward the door. “You know, for a public school, you run a tight ship.”

“I take pride in that.”

“I noticed.”

A beat passed.

“Not a single decoration,” he added, softer now.

Carol felt her jaw tighten.

“We don’t have the budget.”

“I don’t buy that,” he said. “You could put up a string of lights. A paper snowflake. One handprint turkey in the window would’ve been a start.”

She exhaled. “This school serves a diverse student body. We celebrate inclusivity. And before you get on your high horse again—no, that doesn’t mean we’re anti-holiday. It means we teach kids how to be respectful of all traditions, not just one.”

Scott opened his mouth like he wanted to argue—but stopped.

That surprised her.

He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets. “You always been like this?”

“Like what?”

“So sure of everything. So... unflappable.”

Carol hesitated, then gave a wry smile. “Yes. And it drives people like you insane.”

To her surprise, that earned a quiet laugh from him.

“Touché.”

For a second, there was nothing but the soft buzz of the fluorescent hallway lights.

Then he looked at her—not with irritation, not even with smugness—but with something else.

“I didn’t mean to throw money at you,” he said finally, glancing at the office door. “That was... impulsive.”

“Understatement,” she replied.

Another beat. He looked down at his watch—then quickly covered it with his sleeve.

She noticed the motion, but said nothing.

Carol straightened. “Well. I’m sure you have somewhere to be.”

Scott nodded slowly. “More than you know.”

She didn’t answer that.

But as she watched him walk away, she realized something strange:

She wasn’t annoyed anymore.

She was curious.

Chapter Text

Wednesday, November 27th, 2002

Scott Calvin’s POV

The McDonald’s bags crinkled in Charlie’s lap as they pulled into the driveway, the smell of fries clinging to everything like warm, salty comfort. It was strange—how a simple fast-food run felt almost magical after spending nearly a decade surrounded by candy canes, gingerbread, and endless elf cuisine.

But that was the real world for you. Greasy food. Lukewarm Sprite. And a growing panic tightening his chest.

The family stepped inside Laura and Neil’s cozy home, the familiar warmth of domestic life wrapping around Scott like an old sweater he wasn’t sure still fit.

“Let me get this straight,” Laura said, tossing her keys on the counter as she pulled off her coat. “You were de-Santified? And you only have twenty-seven days to find a wife or you're out?”

Scott sighed, following them into the kitchen. “Yeah.”

The word still tasted like denial. De-Santified. As if someone was trying to erase his job title with a big cosmic eraser.

“What are you gonna do?” Laura asked, pulling drinks from the fridge. “We dated for three years before you got up the courage to propose.”

“That’s a pretty serious commitment issue, isn’t it, Scott?” Neil added.

Scott rolled his eyes. “Yes, Sigmund. I was afraid I’d mess up the first time.” He paused, then admitted quietly, “I’m more afraid now.”

And he was. Not just afraid of losing his job—but of failing again. Of letting Charlie down. Of having no one by his side when everything started falling apart.

“Dad, you can't give up,” Charlie said from his stool, voice firm. “There’s never been a better Santa.”

Scott felt something tighten in his chest. That kid… Even after all the spray paint and detentions, Charlie still believed in him.

“I appreciate that,” he said, managing a smile. “It’s for the best. If I had spent more time with you, you’d spend less time in the spray paint industry.”

But Laura shook her head immediately.

“Don’t do that to yourself. You have been a great dad. And being Santa has made you an even better man.”

Her words struck something deep—something tender and fragile. Laura had every reason to hold a grudge, and yet she never had. She saw the whole picture. Always had.

Neil, of course, couldn’t resist stepping in.

“I’m gonna go out on an emotional limb.”

“Don’t try to make me cry,” Scott warned.

“Believe it or not, you have a great capacity for love.”

Scott blinked. That wasn’t sarcasm. That was… oddly sincere.

“I know you can find someone wonderful to spend the rest of your life with. Don’t let the facts that you have no time, no prospects, and a paralyzing fear of intimacy get you down.”

Scott stared. “Have you ever helped anyone? Ever?”

Neil just grinned and shrugged.

“You know what I’m gonna do?” Laura said, already opening a drawer near the phone. “I’m gonna look through my phone book and see who’s still single out there and not too bitter.”

“There’s divorced moms at school who’ll go out with anybody,” Charlie added, entirely too helpful.

Scott lifted a hand. “Okay, okay! As promising as all this sounds, I don’t need help in this area. Your old man was a high-school legend. A double letterman. I had a Mustang.”

He stood up, channeling every bit of misplaced swagger he could muster.

“So as far as dating goes, I think if anybody can stir up the old mojo—it would be moi. Come on! I don’t think there’s a woman out there who doesn’t want a piece of this.”

He gestured to himself grandly, striking a pose.

Which was exactly when he felt it.

The beard—it tingled.

Scott’s hand shot to his chin, and to his horror, the familiar thickness was vanishing under his fingers. He was de-Santifying again. In front of everyone.

Laura and Neil stared at him, visibly unsettled. Charlie’s jaw dropped.

Scott pretended like he didn’t notice. Too late. He couldn’t bring the beard back without dipping into magic—thankfully, the watch on his wrist was still pointing to ten.

Then came the slam of the front door.

“Hi, Mom!”

Scott’s head jerked up.

“Lucy!”

She ran into the kitchen, face beaming, arms outstretched.

“Uncle Scott!”

He scooped her up into a hug and perched her on the counter. Her innocence hit him like a snowball to the chest—pure, joyful, untainted by timelines or clauses.

“How’s my little sweet pea?” he asked, tickling her gently. “Ohh! I haven’t seen you in a long time. Tell me what’s been happenin’.”

“I learned to swim underwater. And I’m not afraid!”

Scott gave her a warm, proud grin. “That’s amazing! Maybe we’ll have to go to the mall and... get some ice cream.”

“Plenty of women at the mall,” Charlie offered behind him, deadpan.

Scott turned. “Charlie...!”

***

Later That Same Day

The sweater was green. Blindingly green. With some unruly pattern.

He stood in front of Laura and Neil’s full-length hallway mirror, staring at himself in disbelief. The sleeves were tight in the wrong places, the hem rode up just enough to make him paranoid, and the texture scratched his skin like fiberglass insulation.

If he were still Santa, this thing would've combusted on contact.

“Neil,” he walked into the living room, tugging at the sweater edges, “are you sure you don’t have any other clothes I can borrow? I mean, the idea tonight is to attract a woman.”

Neil, sitting on the couch beside Laura, looked up from the book he was reading. Book smart, sure—but zero fashion awareness.

“What are you talking about?”

Scott turned around, arms out.

“I look like a limesicle.”

Neil blinked. “I think it makes you look hot.”

Scott gave him a flat stare. “Is that a medical opinion?”

Before Neil could answer, Scott turned to his ex-wife. “Laura, please. Honestly—what do you think?”

“Doesn’t he look hot, Laura?” Neil added, all too cheerfully.

She hesitated.

“I think it’s what’s inside that really counts.”

“Thought you liked the sweater,” Neil mumbled.

“We’ll talk later,” she said, eyes still on Scott.

He sighed. Great. I'm a lime-flavored dating disaster with a rapidly diminishing magic meter and exactly zero days to waste.

Still, he was trying.

He had to try.

He wasn’t just dating to fill time—he was dating to save Christmas. To save the North Pole. The elves. The sleigh. The whole world of legendary figures who depended on humans believing.

No pressure.

“I’m off,” he announced, grabbing his coat. “I may need to borrow a car.”

Laura nodded toward the driveway. “I’m parked behind Neil. The minivan—I just had it washed.”

He stared at her. “The minivan.”

Of course.

The outfit. The borrowed vehicle. The blind date with a stranger who didn’t know she was interviewing to be the next Mrs. Claus.

He gave a little nod of grim resignation.

“Okay then. Well... wish me luck.”

He looked at them both—Neil too proud of himself, Laura too supportive to laugh out loud.

“I got a needlepoint sweater... and a minivan...”

He opened the door and stepped into the cold night.

“See ya in about eight minutes.”

The door clicked shut behind him.

Outside, alone, Scott crossed the driveway under a pale halo of porchlight, keys jingling in his hand. The air bit at his neck—he felt it more now. Less insulation. Less magic.

He reached the van, rested his hands on the steering wheel for a second before unlocking the door.

This wasn’t just nerves. This was humiliation. He hadn’t been on a first date since forever. He didn’t know what people said anymore. Was “you up for some cocoa?” still considered charming?

He slid behind the wheel.

You are Scott Calvin. You made a sleigh run with a cracked reindeer harness and a thermos full of lukewarm eggnog. You can do this.

But even as he pulled away from the curb, he felt the tug of doubt pressing at him like the sweater around his throat.

Twenty-seven days. One date at a time.

***

The Date

He had barely sat down when she appeared. Bright red coat. Short blond curls that bounced like candy canes on a sugar high. A smile that could blind an aircraft.

“Scott? Hey!”

He jolted up from his chair, hand outstretched like he was meeting the Queen of England instead of someone from Laura’s emergency Rolodex.

“Tracy! Yes! That’s me.”

She clasped his hand in a firm shake. Her nails were glittered.

“It’s so nice to meet you,” she said brightly.

“Nice to meet you too. Please—” he pulled out her chair and gestured to the table, willing his face not to sweat. “—why don’t you sit down?”

Deep breaths, Calvin. It’s just dinner. Just talking. Just—

“So, I’m so glad we finally got to do this,” Tracy chirped, folding her coat and placing it neatly over the back of her chair.

“Yeah,” Scott chuckled nervously. “I’m... pretty nervous.”

He hadn’t been this nervous since his first sleigh ride.

“Oh, are you?” she asked sweetly. “Laura says we have a lot in common. I hear you love this time of year too?”

“Love it. Favorite time of year. Also... busiest.” He gestured vaguely. “You know. End-of-year toy sales and... stuff.”

But before he could launch into some half-baked explanation of Q4 logistics, his eyes landed on her turtleneck sweater.

Santa’s face. Smiling. Red hat. Touchable.

Scott stared. Then forced a polite smile.

“Whoa. Look at the sweater!”

“Yeah!” she beamed, clearly proud. “I also have my Christmas charm bracelet.”

She held up her wrist and jingled it like a bell choir. Tiny charms danced—a candy cane, a teddy bear, some gifts, a slightly terrifying snowman.

“I wear it all year long just to keep the spirit alive.”

“That’s... gorgeous,” he said, unsure how else to respond. “Very festive. That teddy bear has... teeth?”

“It’s vintage,” she whispered conspiratorially.

He nodded. Of course it was.

“So what work do you do?” she asked, sipping her water.

“I’m in the toy business.”

“No way!”

“Way,” he grinned.

For a moment, her enthusiasm was almost infectious. Until she leaned forward and said, very seriously:

“That sounds so creative.”

“Yeah, I love it.”

“I love creative people.”

Oh boy.

“So what do you do?” he asked, trying to redirect.

“I’m hoping someday to break into the music business. As a singer-songwriter.”

“No way!”

“Way!”

He tried not to flinch.

“What kind of music?”

“Country-western. Do you like Shania Twain?”

“Yeah! Totally. All... the hits.”

“You know that one song?” she suddenly asked—and without waiting for a reply, she launched into it. Full voice. Mid-restaurant.

Heads turned. Silverware paused mid-air. Somewhere, a fork hit a plate with a dramatic clink.

Scott smiled. Rigid. Nodded along like he was watching a toddler's dance recital.

“You’re good!” he managed when she stopped. “Hey! That’s... that’s good.”

“You hated it, didn’t you?” she frowned, sitting back like he’d just insulted her mother.

“No! I mean—I was just... a little surprised. You know. I wasn’t exactly prepared for a full performance.”

He forced another smile. “It was... brave.”

“I put myself out there, Scott,” she said, arms folding across her sweater. “That was not an easy thing to do.”

Oh, here we go...

“If you can’t support a woman’s ambition,” she continued, voice rising just enough for the table next to them to slow their chewing, “then I don’t think there’s any reason to continue this date.”

Scott blinked.

The teddy bear on her bracelet stared him down.

Somewhere, far off in his mind, an image of Principal Newman flashed behind his eyes. Calm, no-nonsense, sharply intelligent. Definitely not someone who’d belt out a country tune in a Chili’s.

He stood up, slowly.

“You know what, Tracy? I think you’re right.”

She scoffed, tossing her napkin onto the table with theatrical flair.

“Good luck finding someone who appreciates your ‘busy holiday schedule.’”

He didn’t bother replying. He just nodded, dropped a few bills for the untouched breadsticks, and made his escape.

Outside, the night air felt good. Real. Cold and clean and quiet.

He inhaled deeply, watching his breath cloud the air, then glanced down at the borrowed sweater.

“Still think I look hot, Neil?” he muttered to himself.

One date down.

And no closer to finding a wife.

***

Returning Home

The minivan hummed to a stop in the driveway, its headlights cutting across the snow-dusted lawn. Scott sat behind the wheel for a moment, gripping the steering wheel like it owed him money.

The date had been a disaster. Worse than a disaster. It was a sweatered, charm-braceleted assault on his nervous system.

He got out slowly, like the weight of the evening had added a few decades to his knees.

Inside the house, it was quiet. Laura and Neil were nowhere in sight—probably curled up watching some psychological docuseries and drinking herbal tea that tasted like grass.

When he reached the upstairs, he started towards his room, but something stopped him. A sliver of light was leaking out from beneath Charlie’s bedroom door.

He hesitated.

He’d given him space. He hadn’t pushed. Let the principal scold, the stepdad theorize, and Laura worry.

But now?

He just needed something to go right. Someone who knew him—even if that someone was sixteen and currently grounded.

He knocked.

“Dad?”

“Hey, sport,” he said softly, easing the door open.

Charlie was sitting up in bed, back against the headboard, comic book cast aside. He looked tired, but not mad anymore. Not quite.

“How’d it go?”

Scott gave a half-laugh and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Well... let’s just say I’m not bookin’ a church yet.”

Charlie smirked.

“Boy, I’ll tell ya,” Scott continued, lowering himself to the edge of the bed with a grunt. “Women are hard to figure out.”

“Tell me about it,” Charlie muttered, flopping sideways into his pillow.

Scott blinked. Then turned to him.

“You too, huh? Girl trouble?”

Charlie hesitated. Shrugged.

“Well... there’s this one girl. We used to just hang out, you know? At the mall. Goof off, talk about dumb stuff. And then... one day I looked at her and I got this weird feeling. Right here.”
He pointed to his stomach.

Scott leaned forward.

“Like a rollercoaster drop?”

“Exactly,” Charlie said. “I started worrying about what I was wearing. If my hair was messed up. I kept thinking about stuff to say so I wouldn’t sound dumb. And then... I wanted to kiss her. I don’t even know how it happened.”

He shook his head, genuinely bewildered.

“How do they do that?”

Scott smiled faintly. A real smile. Tired, but genuine.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But they all can do that.”

And they could. Whether they were sixteen, or… a principal in a gray pantsuit with a sharp voice and soft eyes who couldn’t hide her disappointment in him earlier that day.

Not wanting to think about her, his eyes drifted across the room—and there it was, sitting on Charlie’s dresser like a beacon.

The snow globe.

He picked it up gently, the glass cool in his palm.

“Oh, look at that. The snow globe. This is so beautiful.” His voice dropped. “I remember when Bernard gave this to you.”

Charlie sat up a little straighter.

“He said all I have to do to see you is shake it.”

Scott met his son’s eyes.

“Uh-huh. Well now... all you have to do is yell down the hall. And I’m there. Whenever you need me.”

Charlie nodded, quieter now.

“Yeah. I’m a little tired, Dad. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Scott stood, pressing a hand to the top of Charlie’s head before heading for the door.

“Okay. Good night, buddy.”

“Night.”

“Can you turn the light off, please?”

“Yeah... ‘cause it’s such a big reach for you,” Scott said dryly, flicked the switch, and pulled the door halfway closed behind him.

In the hallway, he paused. His fingers tightened around the snow globe he’d taken with him.

He gave it a gentle shake.

The tiny flakes inside danced and swirled, catching the light like real snow. It was quiet. Still. Comforting in a way the rest of the world no longer was.

He sighed.

There was magic left. Somewhere.

Maybe he just had to stop trying so hard to find it.

Chapter Text

Thursday, November 28th, 2002

The scent of sage and turkey hung thick in the air, curling from the oven and drifting into the living room where Scott sat cradling a mug of cider. Lucy had decorated the fireplace with handprint turkeys and construction paper leaves, and the house—Neil’s house—felt, unnervingly, like a home.

He stared into the cider. Warm. Spiced. Probably not what the elves would serve, but close.

Charlie was cross-legged in front of the TV with Lucy, both watching the parade. Laura was in the kitchen, checking on stuffing. Neil hovered nearby with the intense energy of a man who didn’t cook but supervised as if he were a world-class surgeon.

It was a strange thing—this little gathering.

He remembered a time not that long ago when just being in the same room with Neil was enough to raise his blood pressure. When Laura wouldn’t even let him pick Charlie up without sighing like she was preparing for a disaster.

Somehow, becoming Santa had made things better.

Well, not at first. First, they’d thought he was losing it. Then, when the beard wouldn’t go away and the cookies started showing up in his pockets and he spoke fluent reindeer, they’d thought he’d completely cracked.

It wasn’t until the sleigh—until Bernard—that things really turned. He could still remember Laura’s and Neil’s faces that night, pale and stunned as they watched him disappear into the clouds.

And then he came back.

And kept coming back.

More cookies, less sarcasm. More laughter, less anger.

And maybe it hadn’t been perfect, but they had found… something like peace.

"Scott?"

He blinked up. Laura stood in the doorway, holding a pie tin.

"You’re a million miles away. Everything okay?"

He smiled faintly. "Yeah. Just thinking. This is… nice."

Laura gave him a look. "You sound surprised."

"A little," he admitted. "You, me, Neil. It’s like a sitcom waiting to happen."

She smirked. "The holiday special."

Lucy giggled from the other room. "Turkey Day with the weird adults!"

Charlie called back, "Uncle Scott’s not weird. He’s just—"

There was a pause. Scott raised a brow toward the TV room.

"—jolly," Charlie finished.

Scott laughed, warmth rising in his chest.

Neil reappeared to claim the cider pot, muttering about cinnamon ratios.

Laura lowered her voice. "You know, I never thought this would work. The co-parenting. The shared holidays."

"Me neither."

"But I’m glad it has."

Scott nodded, watching Charlie grin beside Lucy, the little girl tugging at his sleeve.

"Me too," he murmured.

And for that single day—before the weight of the clause, the deadline, the blind dates, and the pressure came roaring back—Scott let himself be still.

Grateful.
Here.
Home.

Chapter Text

Friday, November 29th, 2002

Scott hopped down from the ladder, landing awkwardly on the frozen lawn as a gust of wind tugged at his oversized grey coat. He wiped his gloved hands against his jeans, though it didn’t do much to remove the streaks of sap and glitter. Beside the shed, Comet let out a snort, shaking his antlers and gnawing on the candy cane Lucy had given him.

Scott narrowed his eyes at the reindeer.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” he muttered. “That stomach’s gonna blow like a Macy’s float if you don’t pace yourself.”

He tugged the sweater underneath the open coat straight, which only made it ride up more awkwardly. It was too big now—or maybe he was just too small. He didn’t like thinking about it too long.

A tug at his sleeve drew his attention down to Lucy, her mittened hands wrapped around the hem of his coat.

“So…” she asked sweetly. “Mall and ice cream?”

Scott looked toward the house, then up at the cloudy sky, where a single flake drifted lazily down. He sighed, his face softening.

“I did promise you,” he said. “Let me grab my wallet, and we’re off. But just a small sundae. If Comet’s on a sugar binge, someone’s gotta be the adult.”

***

The mall parking lot was chaos.

Scott maneuvered Laura’s minivan into the tightest space he could find, scraping the curb with a wince and muttering something about modern cars and terrible visibility. The coin-operated parking meter blinked red. He rummaged through his pockets and came up with lint, a half-melted peppermint, and a wrinkled dollar bill. No change.

“Is nothing free anymore?” he grumbled.

A horn blared behind him. He flinched, glancing back to find a frazzled mom in an SUV glaring daggers at him. He offered a sheepish wave, then scrambled out of the minivan, tugging his too-loose sweater down over his waistband.

“Alright, kiddo,” he said to Lucy, taking her hand. “Let’s find the least sticky ice cream place in this three-ring circus.”

***

Later, at the Mall

The food court buzzed with the low hum of conversation, strollers clattering over tile, and the constant chirp of mall music that seemed forever stuck on December's greatest hits. Scott lingered near the edge of the indoor fountain, tossing a crumpled napkin into the nearby trash bin with something resembling victory.

Lucy twirled in place nearby, pretending her now-empty ice cream cone was a microphone.

“Thank you, thank you!” she sang to the mall as if it were packed with adoring fans.

Scott chuckled. “Remind me to have a long talk with Tracy about spontaneous musical numbers.”

Lucy pointed toward a red-and-white coffee cart parked just outside the bookstore. “Can I get a hot chocolate for the road?”

“You just had an ice cream sundae the size of your head.”

Lucy pouted. “I’m cold now!”

Scott sighed, ruffling her hat-covered head. “Fine. One small hot chocolate. I’ll get a coffee while I’m at it.”

They joined the short line at the cart, the smell of roasted beans and cinnamon sugar wrapping around them like a warm scarf. As Scott stepped up to the counter, he glanced over his shoulder and stiffened—just slightly.

There, approaching from the side with a paper shopping bag and that unmistakable stride, was Carol Newman.

Her coat was slate gray, stylish but sensible, a scarf knotted perfectly around her neck. Her hair was swept up in a half-clip, and she looked equal parts tired and efficient. She didn’t see him at first—her eyes scanned the menu behind the cart with practiced indifference.

Scott turned back toward the barista, suddenly hyper-aware of the knitted sweater he was wearing. “One small hot chocolate for the little lady and I get one large cinnamon nutmeg gingerbread latte, extra foam, light whip.”

“Black coffee. Medium. Plain. Nothing fancy,” came the familiar voice behind him.

Scott turned around slowly. “Principal Newman.”

She blinked. Then, her lips twitched. “Mr. Calvin.”

“Wow. Two run-ins in as many days,” he said, stepping aside to let her pay. “Starting to think this town only has one mall.”

“Or maybe you’re just really good at appearing out of nowhere.”

“I get that a lot.”

Carol took her coffee with a small nod to the barista, then glanced down at Lucy, who was now very busy turning in slow circles and pretending she was on a spy mission.

“She looks happy.”

“Sugar’s a powerful thing,” Scott said, handing the hot chocolate to Lucy. “We just did ice cream. She argued it was for balance.”

Carol smiled into her coffee. “She’ll make a good lawyer.”

They drifted to the side together, each cradling their cup. For a moment, there was just the bustle of the crowd and the sweet-smelling steam between them.

“Did you, um…” Scott glanced at her sideways. “Did you come here to Christmas shop or just yell at escalators for going too slow?”

She laughed softly. “A little of both. I had to pick up something for the staff gift exchange. There’s an unspoken rule about spending exactly ten dollars and making it look like twenty.”

“Oh, the ancient code of faculty giving. I remember it well.”

Carol took a slow sip of her no-nonsense coffee. “And you? Gingerbread latte? Seems a little…”

“Festive?” Scott offered.

“I was going to say much, but yes.”

He looked down at the cup, considering it. “It’s comforting. Reminds me of work. And right now, I could use a little extra comfort.”

She glanced at him more closely then, really looked. Something softened in her face—curiosity tinged with concern.

“You look… different,” she said slowly.

He winced. “Do I?”

“You’re thinner. And your beard’s gone.”

“I shaved. It was time.”

Carol tilted her head, narrowing her eyes as if trying to line him up with the version of him from just a few days ago.

“You just seem... like you’re changing.”

Scott tried to meet her gaze, but it stirred something in him he wasn’t ready to face.

“Yeah,” he said. “Feels like everything’s changing. But I’m not sure yet if it’s a good thing.”

There was a quiet moment between them. Not awkward—but not quite comfortable either.

She broke it with a shift in tone, casual but curious. “So, how’s Charlie taking to all these changes these days—when he’s not scaling rooftops or painting school walls?”

Scott chuckled, grateful for the pivot. “Honestly? He’s hanging in there. We had a good talk the night after our office run-in. I think… I think we’re finding our way back.”

Carol nodded slowly, holding his gaze just a beat too long.

“That’s good. He needs you. Even if he doesn’t always admit it.”

Scott’s voice dropped to something quieter. “I need him too.”

Another beat of silence. Then Carol checked her watch.

“I’ve got to head back home. School event prep waits for no one.”

“Right. You’ve got your hands full with the end of the year events lining up.”

“I do. And if someone shows up in a gingerbread suit, I’ll know who to blame.”

Scott smiled. “I’ll aim for subtle this year. Maybe just reindeer antlers.”

Carol took a backward step, her smile still lingering. “Take care.”

“You too.”

As she walked away, he took a long sip of his latte, letting the sweet spices roll over his tongue. Something in his chest felt warm—and it wasn’t the coffee.

***

Home Again

The sky was fading to a deep indigo by the time Scott eased the minivan back into the Millers' driveway. The headlights flickered off, leaving the front of the house bathed in Christmas light glow and the faint shimmer of snow beginning to settle on the roof.

“Come on, kid,” Scott said, unbuckling his seatbelt and glancing toward Lucy, now snoring lightly in the backseat under her puffy pink coat. “Operation Sugar Crash: complete.”

He gently hoisted her into his arms, her head lolling onto his shoulder. Laura stepped out to the front door with perfect timing, holding it open without a word.

“I think she made it to the sprinkles, syrup, and hot chocolate trifecta,” Scott whispered as he passed Laura on his way inside.

“I’ll brace myself for the bedtime sugar spiral,” she murmured.

“Or the 2 a.m. karaoke session.”

They shared a tired smile.

Moments later, Lucy was tucked in upstairs—the house quiet save for the faint creaks of settling wood and a distant radio in the kitchen playing soft jazz. Scott was about to descend the stairs with a sigh as he looked toward the closed door at the end of the hallway—Charlie’s room. The light was on under the crack, steady and unmoving.

He hesitated for just a second, then raised his hand and knocked gently.

“Charlie?”

There was a pause. Then, “Yeah. It’s open.”

Scott pushed the door in slowly.

Charlie was sitting cross-legged on his bed, notebook in his lap, pencil tapping against his knee. His desk was a mess of textbooks and holiday wrappers, and a string of mismatched lights blinked above his window.

Scott leaned in the doorway, hands in his coat pockets.

“Thought you might want to debrief. Or at least make fun of me for that sweater.”

Charlie smirked faintly. “I already did. In my head.”

Scott chuckled. “That’s fair.”

He crossed the room and lowered himself into the beanbag chair beside the bed with a groan. “Okay, this thing was definitely not built for dads with bad knees in magically transforming bodies.”

Charlie flipped his pencil once before setting it down. “So… any news on the dating front?”

Scott raised an eyebrow. “No. Just a run-in with your principal. Total coincidence. We were both at the mall. She drinks her coffee black. That’s a classic first red flag.”

“She’s cool,” Charlie said after a beat. “She actually listens.”

Scott looked at his son a little more carefully. “Yeah, she does.”

There was a moment of quiet between them. Then Charlie tilted his head, eyeing him sideways.

“You’re different.”

Scott blinked. “Wow, déjà vu.”

“What?”

“Nothing. She said the same thing earlier.”

“Well, you are. I mean… you’re still you. But… it’s like, I don’t know, you're trying harder. To be here.”

Scott leaned back slightly, exhaling. “That obvious, huh?”

Charlie didn’t answer for a long moment. Then: “Do you miss it? The North Pole?”

Scott didn’t respond right away. His gaze drifted to the window, where soft flakes of snow had begun to cling to the glass.

“Yeah,” he admitted softly. “I do. But more than that, I miss being the kind of dad you looked up to. The kind who didn’t let the job—or the magic—get in the way of just… being there.”

Charlie’s eyes softened. “I never stopped looking up to you, Dad. I guess I just didn’t always know how to show it.”

Scott gave a small, crooked smile. “We’re both figuring it out, huh? This growing-up thing?”

Charlie nodded.

There was a knock at the open door—Laura, holding a folded blanket.

“Sorry,” she said softly. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“It’s okay,” Scott said, standing slowly. “I was just heading out.”

Charlie gave him a quiet nod, and Scott reached over to ruffle his hair. The teen batted his hand away with mock offense, but the smile remained.

“Night, kiddo.”

“Night.”

As Scott followed Laura back down the hall, he felt the weight of the day settle into something quieter. He wasn’t anywhere close to solving everything—not his failing Santa powers, not the marriage deadline, and definitely not the strange flutter he kept feeling around Principal Newman—but for the first time in a long while, he felt like he had a foothold.

Even if it was on a rickety ladder in the backyard.

Chapter Text

Saturday, November 30th, 2002

The first thing Scott noticed when he opened the front door of the Millers’ house was the perfume. Not her—not the smile or the coat or the fact that she was twenty minutes early. It was the perfume that hit him like a candy cane to the face.

“Hi!” she said brightly. “You must be Scott.”

“I must be,” he replied, forcing a smile and trying not to sneeze. “You must be...?”

“Deborah. From Laura’s yoga class. She said you needed help getting back into circulation.”

God help me, he thought. I'm being circulated.

Laura was watching through the blinds when he left the house. He gave her a thumbs-up and mouthed payback is coming as he shuffled Deborah toward the waiting cab.

They ended up at a trendy fondue restaurant where the lighting was dim, the music was loud, and the concept of boiling cheese seemed to excite her in ways that made him vaguely nervous.

He tried. He asked polite questions. Listened to a long story about her ex-boyfriend’s psychic and her own “deep connection with winter.” He even laughed once when she said her spirit animal was a sugar glider.

But when she asked, “So what do you do, Scott?” and he said, “Well, up until this week, I was in the delivery business…” she didn’t even blink.

Deborah twirled her cheese-covered bread and grinned. “Oh, like FedEx?”

“No, more like, uh…” He hesitated, then smiled. “...global express.”

She didn’t ask for more details. He was grateful.

Somehow, this getting back in the dating business wasn’t going as smoothly as he’d hoped.

How was he supposed to find true love in time for Christmas?

Damn the elves and their very bad timing of announcing life-changing clauses with dire consequences for the magical realms.

He left the restaurant without dessert. Not that he didn’t want any. His decreasing body had its perks—there were apparently no consequences to his sugar consumption. Aside from the cardiac system, but who really cared when it came to dessert, right?

One more date down.

Gosh, you’ve got to up your game, Calvin. Christmas is counting on you.

***

Back home by nine, he found Charlie on the couch with a movie and a box of Oreos.

“She was nice,” Scott said, flopping down beside him and loosening the top button of his flannel.

Charlie glanced at him, clearly unconvinced. “Did you get her number?”

Scott groaned. “I didn’t even get dessert. I was afraid she’d show me her tarot cards.”

“Dad…”

“I know, I know. Shut up and pass the milk.”

Chapter Text

Sunday, December 1st, 2002

The next morning marked the end of Scott’s first week back in the real world—and the beginning of December. Usually, this would be his busiest month. With kids finalizing their Christmas wishes, toy production would skyrocket. Bernard would be on him about double-checking the Naughty and Nice List, and Curtis would unveil some new invention that would either blow up or mildly improve the elves’ day-to-day lives.

(It was usually the former.)

But this day began with a burned bagel, a jammed garbage disposal, and a neighbor passive-aggressively suggesting he move his “clown sleigh” off the curb.

By noon, he had a mild headache and a strong desire to go back to the North Pole.

He was good at managing Christmas chaos. He could handle the elves’ endless chatter and the pressure of an entire holiday on his shoulders.

But the real world? Still a little foreign.

“You’re telling me this phone can make calls, send text messages, and has basic organizer functions like calendars?” he asked.

Neil smiled patiently. “Yes. It’s called a PDA—personal digital assistant.”

Scott narrowed his eyes. “So it’s like Bernard, but with buttons.”

Neil didn’t bother explaining. Scott was actually grateful.

Laura had wrangled up another date for him—this one an accountant who “loved Christmas” (but not “in a weird way,” whatever that meant). Scott wasn’t sure how to interpret that, but he went anyway. What else was he supposed to do?

Maybe this one would be different. Maybe they’d click. Maybe the conversation wouldn’t be a disaster. At this point, he just wanted someone who showed even the bare minimum of interest in what he had to say.

Apparently, that wasn’t in the cards.

They met at a wine bar. She spent the first twenty minutes explaining her cat’s dietary restrictions, and the next ten asking why his sweater had bells on it.

(It wasn’t even a Christmas sweater. He was just... jingly now. Leftover magic? Nervous energy? Either way, his chair rang every time he shifted.)

She asked what he wanted out of life.

He said, “Magic. Connection. Love.”

She blinked. “Oh. I was thinking more like 401(k)s and a duplex.”

He spent the rest of the date listening—and maybe nodding in all the appropriate places.

They split the bill. His idea. Safe to say she wouldn’t be seeing him again.

What a bummer. Not.

***

That night, back in the guest room, Scott sat on the edge of the bed and sighed.

Three dates. One clogged disposal. Three unsolicited texts from Deborah. And a nagging suspicion that something was missing—something deeper than the beard, the belly, or the job.

He used to think the job made the man.

But now… maybe it was the right woman who helped the man become the right version of himself.

His gaze drifted to the window. Snow flurries had started again, dancing across the rooftops.

And for some reason, instead of thinking about Christmas or magic or marriage...

He thought about Principal Carol Newman.

And the way her eyes had softened when she drank that regular, boring, perfectly human cup of coffee.

And the way she smiled at him when he tried to deflect her questions with a joke.

Like she cared.

Not just about Charlie. Not just about what Scott’s return meant for his son.

But about him.

Just him.

Not in any romantic way, of course.

But still... why was it that none of his dates ever left this kind of impression?

Chapter Text

Monday, December 2nd, 2002

Scott arrived at Sycamore Secondary in his now-slightly-too-loose coat, parking the minivan between a delivery truck and a Prius covered in bumper stickers about mindfulness and organic snacks. He sighed. It was barely three p.m., and he was already exhausted. Thankfully, he’d brought coffee.

Charlie had detention—his second since Scott got back—and he’d promised to pick him up himself this time. Neil said it might help if Charlie saw he was "invested."

Scott wasn’t entirely sure what that meant, but it sounded serious and possibly therapeutic.

He glanced around the parking lot, half-watching the flood of kids streaming toward the sidewalk. And then, from the side entrance of the school, she appeared.

Principal Carol Newman.

She was bundled in a deep burgundy coat, white scarf knotted neatly, hair twisted up in that way that made him forget what he was supposed to be thinking about.

She hadn’t seen him yet. She was squinting against the cold, holding her own coffee in one hand and a stack of what looked like papers destined to be graded in the other.

Scott took a few steps in her direction before he could stop himself. Before he could remind himself that this wasn’t the North Pole, and crossing paths with the principal wasn’t exactly a subtle way to smooth things over when your kid was in trouble.

“Fancy seeing you outside your natural habitat,” he said, smiling.

Carol turned, blinking in surprise. “Mr. Calvin, you look worn out.”

“Just adapting to thin air,” he replied. “And the caffeine hasn’t kicked in yet. What’s your secret?”

She held up her cup. “Just black, no sugar. It gets me through confiscating contraband and breaking up hallway karaoke.”

Scott chuckled. “I’m more of a peppermint guy. Cream, whipped topping, crushed candy on the lid.”

Carol gave a small laugh. “I figured. You have a candy cane kind of vibe.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You should. Not many adults willingly talk to the principal in public.”

“Well, I’m not just any adult. I’m a toymaker on a career break, driving a borrowed minivan and waiting for my kid to finish detention. I'm basically the dream.”

Carol looked at him, something unspoken passing between them. Something warmer than coffee and older than shared jokes.

Then, a sharp voice sliced through the moment.

“Dad?”

They turned.

Charlie stood a few yards away, backpack slung low, eyes narrowing as he took in the scene: his father standing too close to his principal, both holding coffee cups like they were old friends.

Or worse—new ones.

Scott smiled, too quickly. “Hey, buddy.”

Carol recovered just as fast. “Charlie. I was just saying hello to your dad. He was—”

“I see that,” Charlie muttered, brushing past them.

Scott’s smile faltered.

“Charlie—”

“I’ll be in the car.”

The teen stormed off without another word, kicking at a chunk of ice as he went.

Scott turned back to Carol with a sheepish shrug. “Well, that went great.”

Carol tried to soften it with a smile. “He’s a teenager. It’s practically a law to hate everyone and everything.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t realize I was climbing the Most Wanted list.”

She took a step back, the spell broken.

“Maybe give him some space,” she said gently. “I think he’s struggling more than he lets on.”

Scott nodded. “Thanks for the advice… Miss Newman.”

“See you around,” she said.

Scott watched her head back toward her own car, the burgundy coat disappearing behind the driver's door.

He turned toward the minivan with a sigh. Inside, Charlie sat stiffly in the passenger seat, arms folded, face pointed out the window.

Scott eased into the driver’s seat and buckled in. Silence stretched between them.

“You know,” Scott said slowly, “there’s nothing wrong with talking to someone. Even your principal.”

Charlie didn’t move. “Unless you like them.”

Scott blinked. “What?”

Charlie finally looked at him. “You like her. I saw it. You almost looked at her like you used to look at Mom, before everything went weird.”

Scott swallowed. “Charlie—”

“I don’t need another mom,” Charlie said sharply. “Especially not one who gives me detention.”

Scott exhaled. “It’s not like that.”

Charlie snorted and went back to staring out the window.

But by the time they pulled into the driveway, Scott had a feeling something had shifted.

He didn’t know it yet — but the next day, a locker door would swing open to reveal a sloppy, furious spray-painted message:

“Trim a tree, go to jail.”

Carol’s face, cartoonish and exaggerated, would be scrawled beneath it.

And the consequences of that would pull the three of them closer — and further apart — than any of them were ready for.

Chapter Text

Tuesday, December 3rd, 2002

Carol Newman’s POV

The call came over the radio just as Carol was closing her office door.

“Tagger in the east wing—repeat, student spraying graffiti on lockers near science—looks like Charlie Calvin. Repeat: Calvin.”

Her stomach dropped.

She moved fast, stepping back into the corridor, heels sharp against the tile as she cut through the crowd of students parting around her. Voices bounced down the hallway in excited bursts, the kind of gleeful chaos that only comes when someone’s in big, obvious trouble.

By the time she reached the main entrance, she could already hear the footsteps pounding toward her. The wooden doors rattled as they flung open, and when he saw her back he skidded to a stop.

Carol turned, face set in stone. There he was — Charlie Calvin, cheeks flushed, backpack half-zipped, spray can nowhere to be seen.

Carol didn't raise her voice. She didn't need to.

“Hello, Charlie.”

The boy stood frozen, panting. “Hello, Principal Newman.”

His tone was flat. Not scared. Not apologetic.

Defiant.

Behind him, the security guard jogged up, red-faced and puffing. “Got him. Caught him running out just now. Paint still wet on the lockers.”

“I believe that,” Carol said, eyes not leaving Charlie’s.

The guard nodded, hesitated, then stepped back to give them space.

Carol folded her arms. “Spray paint during school hours? On the lockers?”

“It was a joke,” Charlie muttered, not meeting her eyes.

“No, Charlie. It wasn’t. A joke is funny. That is called vandalism. Targeted vandalism.”

He stiffened.

“And skipping class to do it?” she went on. “That’s not you.”

“How would you know what’s me?” he shot back.

Carol blinked. She’d expected embarrassment, excuses — not… this.

But before she could respond, he added, quieter this time: “You don’t know me. You just give me detention.”

She exhaled slowly. “Maybe. But I’d like to believe you’re still the boy who once got caught sneaking extra mashed potatoes into the food drive boxes.”

Charlie’s jaw clenched.

“I’m calling your parents,” she said gently. “Wait in the office. Please.”

Charlie didn’t argue. He just walked past her and into the building again, his shoulders hunched — not from cold, she realized, but from shame. Or maybe frustration.

Still, she stayed outside for a moment, watching the clouds roll in, breath curling in the air.

Something about this didn't feel right.

Yes, kids lashed out — especially middle schoolers — but Charlie had never been this open about it before. He’d been angry, deliberately public about it.

It felt pointed.

Personal.

Back inside, she looked at the graffiti he had left on the lockers this time and then returned to her office, shutting the door behind her. The radio crackled again with hallway updates, but she silenced it, sitting down and opening the student file already on her desk.

Charlie Calvin.

One of the brightest students in his grade. Math team. Holiday committee (until recently). Two-time “Kindness Ticket” winner for helping a kid with a broken arm and volunteering after school. He’d had a rough patch in sixth grade — she remembered the Halloween prank that got out of hand — but since then, he’d been steady.

Until this year.

Until now.

Carol stared at the still photo from the hallway camera printout — Charlie, mid-sprint, wild-eyed and furious — and couldn’t help the sigh that slipped out.

When the knock came fifteen minutes later, she already had a feeling who it would be.

Carol looked up as Scott stepped into her office, holding his car-keys in one hand and wearing a deep frown.

“He’s in the waiting room?” he asked.

She nodded. “Quiet. Staring at his shoes. It’s a change.”

Scott closed the door behind him and dropped into the chair across from her.

“I came as fast as I could. I had to bribe Comet with frozen peas to keep him from following me.”

Carol raised an eyebrow. “Is that a metaphor or a real sentence?”

“With me, it’s always both.”

She gave him a half-smile, but it didn’t last. “Mr. Calvin… this was bad.”

“I heard.”

“I don’t know what’s going on with him, but this kind of behavior—it’s not just acting out. It’s public.”

“I know.”

She leaned back. “I’ve dealt with worse from students. But not from Charlie. And certainly not in the middle of a school day. He wasn’t hiding it. It was like he wanted to be caught.”

Scott rubbed a hand down his face. “I think he did.”

Silence stretched between them, filled only by the hum of the space heater in the corner.

Finally, she asked, “Has something changed at home?”

Scott looked tired. And older than she remembered him looking a few days ago.

“Everything’s changed,” he said.

Carol nodded, not pressing just yet.

“Okay,” she said simply. “Let’s figure this out.”

***

The school stairwell echoed with their footsteps — two sets steady, one lagging behind.

Carol led the way her heels clicking a precise rhythm against the tile. She didn’t say much at first. Not because she didn’t want to, but because she was still trying to suppress the cocktail of emotions bubbling beneath her professional calm.

Disappointment. Frustration. And… curiosity.

Scott followed just behind her, hands jammed into the pockets of his jeans. He was quieter than usual, his face unreadable, but she could sense he was trying to work out what to say — to her, to Charlie, to himself.

Charlie trailed them both, shoulders hunched and shoes scuffing the linoleum.

“Are Laura and Neil on their way?” she asked casually.

He shook his head. “No, I volunteered to go solo on this one.”

Carol raised an eyebrow. That wasn’t what she expected. “Oh,” she said.

When they reached the second-floor landing, Carol glanced at Scott, her eyes flicked to him again — and lingered. “You look… different. Thinner.” Was he sick? Was that it?

Scott gave a tight, awkward smile. “Yeah. Lost a few pounds.”

“Feeling all right?”

“I was,” he said dryly, “until I got this phone call.”

Carol couldn’t help the soft huff that escaped her. That was the Scott Calvin she remembered — deflecting discomfort with humor. She wondered if that quip had worked on Laura, once.

At the top of the stairs, she turned right down the short corridor and led them halfway to the science wing. Students had mostly cleared out by now, the after-school bustle winding down into the quiet of late afternoon.

Carol stopped in front of a row of lockers — and with a light tug, closed the last one.

Scott’s breath hitched as the full mural came into view.

Spray-painted in bold, dripping red: a caricature of Carol, exaggerated features and all, with a cartoon speech bubble that read: “Trim a tree, go to jail.”

Scott’s eyes widened.

“Charlie…” he breathed. “You promised you weren’t gonna do this again. What’s the matter with you?”

The boy didn’t answer.

“I’m gonna have to punish ya. I’ll ground him for… two months.”

Carol shot him a glance. His tone wasn’t firm enough. It was the tone of a man who didn’t like being the bad guy.

Charlie stiffened, eyes narrowing. “I thought you were on my side!”

Carol stepped in before Scott could respond. Her voice was level. “I’ll go one better, Charlie. You’re suspended.”

That got through.

Charlie’s mouth dropped open. “But— Dad!”

Scott turned to her, clearly flustered. “Look, I’m as upset about this as you are, but… isn’t there a punishment that doesn’t mean taking him out of school?”

Carol raised a brow. “What did you have in mind?”

Scott hesitated. “We could… uh… community service?”

She crossed her arms, considering. “Huh. That’s not a bad idea.”

Turning back to Charlie, she nodded toward the lockers. “Okay, Charlie. I want you to start by cleaning up this wall. I want every trace of paint gone by tonight. And then? For the rest of the week, you can clean up every mark off of every locker in this hallway.”

Charlie’s voice cracked. “Every one?!”

Scott stepped forward. “Do as she says, Charlie.”

“But I have homework! Tests to study for!”

Carol didn’t blink. “Not my problem. I have a detention group that meets on Saturdays. So we’ll all get together at the Sullivan Rec Centre and scrape graffiti. 8 a.m. sharp. See you both there.”

Scott blinked. “You say both of us?”

“Yes,” Carol said sweetly.

Scott opened his mouth to protest, then closed it again with a sigh. “No, l... I'm very busy. I… I do a lot of other community service, you know.”

Carol smirked. “That's good. You just got yourself elected parent rep.”

She turned to Charlie one last time, her voice softening — but only slightly. “And Charlie… we’ll talk about the suspension.”

The hallway was quiet for a moment. Carol turned and walked away from them.

Scott turned his attention back to his son, watching him shake his head slightly, as if he couldn’t believe what had just happened. After a quiet minute, Charlie muttered something unintelligible and stormed off, grabbing a sponge and a rag from the janitor’s closet without another word.

Scott stayed behind, watching the last trace of his son vanish around the corner before jogging after Carol Newman.

“He’s not a bad kid,” he said when he was in earshot.

Carol stopped in her tracks, still facing forward. “I know.”

She glanced over her shoulder at Scott, her tone less formal now. “I’ve seen kids lash out before, Mr. Calvin. But this? This wasn’t for attention. He’s angry. Really angry.”

“I think he’s mad at me,” Scott admitted. “He just won’t tell me why.”

Carol didn’t press. She just studied him in silence for a moment, her eyes softer now, searching his face again — the lines around his eyes, the way his sweater sagged slightly on his frame.

He looked like a man unraveling in slow motion.

“You’re not just dealing with Charlie’s anger,” she said gently. “You’re carrying your own burdens.”

Scott looked at her. For once, he didn’t have a quip.

Just a quiet nod.

“Saturday, then,” she said, backing away with a sigh. “Bring gloves. And don’t be late.”

“I never am,” Scott called after her.

She turned back towards him, amused. “Not what I heard.”

***

The drive home was quiet.

The kind of quiet that settled between two people who knew they should be talking but didn’t know where to start.

Outside, the sky was gray, dusky—December stealing the daylight earlier and earlier now. Inside Laura’s aging minivan, the only sounds were the gentle hum of the heater and the soft swish of windshield wipers pushing away the last light drizzle.

Charlie sat slumped in the passenger seat, arms crossed tight over his chest. His knees were drawn up slightly, like he was trying to shrink himself smaller. He didn’t look at his dad, not even once since they pulled out of the school lot.

Scott drummed his fingers on the steering wheel.

"So," he said carefully, “...how about that community service gig? Scraping gum and graffiti with your principal? Bet that’s not the Saturday you were hoping for.”

Charlie didn’t answer.

Scott sighed, glancing over. “Listen, I’m not here to pile on. But that kind of thing you did today—” he gestured vaguely, “—that wasn’t like you.”

Still, Charlie said nothing.

Scott waited a few beats, then tried again, softer this time. “Want to talk about it?”

Charlie finally turned his head, just a fraction. His voice was low and flat. “No.”

Scott nodded, gripping the wheel tighter than he needed to. “Okay. I get it.”

They rode in silence for another minute, the heater humming louder now as the air got colder.

Then, out of nowhere—

"You’re not gonna tell mom, are you?" Charlie’s voice cracked on the last word.

Scott blinked. “I think she’ll probably find out, buddy.”

“I mean…” Charlie shifted uncomfortably. “Not everything. Not… why I did it.”

Scott glanced at him again, brows drawn.

Charlie kept looking forward. “She’ll just say I’m acting out. That I need to ‘express myself constructively’ or whatever. But it won’t matter.”

A long pause.

Scott said quietly, “Try me. Tell me why you did it.”

Charlie shook his head. “It’s stupid.”

Scott gave a half-smile. “Charlie, I’ve spent the past week arguing with a reindeer and dressing like a mall elf. Try me.”

That earned the tiniest twitch of a smile from Charlie. But it faded quickly.

"You know I saw you," he mumbled.

Scott frowned. “Saw me what?”

“In the parking lot. With my principal the other day.”

Scott let out a small breath. So that was it. “I told you it was nothing.”

“You were laughing. Like you guys were… friends or something.”

Scott didn’t know what to say to that. It hadn’t meant anything, not really. Or… maybe it had. But not like that.

Charlie’s voice came again, smaller this time. “I just—I don’t know. I guess I freaked out. You left. You come back and everything’s weird. You’re changing. I don’t even know what’s going on with the North Pole anymore, and now suddenly you’re flirting with my principal.”

“Whoa,” Scott said, a half-laugh escaping before he could stop it. “I wasn’t—Charlie, I wasn’t flirting. We were talking. She was being nice.”

Charlie huffed. “Whatever. It’s just dumb.”

Scott pulled the car up to the curb in front of Laura and Neil’s house but didn’t shift into park yet.

He looked over at his son, softer now.

“I’m sorry things feel upside down right now,” he said quietly. “I really am. I didn’t mean to shut you out. And I didn’t mean to make things harder for you at school.”

Charlie didn’t answer, but his shoulders eased slightly.

“I’m not gonna tell your mom everything,” Scott added. “But if she asks, I’ll tell her we’re figuring it out. Together.”

Charlie finally met his eyes, just for a second.

And for now, that was enough.

Chapter Text

Wednesday, December 4th, 2002

The school hallways were quieter than usual, the overhead fluorescents buzzing faintly in the late-afternoon hush. Most of the students had already cleared out for the day—except for Charlie, crouched low by the lockers, a can of industrial-strength cleaner in one hand and a very reluctant sponge in the other.

Scott pushed the mop bucket down the hall with a squeaky wheel and a dramatic sigh.

“Should’ve known better than to open my mouth,” he muttered. “Volunteer rep—great idea. Next time I’ll just bring donuts and smile.”

He came to a stop beside his son, who barely glanced up.

“Hey, I brought the heavy-duty stuff,” Scott offered, lifting the mop like a sword. “Ready to vanquish the forces of teenage rebellion?”

Charlie rolled his eyes. “You’re not actually going to help, are you?”

“I was elected,” Scott said with mock authority. “Also—I was told by your very determined principal that I’d be given alternate duties. Something about… staying out of your way so you can feel the consequences of your actions and learn from your own mistakes.”

Charlie snorted. “Smart woman.”

“I’m beginning to think so.”

As if summoned, Carol’s heels clicked around the corner. She stopped when she saw him, arms folded, keys dangling from one hand. Her black coat was slung over her shoulder, hair pulled back in a high ponytail with a few wind-tossed strands around her face from her earlier walk to the car.

“I see you found your mop,” she said dryly.

Scott straightened up, grinning. “Ah, yes. Reporting for janitorial duty. Or detention chaperone. Or whatever humiliation you’ve lined up for me today.”

“I thought we agreed Charlie would take responsibility himself.”

“You did say that. And yet, I’m still here,” he replied with exaggerated cheer.

Carol raised a brow. “Fine. Since you’re committed to suffering with him, how about organizing the storage closet? We’ve had a bit of an avalanche of confiscated items—phones, Beyblades, inflatable chairs. It’s become dangerous.”

Scott gave her a theatrical bow. “Your wish is my command.”

As he followed her down the hallway, he couldn’t help but notice the way her shoulders relaxed slightly when she walked beside him—not entirely, but enough to suggest she wasn’t dreading his presence.

“Thanks for showing up,” Carol said after a beat, her tone softening. “A lot of parents don’t.”

“Get used to me being around more,” he said, then added lightly, “You know, ever since I was elected parent rep against my will.”

She gave him a sidelong glance. “That’s the thing. I was looking through Charlie’s file again. It says that you’re a… toymaker in Canada?”

Scott coughed. “That’s… technically true.”

“Funny time of year to take time off,” she said, eyes narrowing a little as they stopped at the storage closet. “You’d think a toymaker would be busiest in December.”

Scott shrugged, trying to keep it casual. “It’s a flexible sort of business. We, uh, work ahead. Outsourcing, delegation. You know how it is.”

Carol gave him a long look—somewhere between amusement and curiosity.

“I don’t, actually. But I’d love to hear more about that world-class supply chain you’ve got going.”

Scott grinned, reaching for the closet handle. “It’s powered mostly by magic and hot chocolate. And unionized elves.”

Carol gave a small laugh, shaking her head. “Well, however you’re pulling it off, I’m sure Charlie appreciates having you around. Even if he pretends not to.”

Scott’s smile faltered just a little—caught off guard by the sincerity.

“I hope so,” he said quietly. “I missed a lot of moments. I’m trying not to miss any more.”

Carol looked at him for a moment. Then, gently: “I can see that.”

The door to the storage closet groaned open, revealing absolute chaos. Scott whistled.

“Looks like Santa came early and threw a tantrum.”

“Have fun,” she said, turning back toward the hall where Charlie was still scrubbing away.

Scott paused before stepping inside.

“Principal Newman?”

She raised an eyebrow. “You might as well call me Carol if you are here to stick around.”

“Carol,” Scott said, casually testing the name on his lips. It settled there with a strange weight—like something he wasn’t entirely supposed to say, but now couldn’t take back.

He used to think of her as Charlie’s sharp, no-nonsense principal—someone who gave detentions and wielded dry sarcasm like a weapon. But now, in the glow of the dim hallway light, coat slung over her shoulder and something softer in her eyes, she looked a little less like the rulebook and a little more like a reason to stay.

She turned.

“You’re a good principal,” he said simply. “Tough, but fair.”

Carol smiled at that—genuinely this time. “Well, you’re a very... persistent parent.”

“Gotta be good at something.”

She didn’t reply, just gave a small shake of her head as she walked away—though there was a flicker of something in her eyes when she glanced back once, briefly, over her shoulder.

Scott stood alone at the threshold of the closet, still watching her go.

Then he sighed, rolled up his sleeves, and got to work.

Chapter Text

Thursday, December 5th, 2002

The scent of citrus cleaner hung in the air as Charlie knelt by the bottom row of lockers, his sponge moving in determined little circles. His shoulders were hunched, hair falling over his forehead as he scrubbed at a faint black scuff mark that had probably been there since last school year.

Who would’ve thought that when Principal Newman—Carol—assigned locker clean-up for the rest of the week, she actually meant it?

Scott sat cross-legged against the lockers across from his son, a study guide open in his lap, pencil tapping rhythmically against his thigh.

“Okay,” Scott said, glancing at the next question. “What’s Newton’s second law again?”

Charlie didn’t look up. “F equals ma.”

Scott blinked. “F equals what now?”

“Force equals mass times acceleration,” Charlie recited like a robot. “I already know that one.”

“Well, don’t let me stop you from showing off,” Scott muttered, flipping the page. “Alright, what’s kinetic energy?”

Charlie hesitated. “Um… half of mass times velocity squared?”

Scott tilted his head. “You sure that’s not just a fancy way of saying, ‘Don’t run with scissors’?”

A tiny smirk tugged at the corner of Charlie’s mouth. He didn’t answer, but he did shake his head—like maybe his dad wasn’t completely hopeless.

Carol stood just around the corner, out of sight but not out of earshot. She’d come to check on their progress, but something made her pause. She leaned lightly against the wall, thankful for her sensible shoes. It was getting colder by the day, and she didn’t want to slip in heels again.

It was quiet. Warm, even.

“Hey,” Scott said, more gently now. “I know I’ve been pushing lately. This whole thing with the lockers—”

“Can we not talk about it?” Charlie muttered, squeezing out the sponge into the bucket.

“Okay,” Scott relented. “Just know I’m not mad. Not really. I just… I miss you, Charlie. And I don’t like seeing you so angry. Especially not at me.”

Charlie slowed his scrubbing.

“I’m not angry at you,” he said after a moment. “Not mostly. Just… stuff.”

Scott gave a small nod. “Fair. I had plenty of that when I was your age too. Teachers who didn’t get me. Adults making weird choices. Dads who went on too many weird dates.”

Charlie snorted again. “You’re the weird dad now.”

“I’ve always been the weird dad,” Scott said with a grin. “It’s kind of my brand.”

Carol smiled to herself and finally stepped into view. “Progress check.”

Charlie straightened immediately, going back to his sponge with slightly exaggerated effort.

Scott stood too, brushing dust off his jeans. “He’s killing it. Einstein would be proud.”

Carol surveyed the now semi-clean lockers, then glanced at Charlie, whose cheeks were faintly pink under her gaze. “Keep going. This row looks almost acceptable.”

Charlie nodded, avoiding eye contact.

As Carol turned to head back toward the office, Scott fell into step beside her, letting Charlie finish alone for a bit.

When they passed the janitor’s closet, Scott’s coat was folded on a windowsill. Carol’s gaze caught on something tucked beneath it: a modest bouquet of winter tulips and white daisies.

“Oh,” she said casually. “Those for someone special?”

Scott followed her gaze and sighed.

“Not exactly. Friend of Laura’s. Another blind date. I didn’t want to let them freeze in the car.”

Carol tilted her head. “And?”

“She was lovely,” he admitted. “Smart, funny, ran a business from her kitchen table. But…”

“No spark?” she offered.

“Not even a static shock,” he said with a rueful smile. “I kept thinking about homework and locker duty.”

Carol laughed. “Well, nothing says romance like middle school grime and Newtonian physics.”

“She didn’t want to keep the flowers, so I guess we were on the same page.” He leaned against the wall, hands in his pockets. “Maybe I’m just not cut out for this whole ‘find someone before Christmas’ thing.”

“Why the rush?” she asked lightly, but her tone held curiosity.

Scott looked at her for a second—long enough for her to feel it. A beat too long.

“Deadlines,” he said finally. “We all have them.”

Carol studied him, then nodded and glanced back toward her office. “Charlie really seems to like having you around. Not many teenagers study with their parents. Especially in broad daylight.”

“I’m starting to like it too,” Scott said quietly. “This… normalcy. Even if I have to earn it one hallway at a time.”

She nodded once, then stepped away. As she passed him, her hand brushed his arm—accidentally or not, he wasn’t sure—but the light contact jolted something warm through him.

“Good night, Scott,” she said, almost gently.

And hearing his name on her lips—his real name, no title, no barrier—did something unexpected to his chest.

He smiled. “Good night, Carol.”

She turned, walking down the hall. Scott watched her for a moment longer than he should have—until Charlie called from up the corridor.

“You coming, or are you just gonna stand there being weird?”

Scott grinned. “Weird it is.”

Chapter Text

Friday, December 6th, 2002

The department store smelled like a mix of pine-scented candles and desperation. Holiday music filtered overhead—cheerful and relentless.

He didn’t notice Laura until she appeared over his shoulder, holding a pair of jeans, a flannel shirt, and a soft navy-blue sweater.

“I thought you might need some help,” she said, amused. “You look like you were dressed by a man lost in time.”

Scott turned, eyebrows raised. “I am lost in time. And possibly fashion,” he said. “Also, I think most of my sweaters lately are borrowed from Neil. Who needs help now?”

Laura laughed and handed him the stack of clothes. “Try these. Layers are your friend. You’ll feel better once you’re not drowning in Christmas green.”

He hesitated at the fitting room entrance, fingers brushing over the soft flannel. It felt… normal. Human.

“Thanks, Laura,” he said quietly. “For this... and, you know, helping me keep it together.”

Her expression softened. “You don’t usually ask for help, so I figure it’s the least I can do. You’re still Charlie’s dad... and maybe, just maybe, still a little bit Santa.”

Scott blinked. “What makes you say that?”

She smirked, shrugging. “You still know when kids are awake. And when they need ice cream. Or a study buddy.”

***

Later, Scott stood in front of a full-length mirror in the men’s section, tugging at the collar of a charcoal-gray sweater that didn’t quite know if it wanted to be casual or formal.

He turned sideways.

Then again.

Then back.

“Well,” he muttered, “at least I don’t look like a marshmallow that fell into the tinsel.”

He tugged at the hem again, uneasy. He hadn’t had to care about clothes in years—red velvet had a way of being… definitive. But now? The belly was gone. The beard, barely a memory.

“This would be impressive if I wasn’t also losing my sense of identity,” he muttered, poking at his shrinking midsection.

He looked like someone else entirely.

Scott Calvin.

Just Scott.

And the man in the mirror looked... well, human. Tired around the eyes. Softer in a way that had nothing to do with weight. But also—maybe—a little less lonely than he’d been before the sleigh bells and deadlines.

He ran a hand through his shorter hair and exhaled through his nose.

“You need anything, sir?” a teenage sales associate asked, popping up like a well-trained elf.

Scott startled. “Nope. I’m just—uh—shopping for an event.”

“Holiday party?”

“Community service.”

The teen blinked. “Cool?”

Scott quickly grabbed a flannel button-down, a gray sweater, and a casual winter jacket from a nearby rack, just to look productive. Laura helped him choose the jacket. It was black, clean-cut. Something told him she might appreciate that over reindeer prints and peppermint buttons.

***

Miller House – Living Room

The shopping bags lay forgotten by the door, their contents folded neatly for tomorrow.

Scott sat on the couch, flipping aimlessly through a thin folder Charlie had left behind—a mix of schoolwork, notes, and a permission slip for a Christmas play.

He smiled faintly at the idea of Charlie being involved in something like that.

His thumb paused on a pink sticky note from the principal, attached to one of Charlie’s behavior reports.

• Showing some progress. Tell him I noticed. – C.N.

Scott turned it over. Nothing on the back. Still, he read it again.

And again.

The handwriting was sharp but feminine, the kind of script you didn’t see much anymore. His thumb lingered over the loop in her C, then the way the N sloped just a little to the right—decisive, no-nonsense.

He shouldn't have noticed that. Shouldn't have cared.

But something tugged in his chest—not panic, not magic… just something warm and irrational.

It wasn’t just a note.

It was hers.

He placed it back in the folder with unusual care, as if it might mean more than it said. Maybe it did.

He glanced at the jacket draped over the chair.

Tomorrow was detention. Graffiti clean-up. Paint-scrubbing and awkward volunteer duty.

But he’d be seeing her again.

And maybe… looking a little less like a disaster wasn’t the worst idea.

Chapter Text

Saturday, December 7th, 2002

The sky over the Sullivan Rec Center was that kind of brittle blue that came with early December—sunny, but cold enough to crack your knuckles. The faint smell of citrus cleaner and graffiti remover hung in the air, mingling with the distant jingle of holiday music from a nearby storefront.

Kids scraped at walls with gloved hands and scuffed sneakers, steel brushes grinding over layers of teenage rebellion. Some worked with gritted teeth. Others just wanted the hours over with.

Carol Newman walked between the small, clustered groups of students like she belonged there—and she did. For once, her blonde hair was down, catching the pale sunlight as she adjusted the gray winter hat tugged over her ears. She wore dark jeans over her boots, a black coat cinched at the waist, and her gloved hands swung at her sides as she made her rounds.

"Mr. O'Reilly. Mr. Leary," she greeted two students in passing, firm but not unkind.

A car pulled into the lot beside her—something too shiny and polished for the setting. The doors popped open and three men stepped out, reeking of aftershave and self-importance.

“You in charge of the gangbangers?” one asked, motioning lazily toward the working students.

Carol walked on, unflinching. “They're students, actually. And yes.”

He snorted. “Keep 'em away from the car. It’s new. I don’t need some delinquent scratchin’ it up.”

Without missing a beat, she passed Scott, who stood near a tree at the edge of the lot, watching with vague amusement.

“They're not delinquents,” Carol called to their backs. “They're good kids. And don't worry about your car.”

Scott chimed in, raising his voice. “If I were you,” he said dryly, “I’d spend more time worrying about your legs in those shorts.”

Carol added, “I thought only swimmers shaved their legs.”

The other men laughed as they disappeared inside. Scott grinned.

Carol turned to him now, cheeks flushed from the cold. “Good morning,” she said, and the smile she gave him wasn’t routine.

“Good morning.” He held up a paper cup, steam curling from the lid. “Brought you coffee.”

Her brow lifted in mild surprise. She took it carefully, her gloved fingers brushing his. “Thank you. So you do have a nice-guy side.”

“I’m a man of many sides,” Scott said with exaggerated seriousness. “A puzzle. A Rubik’s Cube with pants.”

She laughed—actually laughed—and it did something to his chest that even magic couldn’t explain.

“A laugh!” Scott declared. “An actual laugh.”

Before she could answer, Charlie trudged over, graffiti-streaked rag in hand, pure teenage misery on his face.

“Dad,” he sighed, “it doesn't come off.”

“It’s not supposed to come off,” Scott said matter-of-factly. “Hence, you’ve gotta be careful where you put it. Hence, tagging is serious. Hence your presence here.”

Charlie groaned, already walking away. “Don’t say ‘hence’ anymore, Dad. It’s really annoying.”

Scott raised his eyebrows in mock offense.

Carol chuckled beside him, sipping her coffee. “Nicely done.”

He turned to her with a crooked smile. “How do you do it? I have trouble with one. You manage hundreds.”

They started walking, slow and easy.

She opened her mouth to reply—but a small hand tugged at Scott’s jacket.

A little girl in a red coat, probably no older than six, looked up at him with wide, hopeful eyes.

“Hi,” she said solemnly.

Scott looked down, amused. “Hi.”

“I was really good this year,” the girl informed him.

“Is that so?” He knelt, lowering himself to her level. “Are you absolutely sure about that, Pamela?”

The girl lit up. “I want a dollhouse. And a swimming pool.”

“A swimming pool?” he echoed, eyes wide.

Her mother caught up a moment later, breathless. “I’m so sorry. She insisted on talking to you.”

“It’s not a problem,” Scott said kindly. “I’ll tell you what—if you promise me you’ll be good, I can guarantee you’ll have a great Christmas.”

The girl squealed. “Okay! Yeah!”

“Come on, Pamela,” her mom said, gently taking her hand.

As they left, Scott stood and brushed his knees off.

“Kids get so nutty this time of year,” he said with a chuckle—then caught Carol watching him.

Her expression was unreadable for a beat. Then: “Is she a neighbor or something?”

“No.”

“Oh?” Her brows rose. “How’d you know her name?”

Scott blinked. “Uh—the necklace. It said Pamela on it.”

Carol looked him over, amused and curious. “Hmm. I guess I missed that. I’m gonna check on this group,” she said, her tone warmer now. Almost lingering.

As she walked away, Scott’s hand drifted to his wrist, where his magical watch pulsed softly. His eyes stayed on her for a beat too long—until she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and smiled at a student, and something in his chest ached without asking permission.

The clock hands moved. He was now down to 9.

He sighed. “You cost me, Pamela.”

But as he watched Carol brush her hair behind her ear and speak gently to a struggling student—he couldn’t quite bring himself to mind.

***

Scott caught up to her again after a while, as she stepped away from the group near the south wall. The hum of scraping metal and idle chatter buzzed behind them, dulled here at the edge of the lot.

“You’ve got a whole system, huh?” he said, falling into step. “Check-ins, rotations, motivational speeches... I think I saw someone salute you earlier.”

Carol glanced at him, amused. “They know I bite when I haven’t had coffee.”

He held up his empty hands. “Then thank God I brought reinforcements.”

They walked in silence for a few paces, gravel crunching underfoot. The air was crisp, biting in the way December liked to be. Carol’s shoulders weren’t quite so squared here, her face less guarded. The authority of Principal Newman softened into something… more human.

“So,” Scott ventured, hands deep in his pockets, “do you ever get a day off? Or do you sleep in the gym under a pile of detention slips?”

Carol smiled faintly. “I go home like everyone else.”

“Hard to picture you not surrounded by teenagers and clipboards.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You should,” he said, nudging her lightly with his elbow. “So what does Carol Newman do when she’s not monitoring hallway traffic or scaring kids straight?”

She arched an eyebrow. “Scaring them straight?”

“Well, Charlie says you’ve got a stare that could freeze lava.”

Carol laughed softly. “I think he just knows he can’t charm his way out of trouble with me.”

“He’s right. You’re immune. It’s unsettling.” He glanced at her. “Seriously though—what do you do? Outside school.”

She hesitated, then: “I read. A lot. Cook when I have time. I volunteer at the library on Thursday nights—help run a winter literacy group. I try to keep my houseplants alive, with mixed results.”

Scott smiled, storing each answer like a secret.

“So no roller derby team or underground poker nights?”

“Not yet.” She glanced at him. “And you? When you're not being cryptic about your job in Canada?”

“I’m not cryptic.”

“You said you were a toymaker.”

“I am a toymaker.”

“And you don’t find that a little…” she tilted her head, “oddly seasonal?”

“Some of us specialize.”

She gave him a look—sharp but playful. “You’re hard to pin down, Scott Calvin.”

“I’m a Rubik’s Cube, remember?”

She laughed again—and this time, it reached her eyes.

They rounded the corner. Charlie was on his knees, aggressively scrubbing a faded swear word off the brick.

Carol slowed. “I know I keep saying it, but he’s lucky to have you. Not all parents show up. I see it more than I’d like to.”

Scott looked at his son, then back at her. “I missed too much. I’m not gonna keep doing that.”

She met his gaze—really met it. For a moment, something passed between them. Not flirtation. Not yet. But a recognition. A kind of unguarded honesty.

“Come on,” she said, turning. “Let’s go pretend to supervise before Mr. O’Reilly sets himself on fire with that solvent.”

Scott followed her back toward the chaos, the cold air feeling a little warmer. The sun caught in her hair, lighting the way.

***

The afternoon light turned gold, slanted low across the Sullivan Rec Center parking lot. The wind bit sharper now, curling around lampposts, stirring gloves and empty coffee cups. Most students were gone, the noise of the day settling into that stillness earned after long, honest work.

Scott stood by the minivan, arms folded, breath fogging the air. Charlie shifted from foot to foot nearby, face ruddy from the cold and effort—worn out, not sulking.

Across the lot, Carol was still in motion—saying goodbye to volunteers, clipboard under her arm. Her blonde hair slipped loose from her winter hat in golden wisps. Her coat flared slightly with each step.

She turned, caught Scott’s eye. Her lips curved.

“Same time next Saturday, Mr. Calvin?” she called, teasing.

There was something in her expression—unguarded, amused. It looked good on her.

Scott straightened. “Wouldn’t miss it,” he called back, grinning.

Carol nodded, then looked to Charlie. “Nice work today, Charlie.”

Charlie mumbled something close to “thanks,” staring at his sneakers. Carol didn’t push. She just smiled and turned to her car.

Scott watched her—not too obviously, but not hiding it either. She moved differently now. With more ease, less edge. The wind couldn’t quite grip her anymore. Her car door shut. Engine hummed to life. Headlights blinked on, and she was gone.

“Y’know,” Charlie said, still watching the taillights vanish, “you don’t have to try so hard.”

Scott blinked. “Try hard at what?”

Charlie kicked a pebble. “Being... whatever that is. With her.”

Scott looked at him, but Charlie didn’t meet his eyes.

“You’re not gonna impress her.”

Scott didn’t answer right away. His gaze lingered on the empty street.

“Maybe I’m not trying to impress her,” he said quietly.

Charlie made a sound halfway between a laugh and a scoff. “Right.”

He started toward the van. Scott followed, smirking to himself.

“She likes coffee,” he offered. “Regular. No whipped stuff. Not even cinnamon.”

Charlie rolled his eyes, pulling the door open. “You’re hopeless.”

Scott chuckled. “Maybe. But I’ve got three more Saturdays to figure it out.”

He climbed in. The engine turned over. The heater whined to life.

And they drove off into the gold-streaked evening—father and son, the space between them slowly—maybe even stubbornly—beginning to thaw.

Chapter Text

Saturday, December 7th, 2002

The car was warm before she even pulled out of the lot, the heater humming steadily against the cold creeping in through the windows. Carol kept one gloved hand on the wheel, the other resting near the vent, soaking in the heat while the rec center receded in her rearview mirror.

She wasn’t usually the last to leave these things.

But she had lingered. Just a little.

The clipboard on the passenger seat still held the day’s sign-in sheet—names scribbled in varying degrees of legibility, half the pens frozen or chewed to ruin. She should have been annoyed by how disorganized it had started: too many kids, not enough scrapers, three of them without gloves, of course. But the day had evened out. The walls looked better. The kids had mostly behaved. Charlie Calvin had kept his head down and finished the work. And Scott...

Carol’s fingers flexed slightly on the steering wheel.

Scott had shown up. Again.

She hadn’t expected him to take the parent rep role seriously. Most didn’t. The role was a formality—a name to put down when you needed an adult who wasn’t a lawyer. But he’d been there, organizing the storage closet, helping Charlie with test material, handing her a paper cup of coffee like it wasn’t a big deal.

Real coffee. Just how she liked it.
Like he cared enough to remember.

And then that laugh—hers—startled out of her before she could stop it. Something about Rubik’s Cubes with pants.

Ridiculous.
But... funny.

Her cheeks warmed slightly at the memory. She told herself it was just the heater.

At a red light, Carol glanced sideways at the clipboard again. Her mind wandered—not to names, but to moments. A little girl in a red coat tugging at Scott’s sleeve. The ease with which he bent to her level, spoke with sincerity. That twinkle in his eye that didn’t feel performative.

She’d noticed it again when he looked at Charlie—like the man knew more than he let on, but didn’t need to say it out loud.

And then there was that little trick with the name. How he had known the child’s name—Pamela. She hadn’t seen the necklace he’d claimed to read.

Carol frowned, but it wasn’t suspicion so much as curiosity now.

Scott Calvin was... strange.
Not in a dangerous way. Not in a bad way.
Just... strange.
And surprisingly kind.

She exhaled as the light turned green and eased her foot back onto the gas.

It didn’t mean anything. He was still Charlie’s father. Still someone who confused her more often than not. But she was beginning to feel like she’d misjudged him. Like the man who’d once shown up in her office making half-hearted jokes was, in fact, not as half-hearted as he’d seemed.

Still.
Coffee and good behavior didn’t mean he was trustworthy.

But it was a start.

Chapter Text

Sunday, December 8th, 2002

Miller Household, Late Afternoon

The living room was quiet, save for the soft clatter of forks and knives being stacked in the kitchen. The aftermath of Sunday dinner — roast chicken, mashed potatoes, and the smallest sliver of cranberry sauce still clinging to the edge of Scott’s plate — brought a peaceful lull to an otherwise crowded week.

Scott sat slouched on the couch, legs stretched out, holding a lukewarm mug of cocoa between his palms. It wasn’t quite the same anymore. No magical swirl of cinnamon. No peppermint-snap aftertaste. Just regular mix-and-water, made from a packet. Human cocoa. It had to do.

He stared into it like it might offer answers.

From the kitchen came the sound of voices — Neil’s low murmur, Laura’s lighter tones. Lucy was already in bed, and Charlie had retreated to his room half an hour ago, headphones on, a math textbook cracked open like it had personally offended him.

Scott exhaled.

He was running out of time.

Not just time in the magical, clause-enforced sense — though the ticking of his inner watch had become a dull throb in the back of his skull. But real time. With Charlie. With this version of his life that, despite everything, had started to feel possible.

A week ago, he’d walked into Sycamore Secondary with a belly like a bowl full of jelly and the blind optimism of a man sure of his mission. But this week… it had chipped away at him. The weight loss, the aching knees, the itchy chin as his beard had all but vanished. The magic was leaving.

And Carol’s voice kept echoing in his head.

"I’m sure Charlie appreciates having you around. Even if he pretends not to."

He hadn’t realized how much he’d needed to hear that until she said it. And now… he didn’t know what to do with it.

Neil stepped into the living room, drying his hands on a dish towel. “You look like a man who just realized he left a casserole in the oven six years ago.”

Scott blinked. “That specific, huh?”

Neil gave a small shrug and sat down across from him. “You’ve had that look all day.”

Scott sipped the cocoa. “It’s just... hard to know if I’m doing the right thing.”

Neil raised an eyebrow. “Being here? Or being Santa Claus?”

“Both,” Scott said quietly.

Laura entered, hair pulled into a loose bun, and sat beside Neil with her own mug. She looked at Scott carefully. “You haven’t said much tonight.”

Scott rubbed his face. “Charlie wanted me to be Santa. Really wanted it. Believed in it before I did. And now I’m not sure what he believes.”

“He’s a teenager,” Laura said. “He believes and doesn’t believe everything, depending on the hour.”

“I know,” Scott muttered. “But I keep thinking... maybe I’ve got this all backwards. Maybe I should’ve stopped trying to fix Christmas and just focused on this. Charlie. Being here. The math homework. The backtalk. All of it.”

Neil gave him a thoughtful look. “You know, when you first told us you were Santa, I thought you’d lost your mind. In hindsight, you were the sane one.”

Scott gave him a dry smile.

Neil continued, “But the thing is... being Santa made you better. Happier. You laughed more. You listened more. Even with all the chaos, you somehow became easier to like.”

“Thanks?” Scott offered, unsure if it was a compliment.

Laura leaned in. “You being here now doesn’t erase that. Charlie sees it. He may act like he doesn’t want you around, but he does. He always has.”

Scott looked down at his cocoa again. It was cold now. Flat.

“Do you think I made a mistake?” he asked quietly. If he wanted me here, was being at the North Pole not the exact opposite?

There was a long pause.

Then Neil said, “You’re asking the wrong question.”

Scott looked up.

“You didn’t make a mistake,” Neil said. “But maybe you need to stop asking what role you’re supposed to play, and start asking why you want to play it.”

Laura nodded gently. “What matters most? Saving Christmas... or being a father?”

Scott didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure he could.

Because deep down, he knew the truth: he wanted both. He just needed to find a way to make them coexist. But time — so it seemed — was against him.

Maybe he should focus on upping his dating game again instead of volunteering at secondary schools. But if he was being honest with himself, the latter felt a lot more rewarding these days.

Chapter Text

Monday, December 9th, 2002

It was a rare morning in the Millers' house where Scott was the first one up. The coffeemaker gurgled its last breath as he stood at the counter, half-focused on the morning news playing from a small TV in the corner of the kitchen. A Santa sighting in Spokane. A reindeer-themed flash mob in New Jersey. Mildly festive chaos everywhere — except here.

Upstairs, a thump, a loud “Ugh!” and the frantic thudding of feet announced that Charlie had overslept.

By the time his son stumbled into the kitchen—half-dressed, hair flat on one side, backpack only zipped halfway—Scott had a mug of cocoa in one hand and a brow already raised.

“Your hair’s giving me Einstein meets punk-rock. It’s a statement,” Scott said around a sip.

Charlie ignored him, grabbing the last piece of toast from the plate and tearing into it while trying to shove a notebook into his bag. “I have chem this morning. If I’m late, Dorsky makes us sing the periodic table.”

“You still owe me a song for last week’s tardy slip. I’ve been practicing backup vocals.”

Charlie ignored that and bolted out the door, shoes untied. Scott shook his head and went to clean up the kitchen. Once finished, he turned toward the backdoor—but stopped mid-step when he spotted the sad, unclaimed brown bag lunch on the counter.

“Classic,” he muttered. “Dad to the rescue.”

He was halfway to the door, lunch bag in hand, when Laura intercepted him with the precision of a seasoned prosecutor.

“You’re delivering lunch now?”

“I am,” Scott replied breezily. “Super dad. It’s what I do.”

“You do realize it’s December ninth. Shouldn’t Canada’s favorite toymaker be... well, in Canada?”

Scott opened his mouth, then closed it again. “I told them I’m working remotely.”

Laura looked unconvinced.

Scott gave her a too-innocent smile. “Besides, my community service contract is ironclad. Saturday mornings are locked in.”

“Just don’t embarrass him,” she sighed, heading out the door. “More than you usually do.”

“Too late,” Scott called after her.

***

Sycamore Secondary School

Walking through the front doors of Sycamore Secondary School, being greeted by the quiet hum of fluorescent lighting and muffled locker clatter, always made Scott feel like he’d stepped into a documentary about teenage anxiety.

He approached the front desk with Charlie’s lunch like it was radioactive.

“Hi,” he said to the secretary. “Scott Calvin. Dropping off a lunch for my son. Charlie. Forgot it in his mad dash toward academic glory.”

She smiled politely. “You can leave it here. I’ll call him in.”

But before she could pick up the phone, a bell rang. First period had begun — and students were still flooding the halls like salmon swimming upstream.

Scott sighed and turned, planning to leave.

And then he heard the unmistakable sound of—

“Dad?!”

Charlie stood at the top of the main staircase, backpack slung over one shoulder, face turning a spectacular shade of crimson.

Scott held up the brown bag. “You forgot your sandwich. It was either I deliver it or we let it live a tragic life in the kitchen.”

“You couldn’t just drop it off like a normal person?” Charlie hissed as he jogged down toward him. “Why are you even here?”

“I am a normal person. A normal person with a turkey and mustard on whole wheat.”

Charlie snatched the lunch out of his hands. “Please, just go.”

“I’ll see you tonight!” Scott called after him as his son made a beeline for the science wing.

“I hate everything,” Charlie muttered under his breath as he reached his giggling friend.

Scott chuckled, watching him disappear. He turned back toward the exit—

—and nearly collided with Carol.

She was coming from the main office, a clipboard in her hands and her blonde hair twisted into a clip, though a single strand had escaped, as if willing to frame her face.

“Oh,” she blinked. “Mr. Calvin. Again.”

“Back to the Calvin, eh?” Scott gave a sheepish smile. “What can I say? I’ve started billing the school by the hour.”

“Let me guess,” she said, arching a brow, “late drop-off? Forgotten homework?”

“Lunch,” he said, holding up the now-empty hand where the bag had been. “Not that I’m keeping score, but I’ve been here five times just this month.”

Carol glanced past him toward the stairwell. “Poor kid.”

“Thanks,” Scott muttered, mildly offended.

“I meant Charlie.”

He laughed. “Fair. He said I was humiliating.”

“Middle schoolers tend to think everything is a personal attack. You should’ve heard the protest when we painted the gym a new shade of brown.”

They started walking down the hallway slowly, not entirely toward anything.

Their shoulders nearly brushed as they walked, a quiet rhythm between them neither acknowledged nor broke.

“Can I just say,” Scott said after a moment, “you seem a lot less scary when you’re not delivering suspensions or ordering people to scrape chewing gum off benches.”

“I contain multitudes,” she said dryly.

“I’m starting to believe that.”

Carol gave him a sidelong glance, a flicker of something warm in her expression. The look lingered just a second longer than necessary—enough for him to wonder if she felt it too.

He shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat. “I’ll get out of your hair. Didn’t mean to disturb the peace.”

“You didn’t,” she said. “Actually... thank you. For showing up for Charlie, again. I get the feeling things haven’t exactly been easy lately.”

Scott nodded, his smile faint. “No. But they’re starting to feel... worth it.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The quiet between them wasn’t awkward, just... expectant. Like a pause in music before the next note.

Her gaze softened, but before she could say anything, a group of eighth graders turned the corner, loud and loud-smelling, and she was Principal Newman again — straightening her shoulders, lifting her clipboard.

“Back to my multitudes,” she murmured.

Scott gave a two-finger salute. “Until Saturday, Principal.”

“Until Saturday, Mr. Parent Rep.”

He walked out with a smile he couldn’t quite suppress, even if Charlie might never speak to him again.

***

Awkward Dinner for Two

The restaurant was trying too hard.

Low lighting, a fountain burbling quietly in the corner, and a menu with more adjectives than ingredients — the pasta wasn’t just ‘gnocchi,’ it was ‘pillowy hand-rolled potato clouds kissed with heirloom rosemary.’ The tablecloths were red and gold — festive, he supposed — but the way the server had corrected his pronunciation of “gnocchi” had set the tone for the rest of the evening.

Across the table, his date — Cynthia? Cecilia? Something with a C, but definitely not Carol — was mid-sentence about... her labradoodle’s acupuncture regimen?

“And I swear, the moment Dr. Yung realigned his spine, it was like—bam—no more itching, no more licking his paws.”

Scott blinked. “Wow. That’s, uh, really something.”

“Holistic veterinary medicine is the future,” she said, dabbing her mouth with her napkin. “I mean, if you think about it, the entire canine endocrine system is just waiting to be spiritually balanced.”

He blinked. “Sure. Who doesn’t want a spiritually balanced poodle?” He had definitely entered an alternate universe.

She didn’t laugh. Instead, she looked down at her salad and carefully nudged a cherry tomato into place.

Scott reached for his water glass.

He’d been set up by no other than Neil Miller. “She’s smart, she’s kind, she adores Christmas,” the man had gushed. “You two would hit it off!” Never trust your ex-wife’s new husband.

So far, the only thing they hit was a conversational wall roughly every eight minutes.

He nodded along as she began describing a chia-seed pudding recipe that “transformed” her morning energy, but his mind drifted. Not to the menu. Not to dessert.

To the way Carol had glanced over her clipboard that morning, hiding a smile when he said he was billing the school by the hour.

To the half-laugh she’d let slip when he’d joked about chewing gum duty.

To how she always wore her hair up at school, except on Saturday at the rec center, where it had been loose beneath her winter hat, golden strands catching the cold December light.

The contrast hit him like a snowball between the eyes.

This — this dinner — felt like a performance. A job interview where no one had prepared. They were both saying words, but none of it meant anything.

And yet a five-minute conversation with Carol in the hallway? That had lingered with him all afternoon. Not just because she was pretty — which, okay, yeah, he had eyes — but because she made him want to ask things. Like what she was like before she became a principal. What her Christmases were like growing up. If she still liked Christmas at all.

He almost never wanted to leave when he was around her.

And sitting here now, across from someone kind and polished and clearly looking for the right checklist to match, he realized he’d never felt that way on a date before. Not since... before the suit. Before everything got so complicated.

“So anyway,” she was saying now, “I know we’re technically past peak kale season, but if you freeze it properly, it actually—”

“Do you like coffee?” he interrupted suddenly.

She blinked. “Sorry?”

“Coffee,” Scott repeated. “Just... plain coffee. No syrups or foam or oat milk steam clouds or whatever.”

She looked vaguely offended. “I’m more of a turmeric matcha girl, actually.”

Of course she was.

Scott offered a diplomatic smile, signaling the waiter for the check with a small, almost apologetic wave.

***

Later – Outside the Restaurant

Scott stepped out into the night, the December air biting but refreshing. He pulled his coat tighter, exhaling a long cloud of breath. His date had gone back inside to “check the restroom,” which he suspected was code for Please don’t walk me to my car.

That was fine.

He didn’t need to walk anyone to their car tonight.

Instead, he reached for his phone, checking the time. 9:37. Charlie would be asleep by now. The house would be quiet.

He stood there a minute longer than necessary. Letting the cold settle into him. Letting the thoughts settle, too.

One more failed attempt to connect. One more night reminding him of how easy everything used to be. Now it wasn’t. But for the first time in a long while, that didn’t feel like a loss. It felt like clarity.

He wasn’t trying to fix Christmas anymore just because the elves were panicking or because magic clocks were ticking down. The stakes felt different now.

He wanted to fix things for Charlie.

He wanted to fix things for himself.

And if he was being really, brutally honest...

He wanted to see Carol again.

Not because he had to.

But because, for the first time in a long while, he simply wanted to.

Chapter Text

Tuesday, December 10th, 2002

Local grocery store

Carol stood in front of a row of apples, mentally comparing prices while absently chewing the inside of her cheek. Her cart was already half-full — almond milk, instant coffee, a modest bag of flour, and one too many types of yogurt.

She had a list. Of course she had a list.

She always had a list.

What she hadn’t planned for was him.

“Red Delicious,” a voice said casually beside her, “the most ironically named fruit in existence.”

Carol turned — and there he was.

Scott Calvin.

Wearing a black winter hat that barely covered his ears and that same jacket from the community service Saturday that seemed to hang a little looser than a few days before. Not that she noticed.

There was a cereal box tucked under one arm and a bag of marshmallows in the other.

She blinked. “Are you now… stalking me through produce?”

He hadn’t shown up at her school today. That had given her a chance to breathe and actually concentrate. Although once detention hour hit, she kept looking over her shoulder to see if she could catch a glance of him. And honestly? It unnerved her that she even noticed his absence. It’s not like she enjoyed their little quirks and banter.

He held up the cereal and smiled. “Believe it or not, this is a coincidence. Unless you're also in aisle seven debating Pop-Tarts.”

Her lips twitched. “Tempting. But I try not to do artificial fruit on weekdays.”

Scott chuckled and glanced into her cart. “You bake?”

She shrugged. “Sometimes. When I’m not assigning detention or reminding parents that glitter is not a substitute for holiday spirit.”

“I knew it,” he said, feigning scandal. “You are secretly festive.”

“Don’t push it,” she warned, but she was smiling now — that small, careful kind of smile he was starting to recognize as her guard lowering.

They walked slowly, carts rolling beside them, just two people doing something normal. The buzz of the bright lights overhead, quiet instrumental Christmas music piping through the speakers, the low murmur of other shoppers.

Somehow it didn’t feel mundane.

It felt… oddly nice.

“Do you always do your shopping on Tuesday afternoons?” he asked.

Carol nodded. “Routine. Predictability. Fewer teenagers to confiscate soda from. And usually fewer parents to run into.”

“Ah. A woman after my own list-loving heart.” He lowered his voice like it was a secret. “Mine’s just a drawing Charlie made of bacon and candy canes, but it gets the job done.”

She laughed.

Like, really laughed.

It stopped him short for a moment — the kind of laugh that lit her face from the inside out.

She reached for a bag of Granny Smiths just as he reached for the same. Their fingers brushed.

Just a second. Nothing more.

But it was enough to make them both pause.

Her hand withdrew first, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

Scott cleared his throat. “Guess we both have good taste.”

She didn’t argue.

When they reached the checkout line, she lingered.

No rush. No awkward goodbye. Just… standing there beside him.

He looked over. “You know, if I were braver, I might ask if you wanted to get a coffee or something.”

Her brows lifted, amused. “You’re not brave?”

“Depends,” he said. “Do Rubik’s Cubes with pants qualify as brave?”

That made her smile again. “You might be growing on me, Calvin.”

He tried not to look like that meant too much.

She paid for her groceries, offered him a quiet “see you around,” and rolled her cart toward the exit, wind chimes jingling as she pushed through the doors.

Scott stood there for a moment, groceries forgotten, marshmallows in one hand, watching her go.

Then he exhaled slowly.

Two weeks, give or take.

And somehow, a random encounter in the apple aisle felt like the most magical part of the season so far.

***

The Millers' kitchen

The smell of cinnamon rolls filled the house. Laura moved efficiently between cupboards, plating snacks for a late-afternoon craving before dinner, while Charlie hovered near the fridge, sneaking handfuls of grapes when he thought no one was watching.

Scott stood near the sink, pretending to dry dishes, though he hadn’t touched the towel in two minutes.

He was somewhere else entirely.

“Hey, earth to Dad,” Charlie said, snapping a grape at him. It bounced off Scott’s shoulder. “You good?”

Scott blinked. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Just thinking.”

Laura glanced over, arching a brow. “That’s never a good sign.”

Scott smirked. “Thanks for the support.”

She gave him a look — soft but knowing. “You’ve been weirdly quiet since you got back. Did something happen? Another… date gone wrong?”

Charlie made a gagging noise and disappeared into the pantry.

Scott hesitated. “No. No date today.”

Laura leaned against the counter, folding her arms. “But someone’s on your mind.”

He opened his mouth to deflect, to throw out a joke or change the subject, but nothing came out.

Instead, he reached for the cinnamon roll tin and busied himself with picking at one, his shoulders a little too tight, his expression unreadable.

Laura tilted her head. “Scott…”

He let out a breath, finally speaking without looking up. “There’s… maybe someone. Not in the official lineup. And no, before you ask, I’m not rushing anything or proposing under a mistletoe tomorrow.”

She blinked, surprised by the honesty. “Someone new?”

“Not new, exactly. More like… upgraded from the background.” He shrugged. “I’m not even sure it’s anything. It’s just—she’s smart. Funny in this dry, accidental way. And we keep crossing paths in these ordinary moments that somehow… aren’t.”

Laura studied him carefully. “So what’s the problem?”

Scott gave a hollow chuckle. “The problem is, if I told you who it was, you'd say I'm out of my mind.”

Laura raised a brow, intrigued now. “Try me.”

“Nope.” He grinned, grabbed his cinnamon roll, and backed away toward the hallway. “Not a chance. You’d either start planning a wedding or call the mental institution, and I’m just trying to get through the week without turning into a mall Santa to feel like I have purpose.”

“You are turning normal again,” Laura said with a glance at his thinner frame. “You might want to hurry. Time’s not on your side, Scott.”

He froze for half a second. Not at the reminder, but at the echo of his own thoughts.

Because every day that passed, he was losing more of what made him Santa… and yet somehow gaining something else entirely.

Something he hadn’t been looking for.

Something he might not have noticed at all if it weren’t for this ridiculous deadline.

He gave her a noncommittal shrug and turned toward the stairs.

“I just… can’t count her out,” he said under his breath.

Laura frowned. “What?”

Scott looked over his shoulder, smile crooked but thoughtful.

“I said, save me another cinnamon roll. Before Charlie eats them all.”

And then he was gone.

Up the stairs.

Still not saying it.

But thinking it — harder than ever.

Chapter Text

Wednesday, December 11th, 2002

Sycamore Secondary School

The school hallway hummed with the kind of energy only December could bring — kids in sweaters with reindeer ears, posters for the Christmas play taped up crookedly, the faint sound of a band rehearsal down the corridor where someone was clearly murdering “Jingle Bell Rock” on the trumpet. Carol must have relaxed the “no Christmas-stuff” rule.

Scott stood at Charlie’s locker, leaning casually against the row like he was trying to blend in. His son was digging for some long-lost homework buried in the pile of school papers Scott had brought. Every now and then, Charlie let out the frustrated sounds of someone who definitely didn’t want to be seen with their dad before third period.

“You sure you need this one?” Scott asked, glancing over.

Charlie gave him a flat look. “Yes, I’m sure.”

Scott raised his hands in mock surrender. “Okay. Just trying to help. Don’t give me the teenage death glare.”

“Then don’t talk,” Charlie muttered, tossing a crumpled worksheet over his shoulder.

Footsteps approached. Confident. Measured. Somehow familiar.

Scott turned just as Carol rounded the corner, papers in one hand, the other tucked into the pocket of her blue blazer. Her hair was up again — tight twist, no-nonsense — but she wore silver snowflake earrings that caught the light when she moved.

She spotted him before he could turn away. Her mouth twitched. “Mr. Calvin.”

Scott straightened a little. “Principal Newman.”

Charlie groaned audibly and turned back to his locker.

Carol slowed as she neared, casting a glance at Charlie before turning her full attention to Scott. “You're here. Again. Either Charlie keeps forgetting things, or you’ve developed a fondness for our linoleum floors.”

“Couldn’t risk you starting to miss me,” Scott quipped, just as Charlie muttered, “Please stop.”

Scott gestured around with mock admiration. “But honestly, it’s the acoustics. Something about the way teenage sarcasm echoes off the lockers.”

Carol actually smiled — a real one — and for a moment, they stood there, surrounded by the bustle of students but wrapped in something a little quieter.

Scott tilted his head. “How’s the rec center cleanup team doing without their fearless leader?”

“Still scraping paint off the gym wall,” she said. “But no new vandalism this week, so I’m calling it a win.”

Scott grinned. “Maybe all they needed was your inspirational speeches.”

Carol laughed softly, shaking her head. “You do realize, Mr. Calvin, that most parents don’t come back voluntarily after one Saturday of graffiti duty?”

He shrugged. “I’ve always been a bit of an overachiever.”

She glanced at Charlie again, now grumbling under his breath and flipping through a forgotten folder.

They both stepped aside, giving him space. Carol lowered her voice slightly. “He seems... steadier lately.”

Scott followed her gaze, his smile softening. “Yeah. I think it helps that he sees me showing up. Even when he pretends he doesn’t want me to.”

Carol nodded. “It always helps when they see it.”

Scott hesitated. “I used to think the Canada thing was the biggest deal in the world. Magic, toys, all of it. But lately I’m starting to think maybe being someone Charlie can count on, day in and day out, matters more.”

Carol looked at him then — really looked — her expression softer than he expected. “Sometimes it’s the small things that make the most difference.”

He chuckled and gestured around. “Even here. You let the kids hang up garlands and a bit of tinsel.”

“Recently, someone reminded me that holiday cheer matters,” she said, a little shyly.

Scott smiled. “Nice to know we’re rubbing off on each other, then.” He nudged her elbow lightly with his own — a brief, familiar touch.

Their arms lingered a second too long. Just long enough for both of them to notice.

Carol pulled back slightly, just as Scott cleared his throat and broke the spell.

“I also wanted to say thanks. For not kicking my kid out last week.”

Carol shrugged, glad to shift the conversation — but something warmer had settled in her posture. “Well, he’s lucky he had someone fighting for him.”

They stood there for another quiet second, the hallway’s noise fading into the background.

Then Charlie straightened with an annoyed grunt. “Found it. Can you go now?”

Scott nodded. “Mission accomplished.”

Carol tucked her papers against her side.

“I’ll see you Saturday,” she said, with no hesitation.

Scott smiled. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

As he followed Charlie down the hallway — one headed to third period, the other out into the cold — he couldn’t help but glance back once.

Carol was still standing there.

Watching him go.

***

Principal’s Office

Carol closed the door behind her and let out a slow breath.

The halls had quieted again — third period in full swing, the muted hum of classrooms returning to their rhythm. She dropped her papers onto her desk and leaned against the edge, toying absently with one of her snowflake earrings.

It had started happening sometime this week. Maybe even earlier. A glance down the math wing. A pause outside the science corridor. Her eyes searching the crowd — not for a tardy student or a minor disruption — but for a head of messy brown hair. For him.

She told herself it was just because he kept showing up. That was all.

Showing up with lunch for his son. With coffee for her. With dry jokes, too-easy smiles, and that maddening ability to make the worst parts of her job feel… lighter.

But there was something about the way he looked at Charlie. The way he saw him — even when Charlie didn’t want to be seen.

There was something about the way he looked at her, too.

Not with smugness or expectation, but with quiet curiosity. With kindness. Like he wanted to understand her, not win her.

She hadn’t expected that. Not from the same man who once turned her school into a peppermint-scented circus.

He was still that man. But also… not.

He’d changed.

Or maybe she was only now seeing what had been there all along.

Carol moved to the window, eyes drifting to the snowy front lawn. The clouds were thickening — more on the way.

Her reflection hovered faintly in the glass: hair neatly pinned, posture composed, expression unreadable.

Principal Newman.

The one who kept order. Who didn’t get distracted.

And yet…

She caught herself watching the parking lot, wondering if he might double back. Some other excuse. Another joke. Another smile.

Another moment.

Carol pressed her lips together, half amusement, half resolve.

“This is ridiculous,” she murmured.

But she didn’t turn from the window.

Not yet.

Chapter Text

Thursday, December 12th, 2002

Sycamore Public Library – Early Evening

Scott didn’t quite know how he ended up here. Charlie was out with friends—supposedly working on a science project that Scott hoped wouldn’t spiral into any more creative vandalism. That’s when Laura asked for a favor he couldn’t turn down. He practically lived under her roof these days, and she’d earned a quiet coffee date with Neil. That left him with his little unofficial niece.

The bell above the library door chimed softly as Scott stepped inside, a small pink-mittened hand tucked into his own.

“Okay, Luce,” he whispered, crouching to eye level. “Rule number one in libraries?”

Lucy scrunched her nose. “No screaming?”

“Close. No talking loudly. Whisper only. Even if you spot a unicorn. Or someone who looks like one.”

Lucy giggled behind her scarf, her eyes already wide with wonder at the long rows of books and cozy reading nooks.

Scott wasn’t sure where exactly she’d be—if she was even still here. But he tried to seem casual, wandering toward the children’s section like he hadn’t already scoped the place twice. Carol had mentioned it in passing that Saturday—offhand, almost shy—how she usually gave a few hours on Thursday evenings. Something about the winter literacy group.

He remembered the way she’d shrugged, like it wasn’t a big deal.
Of course it was.
And that was part of the problem.

He remembered. And the second he’d been left alone with Lucy, he couldn’t wait to take her. It had seemed like a great idea at the time. Now? He wasn’t so sure.

“Are we looking for Christmas books?” Lucy asked, tugging on his coat.

“We can start there,” Scott said, distracted as he glanced past a display of snowman bookmarks.

Then he saw her.

Carol was crouched near one of the lower shelves in the back corner, helping a young boy find something. Her coat was off—just a soft grey sweater and jeans, her hair loosely pulled back with a few strands falling free. No clipboard. No principal’s edge. Just… her.

Lucy spotted her too.

“That’s Principal Newman,” she whispered, wide-eyed.

“Yup,” Scott said, heart annoyingly loud in his chest. “But here, she’s just Carol.”

They approached quietly, letting her finish with the boy before Scott cleared his throat—a soft, intentional sound.

Carol turned, startled at first. Then her expression shifted.
Something in her eased. The barest smile curled her lips.

Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

“Well, this is a surprise,” she said, rising to her feet. “We just wrapped up the group’s winter projects a few minutes ago.”

Scott lifted Lucy’s hand. “We’re here on a very important book mission that couldn’t wait.”

Carol crouched to Lucy’s height. “And what kind of books are we hunting?”

“Christmas ones!” Lucy said eagerly. “With magic. And snow. And maybe a reindeer.”

“Ooh,” Carol nodded, serious. “That’s a tall order. But I think I know where to look.”

As Carol led Lucy toward a corner stacked with picture books, Scott trailed behind, arms crossed loosely, a smile tugging at his mouth. She moved differently here—relaxed, warm, laughing gently at Lucy’s excitement. Like this version of her had been hiding beneath the polished principal’s surface all along.

He leaned against a shelf as they sifted through a pile of well-loved books.

Carol glanced up. “So… you just happened to end up here on a Thursday?”

Scott gave her a sheepish look. “Completely unintentional.”

“Mmhmm.” She didn’t look convinced. But she didn’t look mad, either. Thankfully. He didn’t want her thinking he was stalking her or anything.

“And Lucy’s on the hunt for reindeer biographies. Not enough solid scholarship out there.”

Carol huffed a quiet laugh, low and reluctant. “Well… I’m glad you came.”

She said it without overthinking. Without calculating what it might mean.
And he heard it.
Really heard it.

Scott offered a soft, genuine: “Me too.”

***

Carol helped Lucy settle into a beanbag chair, a small stack of Christmas books beside her. “If you need help sounding out any big words, just wave. I’ll be close by.”

Lucy nodded solemnly, already flipping through the first glitter-dusted page.

Scott watched them, hands in his coat pockets, rocking slightly on his heels. Carol had glitter on her fingers and a googly eye stuck to the back pocket of her jeans. Not that he was looking.

“She loves this stuff. The glitter, the snow, the magic. She has no idea the world’s trying to grow her up too fast,” he said as Carol returned to his side.

She smiled, adjusting a few books. “Then let her stay little. As long as she can. There’s not nearly enough of that anymore.”

A beat passed—not awkward, just quiet.

Scott moved a little closer. “You’re different here.”

That earned him a look. Arched brow and all.

“Not bad different,” he added quickly. “Just… not ‘call-your-parent-at-3PM’ different.”

Carol exhaled a soft laugh, amused. “Is that a compliment?”

“Yes? I mean… you glitter. Literally.”

Another laugh. This one fuller, warmer. She leaned lightly against the low shelf beside him, arms folded across her chest. “You’re different too.”

Scott blinked. “In what way?”

“You don’t seem like someone who stays in one place long. But here you are. Four times this week. And at a library, no less.”

He tilted his head, mock-thinking. “Might be I’m doing an elaborate study on reindeer literacy.”

Carol gave him a look. “You’re doing that thing again.”

“What thing?”

She angled toward him slightly, voice quieter. “Deflecting. Anytime something gets sincere, you crack a joke.”

He looked at her then. Really looked. No judgment in her voice—just curiosity. She wasn’t teasing him. She was trying to see him.

“Maybe,” he said. “Or maybe it’s just easier not to say what I’m really thinking.”

She softened. “What are you thinking?”

Scott glanced at Lucy, still whispering to herself as she read. Then back to Carol.

“That this is nice. All of it. You helping kids find books. Lucy whispering to imaginary elves. Me… not needing to be anywhere but here.”

Carol’s breath caught—just slightly. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected. Something lighter, probably. Less honest.

She looked away first, but her voice stayed steady. “It is nice.”

They stood there in the soft hush of the library, surrounded by storybook spines and the smell of paper and glue. The silence between them stretched—not empty, but full of something tentative and sweet.

She glanced at her watch. “I’ve got to clean up before close, but… I’m glad you came, Scott.”

He nodded. “So am I.”

“And thank you for bringing Lucy. She’s… special.”

“She gets that a lot.”

Carol smiled. “Must run in the family.”

Scott opened his mouth—but didn’t speak. Didn’t joke. Just smiled.

She turned toward the circulation desk. But as she walked away, she hesitated.
Glanced back.

And he saw it.
Not obvious.
But enough.

***

Miller House – Dinner Table

The kitchen buzzed with soft domestic noise—cutlery clinking, water being poured, jazzy instrumental “Let It Snow” humming from the radio.

Lucy had barely touched her chicken nuggets.

“I went to the library with Uncle Scott,” she announced, bouncing in her chair. “We saw Principal Newman there! She helped me find a book about a unicorn that lives in the snow and one where Santa’s sleigh breaks and he uses a dragon instead.”

Neil raised his eyebrows. “Principal Newman? Didn’t know she volunteered at the library.”

“She does,” Lucy said proudly. “She even wears normal clothes there. And she smiled at me.”

Laura sipped her wine. “She smiled? That’s something.”

Scott gave her a look. “She smiles. She’s not some cold, rule-enforcing machine.”

Charlie muttered into his mashed potatoes, “She kind of is.”

“She’s… misunderstood,” Scott said—too quickly.

“She’s the principal at Charlie’s school,” he added. “I’m trying to stay involved.”

Neil smirked. “You’re defending a school administrator. Are you okay?”

Scott shrugged. “People can surprise you.”

Charlie looked up. “Since when do you hang out with her?”

“I don’t hang out with her,” Scott said. But it sounded wrong—guilty. “We just… ran into each other.”

Laura tilted her head, watching him closely. “You’ve mentioned her a few times lately.”

Scott avoided her eyes. “It wasn’t intentional.”

Except… it kind of was.

Lucy clapped her hands. “Can we go again next Thursday? She said I could pick more books. And if we go earlier, we can do crafts!”

Scott met Laura’s eyes across the table.

“I think that can be arranged.”

Laura didn’t comment. Just nodded slowly, expression unreadable.

The conversation moved on—to Christmas lights, lawn inflatables, Neil’s growing playlist. But Scott wasn’t fully there.

He kept hearing Carol’s voice.
I’m glad you came.

He wasn’t trying to like her.

And yet…

When was the last time he looked forward to seeing someone like this?

When was the last time it felt this easy just to… be?

He stabbed a carrot with his fork.

Maybe Lucy wasn’t the only one already counting the days until next Thursday.

Chapter Text

Friday, December 13th, 2002

Outside Sycamore Secondary – Afternoon

The wind had picked up—biting and sharp—whipping dry leaves across the pavement. Scott leaned against the hood of the minivan, not bothering to wait inside the warm car. The cold felt oddly familiar. Like a whisper of home.

Hands in his coat pockets, red scarf tugged high on his neck, he was smiling—if only for a moment. Because he felt it, too. The ever-fading pulse of magic in the air around him. Where he once could feel the North Pole from wherever he was, there was now only the memory, waiting for him. Every day, he became more human—a mere mortal with vanishing magic.

He was early again. But he didn’t mind.

A bell rang inside the school.

Moments later, students spilled out in loose clumps—backpacks slung over shoulders, sneakers dragging, laughter echoing in the chilled air. Among them, Charlie appeared, hood up, head low. He spotted Scott before Scott could wave and groaned under his breath.

“Seriously?” Charlie muttered as he approached.

Scott pushed off the minivan. “Good afternoon to you too.”

“You don’t need to pick me up every day. I’m not five.”

“I’m aware. Just thought I’d swing by, see my son, maybe catch a bite on the way home. That a crime now?”

Charlie shot him a look—one of those teenage, slow, annoyed squints that said don’t treat me like I’m stupid.

“Come on,” Charlie said, shouldering past to the passenger door. “We both know why you’re really here.”

Scott blinked. “Excuse me?”

Charlie yanked the door open. “You’re just hanging around hoping to see her.”

Scott followed him but didn’t get in right away. “Her who?”

Charlie didn’t answer. He just sat there, arms crossed, eyes locked on the school doors like he was daring someone to prove him wrong.

Scott exhaled, long and slow. “You think I’m here for Carol?”

Charlie didn’t say anything—didn’t need to. His silence was loud enough.

“That’s not fair,” Scott said, quieter now. “I came for you. That’s why I’m here, Charlie. You’re my son.”

Charlie didn’t look at him. “Could’ve fooled me.”

That one stung—sharp and fast. Scott felt it deep in his chest. He finally sat down, closing the driver’s door to give them more privacy.

“I’m trying,” Scott said at last. “I’m here. I’m around. I’ve been doing everything I can to make up for all the times I couldn’t be—while still trying to save Christmas.”

Charlie snorted. “And how’s that going? You meet anyone yet?”

Scott’s jaw tightened. “What?”

“You know,” Charlie said bitterly, “the whole reason you’re here in the first place. The reason we’re even talking about this. Have you met her yet? The Mrs. Claus?”

Scott leaned against the driver’s seat, folding his arms. “Charlie…”

“Because if you haven’t, maybe you should stop wasting time hanging out at school.”

Scott stared at him for a long moment. The wind kicked up again.

“Let me ask you something,” he said quietly. “Do you want me to be Santa?”

Charlie looked at him, finally—not with sarcasm or frustration, but something closer to pain. He didn’t answer right away.

“You used to be sure,” Scott added. “You were the one who insisted this was what I was meant to be.”

“I was a kid,” Charlie said, voice rougher now. “I thought it was cool. I didn’t know it meant… you being gone all the time.”

Scott’s shoulders slumped.

Charlie continued, softer this time. “I don’t know. I don’t know what I want.”

Scott nodded. “That makes two of us.”

They sat in silence for a moment, the only sound the rattle of dry branches overhead.

“I’m not perfect, Charlie. I screw up. A lot. But I’m not here to chase your principal. I’m here because I want to be around you. I want to figure this out. With you.”

Charlie didn’t respond. But he didn’t argue either.

When Scott pulled away from the curb, Charlie reached out quietly and turned the heater dial up a notch.

Scott smiled to himself.

Small steps.

Chapter Text

Saturday, December 14th , 2002

Carol’s house – Morning

Carol stood in front of the mirror, brushing out the tangles in her hair as the early morning light crept slowly into her home. Her reflection looked soft in the grey December glow — not tired, exactly, but thoughtful. She’d slept fine. More or less. Okay — maybe a little less.

She pulled on a knit beanie, then paused and tugged it off again. Too casual?

It was just community service.

She tried again. Pulled her blonde hair into a low ponytail instead, then reached for her mascara. Just in case.

She caught herself mid-motion, mascara wand raised like a weapon — against what, exactly? Hope? Nerves? Herself?

“This is ridiculous,” she murmured under her breath.

It wasn’t a date. It wasn’t even a meeting. It was a bunch of half-bored teenagers scrubbing graffiti off the side of a public building. There would be complaints. There would be whining. There would be industrial-strength cleaner and gloves and probably someone’s frozen lunch bag leaking on the sidewalk again.

And maybe — just maybe — a toymaker-turned-parent-rep with rumpled brown hair and a habit of catching her off guard.

Carol blinked at her reflection. She wasn’t someone who giggled at flattery. Or felt fluttery when a man brought her coffee. Especially not a man with a cryptic deadline — who may or may not have been going on awkward blind dates in his spare time. And yet.

She pulled on a soft grey sweater, layered it under her coat, and stepped into her boots.

There were still papers to grade when she got back, and a Sunday night board meeting agenda to finalize. But for now, she had work to supervise, paint to scrape, and students to encourage.

And maybe, if it happened naturally — and only if — she might find herself walking another lap around the rec center with Scott Calvin.

Clipboard, gloves. She grabbed them from the entry table like armor.

She didn’t expect anything. Of course not.

But still… she was wearing the good jeans.

The ones that made her feel like herself. Or maybe someone a little braver.

And if her stomach flipped a little when she thought about the smile he sometimes gave her — the one he didn’t give anyone else — well, that was between her and her mirror.

At a last thought she let her hair down, nothing holding it back. She looked like Carol. And she took the beanie. It was going to be cold.

***

Sullivan Rec Center – Morning

The wind was sharp this morning — not biting, but brisk enough to flush the cheeks of the teens huddled in groups outside the center. A crate of gloves sat on the back bumper of a school van, along with a box of old rags and spray bottles that reeked faintly of vinegar and citrus.

Carol strode into view with purpose — clipboard in hand, thermos tucked under her arm. Her boots made satisfying crunches on the salted pavement, the kind that told everyone she wasn’t here to let them loaf around.

But she smiled, just enough to balance it.

“Good morning,” she called out, voice carrying over the cluster of half-asleep students. “Don’t all cheer at once.”

There were some groans and mumbled greetings in return. Carol clocked the usual suspects — the grumpy eighth grader who never brought gloves, the chatty sophomore who’d rather flirt than scrub, and the pair of twin girls who always cleaned more than anyone but refused to talk to each other.

“Leary, gloves are on the van bumper. You know the drill.”

“I have my own today,” the boy called back, holding up mismatched mittens.

“Glad to see we’re all stepping up,” Carol deadpanned, marking him off her list.

She made her rounds, assigning pairs to different walls and windows, checking in with the volunteers from last week and folding a few new names into the mix. It was orderly chaos — her chaos — and by now the kids knew better than to cross her.

“Remember,” she said as she approached a trio with buckets and sponges, “this is a community space. How you leave it today says something about who you are when no one’s watching.”

One of the girls, Paige, rolled her eyes. “Does that mean we have to clean under the bench again?”

“You want to sit on gum next time we’re here?” Carol raised a brow.

“Gross. Okay, fine.”

As they groaned and got to work, Carol glanced around the lot. The sun had finally crested the trees, casting a gentle gold onto the rec center walls. It was quiet for a moment — not peaceful, not yet, but almost.

She didn’t realize she was scanning the street until she caught herself doing it.

Looking for brown hair. A coffee cup. A crooked smile.

She exhaled and shook her head once, just to clear it.

It doesn’t matter if he shows up.

Then a car pulled up. Familiar.

Carol pressed her lips together, not quite smiling, and tucked her clipboard tighter under her arm as she turned back toward the group.

***

The grey minivan pulled into the lot a little too fast for the frozen pavement, tires grinding over scattered salt and gravel with a sound that echoed. Even before the engine fully shut off, the passenger door flew open, and Charlie stepped out with all the dramatic energy of a kid halfway through his second forced Saturday of community service.

His hoodie was only half-zipped, his backpack slung lazily over one shoulder, and his scowl seemed permanent. He muttered something under his breath — possibly an insult, possibly just a grunt — before stalking off toward the bins of cleaning supplies.

Scott exited with less urgency, juggling two coffees in one hand and the keys in the other. He took a sip from one of the cups and glanced around the lot, already scanning for her.

It didn’t take long.

Carol stood a few yards off, clipboard in hand, coat cinched at the waist, her grey knit beanie tugged low over loose strands of blonde hair that fluttered in the wind. She looked calm. Capable. Completely in control.

And something about her standing there like that, against the backdrop of peeling rec center walls and teenagers wielding sponges like weapons, made Scott’s stomach flip.

He approached with practiced casualness, a grin already creeping across his face.

“Sorry we’re late,” he said, lifting the coffees slightly like it might earn him redemption. “I know lateness is a cardinal sin in community service law.”

Carol barely turned her head, arching a brow in his direction. “You’re only three minutes late.”

“Three minutes I spent arguing with a barista over whether steamed oat milk qualifies as real milk,” he replied, offering her the second coffee. “The sacrifices I make to bring you this…”

She took the cup without hesitation, her gloved fingers brushing briefly against his. The contact was fleeting, but not entirely accidental. She didn’t pull back right away.

“You think I’m an oat milk person?” she asked, eyes narrowing playfully.

Scott leaned in slightly, his voice lower. “I think you’re the kind of person who surprises people — just when they think they’ve figured you out.”

Carol paused a beat longer before sipping.

Scott gave a knowing grin. “I think you’re the kind of person who rolls her eyes at flavored syrups and drinks it straight black — no fuss.”

Carol raised the lid and took a sip, letting the warmth fill the early morning chill that lingered around them.

“…You’re not entirely wrong,” she admitted.

Scott’s grin widened, the corners of his mouth twitching with satisfaction. 

“So the excuse for your lateness doesn’t work, as it was your own drink you had to fight over,” she smiled. “You should just cross to the dark side with me — then you’d never have to fight over drinks again.”

Behind them, Charlie had already been assigned a section of the outer wall — one of the less-graffitied ones, though it still bore the remnants of teenage rebellion. He was crouched beside a dusty window, sponge in hand, pretending his father didn’t exist.

Carol marked something off on her clipboard, her tone slipping neatly back into that familiar professional cadence. “I was beginning to wonder if you were going to keep showing up. Parent reps tend to lose steam after one weekend.”

Scott shrugged with mock innocence. “Well, the way I see it… once you commit to being part of something, you stick it out.”

“Is that so?”

“That, and I can’t let my son show me up with elbow grease.”

Carol let out a soft, half-contained laugh — the kind that caught her by surprise before she could stifle it. She tilted her head slightly, eyes still on her clipboard.

“Well, since you’re so committed,” she said, “I’ve got a row of windows on the south side of the rec hall that kids never finish. Too many panes. Think you’re up to it?”

“As long as no one catches me licking the Windex, I’m game.”

This time, she laughed outright — a real, unguarded sound that carried in the crisp air between them.

“Be glad I don’t grade this,” she said, turning on her heel.

“I already am,” Scott murmured, mostly to himself.

She didn’t look back. But she could feel his eyes following her all the same — and for once, she didn’t mind it.

Scott let out a long breath, his smile lingering as he turned toward his assigned windows, grabbing some utilities with one hand, coffee in the other.

Behind him, Charlie’s voice floated up, just loud enough to be heard.

“He’s so obvious,” he muttered, with the world-weary tone only a teenager could manage.

Scott didn’t respond. He didn’t need to.

His grin only deepened.

***

Scott was halfway through his third window when he heard the crunch of boots behind him. He didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

“I see you’ve discovered the joys of streaks,” Carol said from just over his shoulder.

He leaned back, squinting at the glass and the faint, stubborn smears that refused to disappear no matter how many times he buffed them out. “I swear this Windex is haunted.”

Carol crossed her arms and peered over his shoulder. “You’re using too much.”

“Or not enough,” he countered, glancing at her sideways. “Hard to know with these magical window-cleaning rules you keep in your top-secret principal clipboard.”

She arched a brow. “You do realize I used to scrub cafeteria windows in grad school to make rent, right?”

Scott blinked. “No. And I think that’s the most impressive thing I’ve learned all day.”

She smirked and uncapped her pen, making a quick note on her clipboard. “You’re not hopeless, I’ll give you that.”

“Be careful. That sounded suspiciously like praise,” he said, grinning.

Carol didn’t answer. She just shifted the clipboard under her arm again and reached for the thermos tucked in the crook of her elbow.

“You want a refill?” she asked, nodding toward the almost empty cup on the ground.

Scott looked down at it. “Only if you’re sure you’re not secretly plotting to poison me.”

“It’s hot chocolate,” she said, unscrewing the lid. “With a little cinnamon.”

He blinked, caught off guard by how personal that sounded. Like she had brought a little piece of comfort just for him.  “Hot chocolate?”

Her tone turned lightly defensive. “It’s cold. I don’t judge your caffeine choices.”

He took the cup in his gloved hand. “No, no judgment here. I just figured you were strictly a black coffee, maybe espresso if someone dies, kind of woman.”

Carol poured carefully into his paper cup, the steam curling up between them like a peace offering. “And this is my guilty pleasure.”

Scott took a sip. His expression shifted almost immediately — surprised, then impressed.

“This is…” He blinked. “Okay, wait. This is the best hot chocolate I’ve had since—”

He stopped himself, but only barely. This could have come straight from the elf’s kitchen. Not that he could tell her that.

Carol tilted her head. “Since what?”

“Since… a long time ago,” he said, covering the pause with a shrug. “I lived somewhere with really good cocoa.”

“Switzerland?” she teased.

“Something like that.”

She didn’t press, just gave a soft hum of amusement and tucked the thermos back under her arm. Scott looked down at the drink again, warming his hands on the cup, then up at her.

“You know,” he said thoughtfully, “this could change everything I thought I knew about you.”

Carol narrowed her eyes, amused. “Because I drink hot chocolate?”

“Because you don’t just drink hot chocolate. You make hot chocolate. And it’s good. Like, suspiciously good.”

She shook her head. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And yet you keep talking to me,” he said, voice softer now.

She met his eyes for a second longer than she needed to. Then she stepped back, adjusting her coat.

“I’ll check on the east lot,” she said, her tone even again. “Try not to smear any more glass.”

She didn’t look back. But for just a second, she wanted to.

Scott watched her walk away, the smell of cinnamon still lingering around him, and took another slow sip from his cup.

The warmth spread through him, but not just from the drink.

The truth was, it tasted exactly like home.

And maybe, just maybe, so did this.

***

The windows were finally looking less like abstract art and more like glass, but Scott’s enthusiasm had hit a noticeable lull somewhere around pane twenty-three. His sponge had lost its will to live. His fingers were numb. And the smell of ammonia had begun to haunt his sinuses.

He stepped back, stretched his spine with an audible groan, and muttered, “If Santa ever comes back, I’m giving the elves dental coverage and Windex-resistant glass.”

From behind the corner of the building, a door creaked open and slammed again. A wiry eighth grader named Dillon came waddling out, half-buried under the weight of two enormous boxes of donated books.

“Where are you taking those?” Scott asked, stepping forward.

“Back inside. Ms. Newman said to move 'em to the rec room.”

The kid was swaying under the weight, his skinny arms trembling.

“Let me,” Scott said, already taking the top box from him. “Before you tip over and break your neck — or worse, drop a Harry Potter hardcover on your foot.”

Dillon mumbled a grateful thanks and disappeared back toward the doors. Scott shifted the box in his arms, blowing warm air into his gloves as he stepped around the corner toward the rec room.

The doors swung open again just as he reached them.

Carol stepped out, eyebrows rising slightly when she saw him. “Are those my books?”

“Your books?” he echoed. “I thought they belonged to the community.”

She rolled her eyes, stepping aside so he could pass. “I meant they were supposed to be stored, not carried off by volunteers who think they’re being helpful.”

“Oh, I see. So I accidentally did a good deed.”

He followed her inside, the warm air of the rec room immediately relaxing him. The lights were fluorescent and humming faintly, and a table had been cleared in the corner for donations.

She pointed. “Over there.”

He set the box down with exaggerated care and flexed his fingers. “Be honest — this was just a clever way to get me off window duty, wasn’t it?”

Carol crossed her arms. “You looked like you were about five minutes away from talking to the glass.”

“I was talking to the glass,” he admitted. “It just wasn’t talking back.”

She shook her head with a smile, then glanced toward the now-empty cart by the door. “There’s one more box inside if you’ve still got energy.”

Scott straightened up with a dramatic stretch. “I have the energy of ten elves, thank you very much.”

Carol bit back a laugh. “Is that a real unit of measurement where you come from?”

“Absolutely,” he said, following her toward the interior hallway. “Right between sugar grams and sleigh horsepower.”

They walked shoulder to shoulder for a few quiet seconds, the noise of the service group fading behind them. The hallway dimmed slightly, the overhead lights flickering in the late afternoon hush. The teasing dropped for just a second.

Then, more softly, she asked, “Do you ever get tired of always making everything into a joke?”

Scott glanced sideways at her, not offended — more surprised.

“Maybe,” he said after a pause. “But it’s usually safer than saying what I really think.”

Carol nodded slowly, eyes forward. “I used to do that too. When I was younger.”

“What changed?”

“I started teaching middle school.”

He let out a breath of laughter. “That’ll do it.”

They reached the last box, smaller than the first two, sitting just inside the staff office. Carol picked it up before he could.

Scott made a show of reaching for it. “Hey — chivalry’s not dead, you know.”

Carol backed out with the box held tight to her chest. “Chivalry can hold the door.”

Scott grinned, trailing behind her again.

As they reached the rec room once more, he caught her glance his way — just a flick of the eyes, but it lingered for a beat longer than it should have.

And he wondered — not for the first time — if this was how it began. The soft, slow sort of beginning. Not a grand declaration, not fireworks, but something quieter.

And she kept surprising him.

Not with grand gestures.

But with warmth. Quiet glances. Hot chocolate on a freezing day.

***

Sullivan Rec Center – Late afternoon

The sky had dipped into the dusty blush of late day, streaks of pink and gold fading quickly behind the bare silhouettes of trees. Most of the students had already left, backpacks slung over shoulders, gloves forgotten in bins, their laughter trailing faintly toward waiting cars.

Charlie had finished earlier than expected and disappeared into the backseat of the minivan, earbuds in, hoodie drawn high. He hadn’t said much since the last round of scrubbing, but Scott knew better than to push him just yet.

Scott lingered near the front steps, hands deep in his coat pockets, rocking slightly on his heels as he waited — or maybe just… stalled.

Carol was coming down the walkway, clipboard finally tucked away, her pace slower now. The wind tugged at the ends of the loose pieces of hair that had slipped from under her beanie. She looked tired — but in that satisfied way people did after getting something done right.

Their eyes met as she neared.

“Another successful day of indentured servitude,” Scott said lightly.

Carol gave him a sideways smile. “You didn’t lick any windows this time, so I’m calling that a win.”

“Well, not while anyone was looking.”

She shook her head, biting back a laugh. “Thanks again for sticking with it. Most parents show up once, realize what it is, and find a reason to never volunteer again.”

Scott shrugged, but his voice was gentler when he answered, “As I already said, I don’t really like leaving things half-done.”

For a moment, neither of them said anything.

Carol glanced toward his minivan where Charlie sat, visibly pretending not to be watching them.

“I see improvements in Charlie,” she said, softer now. “But I know it’s not always easy.”

Scott followed her gaze, then looked back to her. “Yeah. Sometimes I think I was better at the… toymaker stuff.”

Carol gave a faint hum. “It’s easier to make a child smile when you’re giving them presents.”

He smiled, slow and a little tired. “Harder when they’re yours, and you’re out of reindeer and excuses.”

She looked at him then — really looked at him. There was something new in her expression. Not pity. Not sympathy. Maybe understanding. Or maybe… permission to stop performing.

“Still,” she said. “You show up. You are there. You care. That’s more than a lot of parents do.”

Scott’s eyes met hers. “I’m glad you noticed.”

Carol’s lips parted slightly — maybe to reply, maybe to change the subject — but she didn’t get the chance.

A loud honk startled them both. One of the kids from the group waved sheepishly from the backseat of his parents’ car. Scott chuckled under his breath.

Carol took a small step back, brushing her gloves together. “See you at the service group meeting on Tuesday?”

He nodded. “You bringing your world-famous cocoa?”

She smirked. “I don’t share that with just anyone.”

Scott put a hand to his heart. “Ouch. That’s cold.”

“Good thing you’ve got coffee to warm you up.”

She turned before he could answer, heading toward the school van. Her stride wasn’t rushed — but there was something in it, something aware. As if she knew he was watching.

And yes — he was.

He didn’t say anything until he was back in the car, hands back on the wheel, the engine humming beneath him.

Charlie still had his earbuds in, but Scott caught the side-eye.

“You done flirting?” Charlie asked, deadpan.

Scott smiled faintly. “I was saying goodbye.”

Charlie pulled out one earbud. “For ten minutes?”

Scott just shrugged, shifting into drive.

Somewhere between the silence and the smile, something felt easier. Not solved. Not certain. But easier.

Maybe it was the cocoa.

Maybe it was her.

***

Inside the school van

The cold had settled in with purpose by the time Carol reached the school van. Her hands were stiff inside her gloves, and the ache in her shoulder reminded her she’d been hauling cleaning supplies and paint buckets all day. Still, there was a weightless quality to her chest as she unlocked the door and slid behind the wheel.

She sat for a moment in the quiet, the engine ticking faintly as it cooled. A few kids were still being picked up, their silhouettes drifting behind her in the mirrors. Carol’s eyes, though, went instinctively to the grey minivan idling a few yards away. To the man behind the wheel.

Scott Calvin.

She let her forehead tip lightly against the steering wheel. Just for a breath.

God.

She hadn’t meant to start noticing him.

Not like that.

It was supposed to be community outreach — a way to engage students, build responsibility, channel her overworked staff’s frustration with disciplinary reports into something productive. She hadn't accounted for the fact that Scott Calvin, former marketing executive turned full-time mystery man, would show up with a lopsided grin, an annoyingly charming way of deflecting criticism, and coffee orders that made her feel seen.

He had brought her coffee. Two Saturdays in a row.

The first time had been polite.

The second time? Thoughtful.

She’d actually looked forward to it.

He remembered her preferences. He’d paid attention. And then, of course, he had to tease her like they were already friends. Her cocoa stunt still had her off-balance.

She stared out the windshield, watching her breath fog and fade.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not just because she had a rule — a long-standing, painfully necessary rule about boundaries — but because it was him. The man who had missed so much of Charlie’s school life, who had been, until recently, just a name in the system with a string of late signatures and conference no-shows.

And now?

Now he was showing up on Saturdays. Cleaning windows. Talking about commitment with a straight face. Standing a little too close when he handed her coffee.

And somehow, damn it all, she’d started to look forward to it.

Carol’s fingers tightened around the steering wheel. She should shut it down. Reinforce the line. Remind herself why she made the rule in the first place.

Because hope, when it goes wrong, is harder to scrape off than any graffiti.

Charlie was her student — a good one, but not without trouble. The last thing she needed was whispers about playing favorites or letting a charming face sway her judgment.

This could be inappropriate. She was the principal.

But Scott…

He wasn’t what she expected. Not just because of the dad jokes or awkward charm — but because, beneath it, there was a quiet ache. And it looked a little too much like her own.

That was the most dangerous part.

She started the van, her headlights sweeping across the lot, catching the shimmer of salt and ice. As she pulled away, she didn’t glance back again. She didn’t let herself.

But the warmth still lingered — steady, impossible to ignore.

And it wasn’t from the cocoa.

Chapter Text

Sunday, December 15th, 2002

Millers' House – Afternoon

The house was unusually still.

Lucy was napping upstairs. Laura was out for a walk. Neil was, predictably, at the kitchen table working on one of his “calming puzzles” — the kind with a thousand tiny pieces and an absurdly frustrating image of a snow-covered mountain lake. Scott had tried to help once — once — and immediately placed a sky piece in the wrong section. He’d been silently banished ever since.

Now, he stood in front of the glass doors, staring at the backyard where the trees stood bare and frost crusted the deck. One hand held a lukewarm cup of tea. The other thumbed distractedly at his magic measuring watch — his mind perpetually stuck on: 9 Days Remaining.

Nine days.

Nine days until Christmas Eve. Nine days until his magic was gone for good — assuming it even lasted that long. Every day, he could feel it weakening. He couldn’t see the snow glimmer anymore. Couldn’t feel the hum of the North Pole the way he used to. The twinkle was dimming.

And still…

Still, he was here.

Helping Charlie scrub windows. Arguing with baristas over coffee orders. Looking for excuses to make a certain principal smile.

He sighed and took another sip.

Behind him, Neil cleared his throat. “You’re very quiet today.”

Scott didn’t turn around. “Trying to enjoy the calm before the chaos.”

“Holiday chaos?”

“Existential, mostly.”

A pause.

“You want to talk about it?” Neil asked gently.

Scott glanced over his shoulder. “Will it involve vision boards and breathing exercises?”

“No promises.”

He set the tea down and joined Neil at the table, easing into the chair opposite him. Between them, the puzzle was a half-assembled swirl of pine trees and dark sky.

“It’s weird,” Scott said finally, voice low. “I’m running out of time. And I’m starting to wonder if I even know what I’m trying to save anymore.”

Neil gave him a look that was, surprisingly, devoid of smugness. “Santa, you mean?”

“Yeah. The job. The magic. All of it.”

“When you first got back, you were determined to reclaim it,” Neil said, folding his hands. Typical therapist posture.

Scott stared down at the puzzle pieces. “Because I thought it mattered more than anything. That bringing joy to millions of kids every year was worth… everything I gave up.” He glanced toward the stairs. “But this week? I keep thinking about Charlie. How many holidays I missed. How many times I asked him to understand why I wasn’t there.”

Neil’s brow creased. “And now?”

“Now I’m here. And I get to see him. Even if he’s mad at me half the time, at least I’m here for it. That… feels like it should count for something.”

Neil nodded slowly, then picked up a puzzle piece, turning it in his fingers. “You’ve always been a good father, Scott. Even when you were trying to balance two worlds. But maybe this is the first time in a long while that you’re really in this one.”

There was another pause. Longer this time.

“Do you think Charlie still wants me to be Santa?” Scott asked. “Because for a while, I thought he really did.”

“You should ask him,” Neil said simply. “But I think what he wants is you. Not the sleigh. Not the magic. Just you. And most of all, he’d want what’s best for you, Scott.”

Scott leaned back and exhaled slowly, letting that sink in.

Later that afternoon, he would watch Lucy practice her reading at the table while Charlie sat beside her, frowning over his homework and helping her every so often with the pronunciation of a tricky word. He would think about how easily he’d slipped back into this rhythm — cereal in the mornings, carpool lines, helping Charlie find his sneakers, reading Lucy bedtime stories he used to rush through when Charlie was her age.

And even later, when the house had gone quiet and the sky outside turned dusky indigo, he would find his thoughts not on the North Pole or the ticking deadline…

…but on a woman in a knit grey beanie.

And how her cocoa still tasted like magic.

Chapter Text

Monday, December 16th, 2002

Sycamore Secondary – Front Office – Midday

The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead with the kind of low, persistent hum that made you question your sanity if you sat under them too long. Scott slipped a folded permission slip into the tray on the secretary’s desk, aiming for a quick exit — in and out, no detours. No run-ins. No hallway chats that would knock him off mission and make him forget why the elves had sent him down here in the first place.

Then he heard her voice.

It floated from behind a half-closed office door, laced with polite frustration.

“No, I understand... yes, but there’s no backup? No uncle, neighbor, improv actor with a beard?”

Scott paused. Something about the tone — practical, tired, still hopeful — tugged at him.

Another silence. A sigh. He could picture her already: hand on her hip, clipboard tucked tightly against her chest, talking herself through one of those calls that required every last drop of patience.

“Yes. No, I get it’s short notice, but—fine. We’ll… figure something out.”

Before he could overthink it, he knocked lightly on the doorframe and stepped inside — like that might make his appearance feel less intrusive.

“Need a Santa?”

Carol turned. Her phone dipped from her ear, eyebrows rising in surprise — and something else. A flicker of amusement, maybe. Or relief she wasn’t ready to show.

She wore a simple blouse, her hair pulled back into one of those buns that looked casual but deliberate. There was a faint ink smudge on her knuckle — probably from signing half a dozen forms before lunch — and a quiet fatigue in her eyes that softened the moment she saw him.

“The holiday play lost their Santa Claus,” she said, hanging up. “Flu. Apparently there’s a stomach bug making its way through the cast. The only other adult brave enough to wear the suit has… a tinsel allergy.”

Scott's mouth twitched. “That’s tragic. Truly.”

“It’s this afternoon,” she added, with a glance at the clock. “No time to find someone else unless a miracle in a red suit walks through the door.”

He gestured down at himself — black coat, jeans, no hint of red in sight — but grinned. “Well. Technically I own a suit or two. Some with better padding.”

Her lips curved — not quite a smile, but close. The kind of look she gave when she didn’t want to admit she was amused.

“What kind of Santa are we talking about here? Classic ‘Ho Ho Ho’ or the interpretive one from that art school production where Christmas was a metaphor for late-stage capitalism?”

Carol exhaled through a laugh she almost managed to hide.

“Straightforward. Cheerful. Capable of not terrifying second graders.”

“Well, that rules out interpretive capitalism Santa,” Scott said. “But cheerful? I can do cheerful.”

She leaned slightly against the counter, arms crossing over her chest as she studied him. “You really want to do this?”

He shrugged, playing it casual. “You said I show up too much. Figured I might as well be useful while I’m at it.”

She handed him a flyer with the name of the elementary school auditorium and a scrawled contact: Ms. Daniels – Choir. Her fingers brushed his as he took it — just a moment, a small spark — but she didn’t pull away immediately.

She didn’t thank him out loud. But the softening in her expression, the faint undoing of the line between her brows, was more than enough.

And if he stood there a beat longer than necessary, savoring the proximity — well. That was nobody’s business but his.

***

North Grove Elementary School – Auditorium – Later

The Santa suit smelled like mothballs and cafeteria disinfectant — a strange mix of storage closets and childhood memories. The belt was stiff, the padding uneven, and one of the boots had a duct tape patch across the toe. Still, as Scott tugged the hat lower and adjusted the fake beard, it didn’t really matter.

There was something about putting on red again — even this sad, lumpy version — that stirred something in him. Not magic. Not the shimmer-and-sleighbells kind. But something smaller. Gentler.

A hum.

He peeked through the curtain as the house lights dimmed. The cafeteria tables had been pushed aside. Folding chairs packed the space, filled with parents, siblings, teachers bundled in winter coats. Some kids fidgeted with paper programs. Others craned to see behind the curtain, whispering and pointing.

In the back row, he saw her.

Carol sat near a row of Sycamore kids, clipboard still tucked in her arms like a habit she couldn’t break. Her scarf — red, soft-looking — curled loosely at her neck. Beside her, Charlie sat with his hood half up, a teenage sigh already building.

Scott exhaled slowly.

And then the curtain rose.

The play unfolded with the chaotic charm only a school production could deliver: light on plot, heavy on tinsel. Lines rhymed. Costumes glittered. The jokes landed somewhere between adorable and incomprehensible.

Santa’s big entrance came in the third scene, after Dasher and Dancer caught colds and the sleigh’s GPS went missing.

Scott stepped into the lights with an exaggerated, rusty “Ho ho ho!” — half-laugh, half-cough. A few kids clapped. One audibly gasped. The little girl playing Mrs. Claus gave him a secret thumbs-up from behind the wings.

He fumbled a line about reindeer vitamins, then recovered with a terrible pun about peppermint cough drops that somehow made the squirrel kid giggle. He rolled with it. Made up a bit about Santa getting stuck in traffic on the 405. Did a spin that made his jingle bell jingle like it had stage fright.

The laughter was small, scattered — but real.

And when the fake snow came — cotton balls and shredded tissue tossed gleefully from above — Scott looked out and saw the kids, their faces tipped toward the ceiling, catching it like magic.

And in the back — Charlie. Smiling.

Scott’s heart lifted.

Not nostalgia. Not longing. Just… joy.

This was what Santa was about. Not the sleigh or the magic or the list.

Wonder. Laughter. Showing up.

The rest? Just ribbon.

When the curtain fell and the kids took their final bows, Scott wasn’t ready to take off the suit. But he bowed anyway, hand on his stomach, hat tilted low, catching Carol watching him from the shadows of the back row.

Not smiling.

But not looking away, either.

***

After the play

The fake beard had left a faint red line along Scott’s jaw. He rubbed at it as he stood behind the curtain, watching families begin to filter out.

Charlie approached quietly — hoodie up, sneakers crunching faintly against the floor. He stopped beside his dad and didn’t say anything at first.

“You were…” Charlie began, grudgingly. “Not awful.”

Scott huffed a laugh. “Wow. Is this what passes for a compliment now?”

Charlie shrugged. But the corner of his mouth twitched.

They stood in silence. Not awkward. Just quiet.

“You like doing this, huh?” Charlie asked after a moment.

Scott glanced down at the worn red coat, still buttoned over his sweater. Too big, too lumpy. But yeah. He did.

“I do,” he said. “It’s dumb, I know. Just a school play. But… showing up like that? That’s always been the part I cared about.”

Charlie nodded slowly, absorbing it.

Scott nudged him lightly. “Maybe Santa doesn’t have to mean the North Pole. Maybe it’s just showing up. Spreading joy. One terrible pun at a time.”

Charlie rolled his eyes. “That was so lame.”

“Lame’s in the job description.”

But Charlie didn’t leave. He stayed close.

The auditorium doors creaked open. Carol stepped inside, wrapped in her coat now, gloves on, a beanie tugged down over her ears. She paused when she saw them.

Scott lifted a hand in a small wave.

She smiled. Just barely. But it was real.

Then she marked something on her clipboard — probably Charlie — and disappeared again.

Charlie gave his dad a sideways glance. “You’re not gonna talk to her again, are you?”

Scott smirked. “Why? Jealous?”

Charlie made a face. “You’re obvious.”

Scott just grinned and slung an arm around his son’s shoulders. “Let me change. We’ll head out.”

Charlie groaned. But he didn’t pull away.

***

Outside – Front Steps

The late afternoon air was crisp, tinged with frost and something that smelled faintly like cinnamon and old glitter.

Scott ran a hand through his flattened hair. His coat hung open, red-and-green flannel shirt underneath dusted with flecks of cotton snow.

At the foot of the steps, a makeshift cocoa stand had been set up by Sycamore’s service group. Glitter glue on the sign sparkled where it hadn’t flaked off. A few kids doled out watery cocoa with heroic determination.

Charlie drifted up beside him.

Scott nudged him toward the stand. “Cocoa and sugar. A holiday tradition.”

They took their cups — mismatched, steaming, and filled with exactly three mini marshmallows each.

“This is… not good,” Scott muttered.

Charlie nodded. “But it’s for the school. So.”

Scott blinked, surprised by the tone — like the school mattered to him now. Like something was settling inside the kid who used to run from everything.

They sipped cocoa and watched the crowd — the flow of laughter and parents and kids sticky with sugar and pride. Someone called out, “Thanks, Santa!” A tiny boy pointed at Scott’s boots and shouted, “Cool shoes!” before disappearing into the crowd.

Charlie smirked.

“You really like this, don’t you?” he asked.

Scott thought about it.

“I do.”

Charlie stared into his cup. Then said, almost casually, “You think you’ll go back? To… the North Pole stuff?”

Scott’s breath caught.

“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “If it’s still there. If there’s still a way back. If someone’s still waiting.”

Charlie nodded slowly.

A gust of wind stirred their jackets, and they both stepped a little closer to the table without acknowledging it.

“You were pretty good,” Charlie said after a moment. “For a guy in a suit held together with safety pins.”

Scott bumped his shoulder. “You admitting I killed it?”

“I’m saying you didn’t ruin it.”

Scott grinned.

Across the lot, Carol stood near the sidewalk, still deep in conversation, clipboard tucked under one arm. She glanced over — caught his eye — and didn’t look away.

Scott raised his cocoa cup in salute.

No smile this time.

But something flickered in her gaze.

And that was enough.

“Come on,” he said, nudging Charlie toward the car. “Let’s leave before they draft me for a sequel.”

“You wish,” Charlie muttered. “You peaked with the squirrel joke.”

They walked off together, dusk curling behind them like the edge of a snow globe — soft, swirling, full of maybe.

Scott didn’t feel like Santa.

Not officially.

But maybe — just maybe — he hadn’t lost it after all.

Maybe all it took was showing up.

Chapter Text

Monday, December 16th, 2002

Carol’s House – Evening

The kettle whistled softly from the kitchen, but Carol didn’t move.

She sat curled at the end of the couch, legs tucked beneath her, wearing the oversized Sycamore hoodie she only let herself wear in private. A legal pad lay untouched on the coffee table beside a neglected stack of grading, her pen half-nestled in the spiral binding like it, too, had given up for the night.

She should have been working — grading, replying to the parent who still hadn’t picked up their child’s science fair display board, rechecking the list for tomorrow’s service group meeting. But instead, she sat still, her thoughts drifting stubbornly back to the elementary school auditorium.

Back to the laughter that echoed from the back row.

Steam from the kettle curled lazily toward the ceiling. Still, she didn’t move.

Her eyes lingered on the faint smear of snow still clinging to the outside of the window, strange against the backdrop of an unseasonably warm day. In the neighborhood beyond, Christmas lights flickered to life — mostly white, one or two brave houses flashing every color at once. Carol usually didn’t like the blinking ones. They made her feel like she was being watched.

But tonight, she barely noticed.

Scott Calvin — in a faded, crooked Santa suit — shouldn’t have stuck with her. And yet here she was, tea forgotten, lesson plans untouched, replaying the thirty-minute school play like it had won Best Picture.

He’d been… something.

Not polished. Not rehearsed. The suit barely fit, and the beard had looked like it was trying to escape halfway through his second scene. But the kids had laughed. Not just the ones watching — the ones onstage too. Even the sixth grader who had clearly wanted to be anywhere else had cracked a smile when Scott pantomimed slipping on a banana peel tossed by an overzealous elf.

Carol had stood in the back with her arms folded, trying to stay removed. She was used to parents showing off, especially around the holidays — the loud, overconfident types who thought charm was the same thing as connection.

But Scott hadn’t tried to steal the spotlight.

He’d simply filled it.

And when the kids clapped, when the fake snow fell and he looked out into the room with that crooked smile — like none of it was about him at all — something inside her softened.

It had been a long time since she’d seen someone enjoy something so simply. So purely.

And then there was Charlie.

She’d watched him too, sneaking glances at his father between sullen stretches of pretending not to care. But he’d laughed. Really laughed. Not out of embarrassment or obligation, but because something had reached him. Something he hadn’t expected.

Something he missed.

Carol finally rose from the couch and silenced the kettle. She poured the water into her favorite mug — a ceramic one with scarf-wearing penguins — and dropped in the tea bag with more force than necessary.

This couldn’t be anything. She wouldn’t let it become anything. She couldn’t afford to see him as anything more than Charlie’s father.

Except… she already had.

Scott was showing up. Again and again. Not just for Charlie, but for the school. Volunteering. Connecting. Listening. Even managing to get along with Neil — which frankly felt like a minor Christmas miracle.

He was rough around the edges. A little too casual. A little too quick with sarcasm. Too available lately, which made her nervous. She knew how it looked when someone started hovering. She knew the boundaries — professional, ethical, appropriate — and she had no intention of crossing them.

But there was something about him that made her pause.

Even if she’d caught herself smiling into her clipboard this afternoon like a teenager with a crush.
Even if she’d driven home picturing him still in that absurd Santa coat.
Even if part of her couldn’t tell whether she was talking herself out of something… or down from something that already felt like it was beginning.

There was sincerity underneath all the nonsense. And maybe even… kindness.

Real kindness. The kind you couldn’t fake. The kind that caught her off guard every single time.

She sipped her tea. Too hot. Too strong. She grimaced and added more honey — the kind she pretended not to like.

She glanced at the clock. Too late to be thinking about someone like Scott Calvin.

Too late to be wondering why her heart had stuttered today when he stepped into the spotlight and made a roomful of second graders howl with laughter.

She should be focused on her students. On the responsibilities piling high as the semester closed in.

But her gaze lingered at the window, and her thoughts stayed where he’d been — clumsy Santa boots and all.

***

The Millers’ Guest Room – Evening

The house was quiet.

Lucy had gone to bed after dinner — a whirlwind of sticky fingers, candy cane breath, and hummed carols that trailed her all the way upstairs. Charlie had retreated to his room with his headphones on, the door cracked just enough for Scott to know he was still breathing.

Scott stood by the window with a half-empty mug in hand. Not cocoa. Just decaf. Too much creamer. The kind of thing he used to complain about in the North Pole kitchen when Curtis made it too sweet. Now… he didn’t mind it.

Maybe he even needed it.

Outside, the neighborhood glowed with twinkle lights and inflatable Santas. The lawn next door pulsed in rhythm with some over-caffeinated radio station. It should’ve felt cheerful. Comforting. Familiar.

Instead, it looked like a version of Christmas he didn’t quite belong to anymore.

He hadn’t realized how much he missed it. Not the suit. Not the sleigh or the title.

The joy.

The feeling he’d had today — standing on that stage, hearing kids laugh not because of magic, not because he was Santa, but because someone showed up. Because someone made them feel seen.

He’d forgotten that part. The simplest part.

Scott rubbed a hand over his face and sank into the armchair by the window. His body ached in ways magic used to guard against. His knees cracked more than they should. But it wasn’t just age — he was only 44.

It was the ache of absence. Of purpose lost.

He leaned his head back, staring at the ceiling. Trying not to think about how close Christmas Eve really was.

Just over a week.

Would anyone even notice if Santa Claus didn’t come this year?

He hated that the thought had crossed his mind. But it had. More than once.

The belief — it was fading. Every year, it dipped lower. Like a candle burning toward its stub. Maybe kids didn’t need Santa anymore. Not when the world handed them everything early. Not when the shelves were full and the ads never stopped and parents did everything they could to fill the space.

But it wasn’t about the gifts.

It was about the magic. The moment. The joy.

Especially for the kids who had nothing else.

The ones with quiet Christmas mornings. Empty stockings. Maybe one wrapped present under the tree, if they were lucky.

Those were the kids he thought about now.

Who would show up for them?

He leaned forward slowly, set the mug down with a quiet clink. His hands hovered between his knees — restless, fidgeting, stilling again.

Time was running out.

Every hour brought Christmas Eve closer. And with it, the clause.

He needed to be married by then. Or it was all gone. Not just the title. Not just the magic.

Christmas.

And the only person who’d made him feel anything in years — who challenged him, saw through him, smiled at him like maybe, just maybe, she didn’t mind what she saw — was the one person he absolutely should not be falling for.

Carol Newman.

Charlie’s principal.

She wasn’t impulsive. She wasn’t going to be swept into anything. She was sharp. Steady. Someone who knew exactly what she was worth and didn’t let people undervalue it.

She wore sensible heels and soft scarves and carried clipboards like armor. She was the kind of woman who planned ahead, who showed up for everyone but herself.

She wasn’t going to say yes to something as insane as a Christmas Eve wedding. Not with a man she’d only just started to trust.

And yet…

Scott couldn’t stop thinking about her.

The way she’d looked at him today — not annoyed, not guarded, but curious. Like she was starting to see him for more than the guy who showed up at the front office too often with weak excuses and nervous jokes.

Like she didn’t mind seeing a little more.

He sighed, ran a hand through his hair, and leaned back into the chair.

This was madness.

And he was dangerously close to admitting that Carol was the one he wanted to ask. The one he wished he’d met sooner. The one he hoped might still believe in something — or someone — despite all the reasons not to.

But how could he ask? When the truth wasn’t something he could just hand over like a wrapped gift?

All he had was a deadline, a handful of fading magic… and a son watching him, waiting, hoping not to be disappointed again.

Scott looked out the window at the lights blinking against the night and made no wish.

Not yet.

But he hoped — with everything in him — for a sign.

Something.

Anything.

That he wasn’t the only one still believing.

Chapter Text

Tuesday, December 17th, 2002

Sycamore Secondary – Cafeteria

The cafeteria smelled faintly of cinnamon toast and janitor’s bleach — an odd combination that somehow defined Tuesday mornings. The service group had gathered around the usual folding table near the back wall, bundled up in layers, blinking through sleep, and trying their best to look attentive as Carol read through the day’s assignments.

At 7:45 a.m., most of them would’ve rather stayed in bed. Carol didn’t blame them — she was tired too — so she let the slouching slide. They showed up. That mattered.

Charlie Calvin sat at the end of the table, hood up, arms crossed, eyes on the floor — but he was here. Again. And he hadn’t even flinched when she handed him the clipboard.

Progress.

“…and if anyone’s willing to help organize the donation boxes in the foyer, we could use a few extra hands,” she said, scanning the room. “They got a little chaotic after the morning rush.”

“I’ll take it,” came a voice from behind her.

Carol turned — and there was Scott, hands in his jacket pockets, looking surprisingly alert for this hour and wearing that crooked little smile she really had no business noticing as much as she did.

A few students glanced up. One or two grinned. Charlie rolled his eyes and muttered something she pretended not to hear.

“You’re volunteering again?” Carol asked, arching an eyebrow. “I figured yesterday’s excitement would’ve worn you out.”

Scott shrugged. “I was already dropping him off,” he said, nodding toward Charlie. “Figured I’d hang around, see if there’s coffee. Maybe do something heroic — like tape up the lost-and-found box.”

Carol folded her arms, trying not to smile. “So… are you here for the community or the caffeine?”

He tilted his head. “Why not both?”

He was teasing — but it was gentle, not smug. And underneath it, something genuine flickered in his tone. She smiled before she could stop herself.

Carol handed him a stack of flyers. “Alright, you’re officially in charge of the lost-and-found and foyer box duty. Try not to get distracted.”

Scott gave a mock salute. “I’ll do my best to stay humble.”

As the students filed out, dragging clipboards and mittens and early-morning groans, Carol lingered a moment at the back of the room. Her eyes followed Scott as he disappeared with a few of the students toward the front lobby.

She shouldn’t be this aware of him.

Not with a stack of ungraded papers on her desk. Not with holiday events to organize, parents to email, and a week left before winter break turned everything to chaos.

But still… there was something comforting about him being here.

Again.

***

Sycamore Secondary – Hallway

She found him about twenty minutes later, crouched beside one of the donation bins, attempting to keep the top flap from collapsing inward while a sixth grader attempted to alphabetize winter gloves.

“I think this box used to be a science project,” Scott muttered as she approached. “It smells like vinegar and existential dread.”

Carol laughed — a real one this time — and his head snapped up, pleased and a little surprised.

She had a clipboard under one arm, a coffee in her hand, and something about her looked slightly… nervous. That wasn’t like her.

“Hey,” she said, offering the cup. “I brought you coffee.”

He took it with a grateful smile. “You do know this confirms I’m coming back tomorrow, right?”

“Dangerous precedent, I know.” She hesitated, then added, “I meant to say… about yesterday. You were actually kind of amazing.”

His eyebrows rose. “Actually kind of amazing?”

She sighed, stepping closer. “Don’t make me regret saying it.”

“I’d never.” He stood, brushing imaginary lint off his sleeves. “So you’re saying I have a future in low-budget holiday theater?”

“I’m saying the kids loved it,” she said, her voice quieting. “You were warm. Funny. Present. And no one cried. That’s a win.”

There was a pause. Something unspoken hung between them.

“Thank you,” Scott said softly. “That… actually means a lot.”

Her expression shifted, something tender pulling at the corner of her mouth.

“You ever done that before?” she asked. “The Santa thing?”

Scott blinked. She wasn’t joking. Just asking. Curious. Open. Maybe even a little… concerned?

“I have,” he said, after a beat. “And yesterday reminded me how much I miss it. More than I thought I would. It’s… hard to explain.”

“Maybe not as hard as you think,” she said.

For a moment, the hallway quieted. Muffled footsteps echoed from the floor above. Somewhere down the corridor, a teacher called out to a late student.

But here, beside a box of lopsided scarves and forgotten hats, it was just the two of them. And something had shifted.

“Thanks for helping again,” she said, breaking the moment. “The kids like you.”

“They just like that I don’t assign homework.”

“That too.”

She reached to tuck a scarf back into the bin — and her hand brushed his.

He looked down.

She didn’t move away.

Her eyes lifted to meet his, and for a second — just a second — it felt like standing at the edge of something neither of them had dared to name.

Then the bell rang.

Carol stepped back.

“See you around, Mr. Calvin.”

Her heels echoed softly as she walked away, braid swaying gently with each step.

Scott, still crouched beside the donation bin, staring after her, realized something with a sharp and startling clarity:

He was in trouble.

***

Miller House – That Evening

The house was quiet. Too quiet.

Charlie was downstairs with Laura and Neil, supposedly working on a school project. Scott had offered to help, but the way Charlie hesitated — the way he said “we’ve got it” — told him everything he needed to know.

He still needed space.

Lucy was on a playdate, due back before dinner.

And Scott — sitting alone in the neutral-toned guestroom that smelled faintly of dryer sheets and impersonal comfort — was nursing a lukewarm mug of tea he didn’t want, staring out the window at the snow collecting on the ledge. The glow of the Christmas tree — small, artificial, decorated mostly with Charlie’s childhood crafts and a few ornaments Laura had passed along — filled his space with just enough warmth to make him feel lonelier than he wanted to admit.

He hadn’t turned on the TV. Couldn’t focus long enough to read. And cleaning the room for a third time had done nothing to settle his thoughts.

His mind kept circling back to her.

Carol.

The way she smiled when she told him he’d done well. The feel of her fingers against his. The warmth in her voice when she said the kids liked him.

It hadn’t been nothing.

That was the part that terrified him.

She was grounded. Practical. Steady in a way that made him feel… safe. Not like the North Pole — not magic and elves and sleigh bells — but real. Like the kind of life he’d forgotten how to imagine for himself.

And still, she was sharp. Funny. A little guarded, maybe, but never cold. Never closed.

He’d misjudged her that first day — thought she was rigid, humorless, anti-Christmas even. But she’d surprised him. Again and again.

She let the students decorate the halls this week. Not just with Christmas trees, but winter murals, snowflakes, stars. She’d made space for all of it. For everyone. Because she listened.

Because she cared.

Scott exhaled, pressing his thumb to the lip of his mug.

He should’ve found someone by now. That was the plan. Find a nice woman, check the “true love” box, save Christmas.

Except dating on a deadline had been hollow. Performative. No one felt real — no one but her.

And now?

Now he was sitting here, a week before Christmas, wanting the one person he absolutely shouldn’t.

Carol Newman — Charlie’s principal, the person who’d seen him at his worst, who still thought he worked for a toy company in Canada, who had every reason to keep her distance — and yet, today, she hadn’t pulled away.

She’d looked at him with something just shy of hope.

He closed his eyes, leaned his head back against the chair.

This couldn’t be a “maybe” anymore.

Not now.

He could pull back. Disappear. Pretend this had been nothing but holiday cheer and timing.

But he wouldn’t.

Because somewhere between handing out flyers and being duct-taped into a Santa suit, he’d felt something he hadn’t in a long time — purpose. Joy. Her.

It wasn’t about magic anymore.

It was about her.

And whether or not he deserved it, he knew now:

It was her… or no one.

And the most reckless part of him — the same part that once put on a Santa suit without asking why — whispered that maybe, just maybe… she might feel the same.

Chapter Text

Wednesday, December 18th, 2002

Millers House – Early Evening

The fireplace crackled with a well-behaved kind of cheer—more decorative than necessary in the unseasonably mild December weather. The Millers’ house always smelled like cinnamon this time of year. Cinnamon… and whatever seasonal candle Neil claimed would "enhance emotional grounding." How Laura dealt with him all these years was beyond Scott’s understanding. Still, they worked. And—if he was honest—he envied them for that.

Awkwardly curled into one corner of the couch, Scott watched them now and then, a mug of something herbal resting untouched in his hands. Laura was nestled opposite him beneath a blanket. Neil occupied the armchair, feigning indifference, though his eyes kept flicking over like he was trying to read a situation not yet written.

It had been a long time since Scott asked them for advice. Maybe too long.

“So,” Laura said, breaking the silence. “You’re brooding.”

“I’m not brooding,” he replied, a little too quickly.

Neil hummed. “You’re definitely brooding.”

Scott sighed. “Okay, maybe I’m... circling. Trying to figure out how to do something I haven’t done in a long time.”

Laura blinked. “Is this about Charlie?”

“No.” A pause. “Yes. Sort of. But not really.”

He rubbed a hand over his face. He should’ve just buried himself in snow globe storage. Pretend this wasn’t eating at him. Pretend she wasn’t.

He hadn’t returned to Sycamore today—Charlie had made it clear that morning he didn’t want a ride. Scott hadn’t argued. He didn’t have a reason to go back... other than to maybe catch a glimpse of the principal. Maybe steal five minutes of her time.

He hadn’t done it. And now, he felt restless.
Because time was slipping away.

“There’s someone,” he said finally. “A woman.”

Laura’s brows lifted. “Same someone from last week?”

He nodded. Across the room, Neil sat forward, now fully invested.

“It’s nothing yet,” Scott said, trying to sound casual. “But there’s a chance. And I’m realizing I don’t actually know how to... ask her out.”

The room went quiet.

“You’re asking us for dating advice?” Neil asked, incredulous.

“Well, it’s not like I have anyone else to ask,” Scott shot back, then softened. “I haven’t had to do this in forever. Everything lately’s been setups. This... this is different.” He glanced between them and muttered, “I don’t want to screw it up.”

Laura leaned in, her voice gentler now. “So what’s the problem?”

“She’s... grounded. Smart. Thoughtful. She works with kids. She doesn’t leap without looking.”

“And you think she wouldn’t go for a guy like you?” Neil asked.

Scott hesitated. “I think she might. But if I get it wrong... I lose the chance. I lose everything.”

Laura studied him for a long moment, then offered a small, reassuring smile. “Stop thinking about it like a test you have to pass. Just talk to her. Be honest. Ask if she wants to get a cup of coffee. Or cocoa. Something simple.”

Neil took a sip of tea. “And if you’re worried about time… then all the more reason not to wait.”

Scott looked down at his mug. Steam curled from the surface like a nudge.

He had five nights until Christmas Eve.
Five nights to tell a woman he barely knew that she made him feel like Santa again—not because of the magic, but because of how she saw him.

He set the mug down and stood.

Laura tilted her head, already smiling. “Going somewhere?”

He shrugged. “Making a late-night call.”

***

Carol’s House – Evening

The porch light clicked on just as Scott raised his fist to knock, but he stopped before making contact. For a second, he considered turning around — pretending he’d gotten the address wrong or had meant to visit someone else entirely. The nervous flutter in his chest was something he hadn’t felt in years. Not since the last time he’d asked a woman out face-to-face without someone else orchestrating it.

It was cold. He exhaled into his hands and rubbed them together, then – finally – knocked.

Before he could flee, the red door opened.

Carol Newman stood on the other side, barefoot, shoes in hand, framed by warm hallway light. Her black dress was simple but elegant — long-sleeved and falling just below the knee, her hair half pinned, half loose, small pearl earrings glinting beneath the porch light and dual necklace daring him to draw his eyes away from her face. She looked like someone about to step into a holiday card, and Scott suddenly felt painfully aware of the scarf bunched around his neck and the way his coat pulled awkwardly across the shoulders. He felt over-wrapped and underdressed.

She blinked, surprised — then softened. “Oh. Hi.”

He straightened. “Hi. Uh... it looks like you’re going out. Sorry. I should’ve called.”

He hadn’t, of course. He didn’t even have her number. But that wasn’t the point. The point was that he probably looked ridiculous standing here without a plan.

Carol hesitated — just for a moment — and then she stepped back. “No, it’s okay. Come in.”

“You sure?” he asked, already half-stepping over the threshold.

“Uh-huh.”

There was something unreadable in the look she gave him. Not unkind, not even confused. More like she was filing this moment away for later.

He stepped into her front hallway. Warmth enveloped him — the scent of orange and something floral hung in the air, and the house was quiet, tidy, intimate in a way he hadn’t expected. Quite a few framed prints hung on the wall, a bench with a neatly folded throw, a half-used candle flickering on the side table. Homey. Lived-in. Not what he’d pictured, but very… her.

A memory stirred — her voice in the hallway, that brief laugh when they’d locked eyes earlier this week. It wasn’t just about asking her out. It was about not letting that moment slip away.

“Is there a problem?” she asked.

“No, no. I just…” He hesitated, heart kicking in his chest. He had no business doing this — none. “I wondered if, um… if you would… do you want to go get some noodles?”

She stared at him. Just stared. Like he’d spoken a language she almost recognized but hadn’t heard in years.

“Or pie?” he added quickly. “But I don’t want to keep you from your date, so—” He made a face, knowing how ridiculous he must seem.

“Oh, it’s not a date. It’s the faculty Christmas party,” she said without missing a beat — putting him out of his misery. “Is that your idea of a night on the town? Noodles and pie?” She turned from him towards the living room, laughing. There was a small stack of books beside an armchair, a snow globe of a schoolhouse on the shelf.

He relaxed a little at the sound of her laugh. “Yes, it is. What would be your idea?”

Carol didn’t even hesitate. “Pizza and a movie.” She turned down the light in the corner of the room.

“Thick or thin crust?” he asked, standing on the room transition, playing along.

“Gotta be thin.”

“Good. Movie?”

Carol sat on the edge of a chair to slip on her shoes as she said, “Two for the Road. Audrey Hepburn, Albert Finney.”

Scott whistled low. “Movie’s okay. But the car was the star. MGTD. British racing green, wire wheels... beautiful.”

Carol’s face broke into a full smile — wide and genuinely surprised. “I’m impressed. That is a great car. My favorite car.”

“Didn’t like driving them in the rain.”

“You have to push it to start. Other than that, it’s perfect.”

For a moment, neither of them said anything. They just looked at each other. It was a quiet moment, but not empty — something warm buzzed beneath it, the sense that they were standing on the edge of something neither of them quite understood yet.

“I could drive you to your party,” Scott offered softly.

“That would be great,” she said, already moving to turn off a lamp. “Except for, eventually, I’m going to have to get home.”

“I could pick you up.”

She raised an eyebrow. “So you’re going to drop me off… and then come back and pick me up?”

“Yeah,” he said. When she said it like that, it didn’t make much sense.

Carol’s smile tilted sideways. “Why don’t you just stay?”

His heart stuttered.

Not stay the night — not like that. Just... stay. Be here. Don’t come and go. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be. She said it like it was the most logical thing in the world.

Scott let out a quiet breath and gave a small laugh. “All right. I’ll stay.”

“I’ll get my coat.”

She turned to the stairs and grabbed a light blue wool coat with a matching scarf waiting for her. Wrapping it around her neck, she reached past him to turn off the hallway light, and her fingers brushed his sleeve. Light. Barely there. But it lingered.

“So, Mr. Andretti… what are you driving?”

Scott chuckled, following her out the door. “You know… I think you’re gonna like it.”

As they stepped out into the cold night, he caught a glimpse of her watching him from the corner of her eye — not quite smiling, but not indifferent either. Something was changing between them. And for the first time in a long while, Scott Calvin felt like he was exactly where he was meant to be.

***

The Sleigh Ride

The night air had a crisp sharpness to it, still and silent as it swept past Carol’s porch. She stepped outside and stopped in her tracks, blinking once, then again, as laughter bubbled from her chest — part disbelief, part childlike wonder.

Parked at the curb like something out of a dream was a red sleigh drawn by two brown horses, their breath misting in the cold, harnesses decked in soft bells that chimed gently with each step. The sight didn’t make sense, and yet there it was. Real. Solid. And waiting for her.

She turned slowly toward Scott, who merely shoved his ungloved hands into his coat pockets and looked — for all the world — like this was perfectly normal.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she murmured, walking forward in her heeled shoes, letting the snow crunch underfoot as she neared the horses.

Scott joined her, slowing beside her shoulder, his breath visible in the air. But his focus wasn’t on her. For just a second, his eyes dropped to the heavy watch on his wrist — a device not meant for keeping time so much as measuring something else. Something more finite.

The clock hands ticked softly from nine to six.

Well, he thought, if Christmas was already starting to unravel, if belief was slipping away with each passing hour... then what good was saving his last bit of magic for later? Might as well use a little to impress the one person he couldn’t stop thinking about. And maybe — if he ever got brave enough to tell her the truth — she’d remember this night and believe him.

Carol was still marveling at the sleigh when Scott moved to her side and offered a hand. She hesitated, then placed her fingers in his, allowing him to help her up onto the velvet-lined bench. He climbed in opposite from her, putting on gloves. The leather reins were settling into his hands as the horses stamped and jingled softly in the snow.

They started off slowly down the quiet, snow-covered road, the town hushed beneath a sky thick with stars. Lights in the trees cast a soft, serene glow around them.

After a few minutes, Carol broke the silence.

“Mind if I ask you something personal?”

Scott glanced over at her. “Please.”

“You look really different.”

He winced, awkwardness creeping into his posture. “The weight. It’s, uh... Indian teas. A lot of salves. You know, creams. Wraps.” He fumbled. “Do you want some cocoa?”

She turned to him, arching an amused brow. “Cocoa? You’ve thought of everything.”

Scott smiled, relieved for the pivot. “Well, this time of year… I really shine.”

As he passed the thermos back under the seat, his gloved hand brushed hers — light and quick, but enough to make her glance sideways. He didn't pull away right away.

The reins settled back into his grip, but the brush of her hand lingered — soft, charged, unspoken.

“Yeah, I can’t wait till it’s over, though. The streets are crowded, the malls are jammed, people max out their credit cards... it’s just noisy.”

She cradled the warm cup in her hands as he then took the reins back. “When did you become such a cynic?”

Carol gave a soft, dry laugh. “Oh, I don’t know. I used to love Christmas too. It was the only day my parents didn’t fight.”

Scott looked at her fully now, the smile slipping from his lips.

“They were at each other all the time,” she continued. “But on Christmas, they’d try. My dad would go all out — he put a little cot by the fireplace so Santa could take a nap.”

Scott blinked. “Like he has time to take a nap! Consider the volume of presents he’d have to deliver. He would probably need some coffee.”

Carol chuckled and turned toward him, curious now. “Yeah. And there were cocoa and cookies. And carrots for the reindeer.”

Scott looked impressed. “That's a good gesture. The reindeer love carrots. And the thought is important to them, too.”

She eyed him, amusement in her eyes. “Yeah. And I'd wake up and the cocoa and cookies would be gone and the cot would be mussed and the carrots gnawed.”

“Gnawed?” Scott repeated, aghast. “They don’t gnaw carrots — they swallow them whole. I mean, if they're good, fresh carrots, they’ll eat ’em just like that. They love red bell peppers, too. You know the stories. If you read...” He stopped himself, catching the bemused look on her face. “Sorry. I’m just... weird about reindeer.”

“No, no,” she laughed. “Go on. They’re very important, clearly.”

Her eyes sparkled. The snow started to fall then — just a light dusting at first, like powdered sugar from the sky. She didn’t notice yet, but Scott did, and something in his chest tightened.

Carol settled back, voice softening. “There were the most incredible presents under the tree. All from Santa. One year, it was a rocking horse. I named him Harvey. The next year, a little red wagon, which I made a lemonade stand, which was great.” She paused. “And then the last year... it was a baby doll. She was pink and soft and beautiful.”

Scott looked at her, seeing something far more delicate in her expression now. He saw it then — the girl who had once waited up for Santa and built lemonade stands from wagons. She wasn’t just strong. She was soft in ways she didn't let the world see. “Beautiful?”

Carol hesitated. “Yes.”

But when she met his eyes, the meaning behind the word felt heavier — as if they weren’t talking about the doll anymore.

“I believed in Santa so much I’d get into fights at school with kids who tried to tell me that he didn't exist,” she said, shaking her head. “And one day I came home with a bloody nose. That’s when my parents sat me down and decided to tell me to grow up.”

Her voice cracked around the edges. “I was devastated. And... good, Carol. This is great sleigh-riding conversation. I’m a terrible sleigh conversationalist.”

“It’s fine conversation,” Scott said gently.

She looked over at him, eyes searching. “A person just wants something to believe in, you know?”

Scott’s heart thudded, slow and heavy. “Yes. I know.”

Just then, a snowflake landed on her glove, and she looked down in surprise.

“Okay,” she said, voice lighter again. “We have cocoa. We have a blanket. We have a horse-drawn sleigh. The only thing that’s—” She looked up. “Wait. It’s snowing.”

Scott smiled at her, eyes twinkling. “Oh. As if by magic?”

“That’s what I was going to say! That it should be snowing.”

They both laughed — and it wasn’t awkward or restrained or guarded. It was real. Free.

They rode like that for a little while longer, the snow falling steadily now, clinging to the trees and rooftops like frosting. The streets were mostly empty, their sleigh carving clean lines in the untouched white.

Scott glanced at her. “Can I ask you something now?”

“Sure.”

“Why teaching?”

She hummed softly, thoughtful. “I always liked kids. I liked the idea of shaping something — helping kids see the world not just for what it is, but for what it could be. I started as a high school English teacher. Thought I’d hate it, honestly. But then some of those kids... they surprised me. And I wanted to be the kind of adult I needed when I was growing up.”

“Someone strict and frightening,” he joked, and she elbowed him.

“Someone not afraid to stand up for what’s right. Someone who’s in their corner.”

“And principal?”

Carol smiled, almost shy. “I had ideas. About how to make things better. Some of them stuck. Some didn’t. But I like being in the room where decisions happen. Where I can advocate for the kids who get left behind.”

Scott nodded slowly, deeply impressed. “You’re incredible.”

Carol looked over at him, her cheeks pink from the cold — or maybe from something else entirely. “You’re not what I expected, Scott Calvin.” She looked at him a little longer than necessary, her eyes catching on the curve of his jaw, the way his scarf had started to unravel. She tucked that image away.

He looked at her. “The good kind of unexpected?”

She looked away, smiling. “I guess we’ll see.”

They rode in silence for a while, the sleigh carving fresh lines in the snow, bells ringing softly in the cold. Carol leaned back just enough to let her shoulder brush his.

And somewhere far off, the world seemed to hold its breath — just long enough for something new to begin.

***

Arrival at the Faculty Party

The sleigh pulled to a gentle stop in front of Sycamore Secondary School’s sports hall, its curved red frame glistening beneath a streetlamp. Carol glanced at the familiar building, its windows glowing softly from within, the sounds of muffled music and occasional laughter drifting into the night. She hadn't been looking forward to this party until about thirty minutes ago.

Scott climbed down first, then turned to help her from the sleigh. His gloved hand was warm, his grip firm — but it was the way he looked at her, steady and waiting, that made her breath catch for just a second. Her fingers lingered in his even after her shoes touched the salted pavement.

The snow had lightened — just a soft flurry now, the kind that clung to hair and lashes and made the air feel enchanted.

For a moment, they simply stood there, enjoying the stillness — the quiet pocket of magic that felt like it belonged only to them. When Scott offered her his arm, she took it without hesitation, her hand curling into the crook of his elbow with a soft sigh. And together, they moved toward the building.

Inside, the faculty party was exactly what you'd expect: dim overhead lights, folding tables dressed in cheap plastic holiday tablecloths, and an underwhelming buffet setup along the far wall. A handful of teachers stood in loose clumps, holding plastic cups of punch and chatting over dull instrumental carols playing from a boombox in the corner. Some rather sad-looking garlands framed the walls in green and red.

Carol paused in the entryway, scanning the room — her hand still resting lightly on Scott’s arm.

“Well,” she said under her breath. “This is... festive.”

Scott leaned toward her, his sleeve brushing hers. “I can’t tell if I’m underdressed or just underwhelmed.”

She smiled, then lifted her hand from his arm as a pair of staff members approached.

“Principal Newman!” one of them called, waving.

“Ah, here we go,” Carol murmured, composing herself with a practiced straightening of her shoulders. She turned and offered a warm, professional smile. “Hi, Jeanie. Roger.”

“Carol!” Jeanie gushed, her voice slightly too loud, her sequined sweater blinking with battery-powered lights. “We didn’t know you were bringing a guest!”

Scott extended a hand. “Hi. Scott Calvin. I’m... visiting.”

“I’ve seen you around,” said Roger — the math teacher with a salt-and-pepper mustache and a pocket full of peppermints — giving a firm nod. “You’re the volunteer, right? Friend of the principal?”

Scott opened his mouth, but Carol stepped in lightly. “A friend. Yes.”

Their eyes met briefly — hers steady, his surprised — and something passed between them. She had chosen that word carefully.

“Nice sleigh out front,” Jeanie added, eyes twinkling with nosy curiosity. “You two come in on that?”

Carol laughed, brushing snow from her scarf. “It’s been an adventurous evening.”

Scott offered a wink and a half-smile. “She deserves the best transportation.”

Jeanie tittered. Roger raised a brow.

After a few more polite exchanges, Carol excused them with the grace of someone well-versed in faculty small talk. Not saying a word, Scott helped her out of her coat, his hands gentle as he hung both their outerwear on the rack by the entrance.

As they moved toward the refreshment table, Scott leaned in again, his voice low and teasing. “So... how’d I do with the coworkers?”

“Solid B-plus. You lost points for the wink.”

“What? That wink was smooth.”

“That wink was concerning.”

He chuckled and moved ahead of her toward the punch, picking up two cups from the stack and carefully ladling a generous amount into each.

Carol hovered behind him, her posture a little stiffer now. She was scanning the room — not exactly looking for someone, but definitely aware of eyes. Staff glances were discreet but curious. After all, the principal had never brought anyone to one of these before. Not even when she was briefly seeing that dentist in Midtown.

“Here,” Scott said, offering her the drink. “Non-alcoholic punch. Heavy on the cranberry. Possibly spiked with sadness.”

She laughed quietly, accepting the cup. “Thank you.”

They stood side by side in the middle of the sports hall for a moment, looking out over the sparse gathering. The music had shifted to a tinny version of Silent Night. The table chatter had quieted. Most of the faculty had wandered toward the buffet, now half-heartedly spooning mashed potatoes onto paper plates.

The party, such as it was, had plateaued. Flatlined, really.

Scott could feel the shift in Carol. Out in the sleigh, she had been open — soft in her expression, wistful in her memories, even flirtatious in moments. But here, among her peers and responsibilities, the walls had crept back up. Not cold, exactly. Just... cautious. Professional.

She was still beside him, but not as close.

He took a sip of his punch and let the silence stretch between them, his eyes drifting toward the sad little boombox in the corner, the unmoving dance floor, the lonely mistletoe above the apple cider. No one else seemed to notice it, but he did.

This wasn’t her world, not really. It was a cage she’d painted in festive colors.

He leaned toward her again. “So... how long do you usually stay at these things before you can slip out unnoticed?”

Carol smiled faintly. “About twenty minutes after the music stops and everyone starts talking about budget cuts.”

He let out a quiet laugh. “You really know how to party.”

“I told you — pizza and a movie.”

Scott nodded slowly, letting the quiet settle again. He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. Her expression was unreadable now, her professional face firmly in place. But he had seen the one underneath it — just fifteen minutes ago — when she’d told him about Harvey the rocking horse and a pink baby doll that made her feel loved.

And he wasn’t ready to lose that version of her just yet.

He stepped away for a moment, pretending to examine the dessert table — but really, he was thinking. Planning. He couldn’t leave things like this. Not with the evening fading. Not with the magic running out. Not when he was sure now — painfully sure — that she was worth all of it.

Tonight, he wouldn’t just wait. He would watch. He would act.

And maybe — just maybe — keep the magic going a little longer.

He glanced once more at the mistletoe above the cider table and then back to her, standing there in the glow of the string lights, a plastic cup in her hand, her smile already fading.

Yeah. He’d turn this party around.

***

A Little Christmas Magic

Scott and Carol stood near the center of it all, coats shed, cups of punch in hand. The enchantment of the evening was already fading into the dull hum of adult responsibility and idle chatter.

Carol gave the room a long, unimpressed glance. “I owe you one,” she said dryly, turning to Scott.

He raised his cup in mock toast. “It’s a great party. Look—that guy moved.”

Carol smirked despite herself.

“Would you excuse me for a minute?” he added, finishing his punch in one last swallow. He knew what he needed to do.

She nodded. “Mm-hm.”

She watched him disappear into the crowd, unsure whether he was avoiding her or planning an elaborate escape. Probably both. With a quiet sigh, she turned toward a staff member who approached her to ask about January scheduling, but the conversation was brief. Soon, she found herself alone again, her punch now lukewarm in her hand.

Then the room stilled.

The boombox fell silent mid-track. The low murmur of teacherly small talk dwindled into confusion. Heads turned toward the stage at the far end of the gym as the curtains suddenly drew open. A tall Christmas tree, decked in lights and glass ornaments, stood like a sentinel center stage.

Carol blinked. That tree hadn’t been there five minutes ago.

Her brows furrowed. That definitely wasn’t on the facilities list.

And then—Scott stepped forward, climbing onto the stage with the casual confidence of someone either very brave or very foolish.

“Could I have your attention?” he called. “Your attention, please!”

Murmurs died. All eyes turned toward him.

“There we go. Hi. I'm Scott Calvin, and I just thought I'd step up here and say the word that we've all been longing to hear.” He gave a dramatic pause. “Fire!”

A few teachers blinked. One person laughed softly, uncertainly.

Scott cleared his throat, undeterred. “Okay, okay. What I think, folks, is that a lot of you have forgotten what the true spirit of Christmas is all about, hmm? If you're not willing to dance, or laugh, or flirt, or risk your lives at the buffet, then I don't think we have much choice.”

Carol took a step forward, heart ticking in a strange rhythm. He was up to something.

“So before the choir gets out here,” Scott continued, “I say we rock this house with a Secret Santa!”

Scattered confusion. More blinking. Then—

“Carol!” he called, beaming as she approached, slowly and cautiously. “Happy, happy Christmas!”

She squinted at the pile of wrapped presents now visible under the tree. “I think they're just decorations for the carolers.”

“Ahhh,” Scott said, grinning and turning to the crowd again. “She thinks these are decorations for the caroling! And I think Carol is right about the caroling! I'm talking about the packages that are backstage.”

Carol frowned. “There aren’t any packages backstage.”

He looked at her, eyes wide with mock-surprise. “Oh? There’s none back there?” He turned dramatically. “So I was mistaken when I saw this bag of gifts, hmm?”

And with that, he disappeared behind the curtain.

The crowd murmured. Heads tilted. Carol folded her arms and stared at the stage like it might explain itself.

Then Scott returned, hauling something large and red over his shoulder. The bag was lumpy, oversized—and undeniably festive. He dropped it with a theatrical thud center stage.

He reached inside and pulled out the first package: green and white striped paper, a red bow, and a tag.

“It’s very heavy, very heavy,” Scott said, reading. “John Pierce. Doesn’t your mom call you JJ?”

The tall, broad-shouldered science teacher looked up sharply. “How did you...?”

“Merry Christmas, JJ,” Scott said, holding the box out to him.

JJ hesitated, then moved forward under the pressure of curious colleagues. He took the gift with mild skepticism and tore into the paper.

His expression changed instantly.

“No way. Toss Across? I used to love this when I was a kid.” His voice cracked with disbelief. “I never told anybody. Where did...? Who did this?”

Around them, the air shifted.

Faces lit up with interest. The spell was starting to work.

Scott pulled out another gift. “Grace Kim.”

Grace, the choir director, stepped forward with eager steps. “Thank you!”

“Tom Astle,” Scott called.

“Me! Sorry, Gordon,” Tom said, nearly tripping as he ran up.

“Lizzy Garcia.”

More names. More gifts. People were opening them now, the gym echoing with exclamations of delight:

“Rock ’Em Sock ’Em Robots! Mint condition!”

“The Holly Hobbie Oven—I had this exact one!”

“How did he know?”

The room was alive now—buzzing like a hive at Christmas. Laughter spread, hesitant at first, then growing. Teachers called out to each other, comparing finds, shouting thanks. Someone bumped the boombox and a brighter, more cheerful song clicked on.

Carol stood at the foot of the stage, arms still folded, but her fingers had loosened. She didn’t move—not yet—but she was watching Scott with a kind of intensity she hadn’t allowed herself earlier.

He wasn’t grandstanding. He wasn’t showboating.

He was... giving.

Somehow, incredibly, knowing.

Up on the stage, Scott glanced down at his watch. The hands had moved again. Magic: 2.

He exhaled slowly. Almost out.

But as he watched the joy ripple across the room—coworkers laughing, hugging, beaming like kids—he knew: it had been worth it.

Every last spark.

***

Gift for the Principal

Scott moved through the crowd, his heart buoyant, the weight of the final wrapped gift tucked snug under his arm. This one felt different—heavier not just in meaning, but in the risk it carried. She wasn’t just another teacher. She was the reason his heart kept skipping beats tonight.

The teachers of Sycamore Secondary had come to life around him—laughing, reminiscing, crowding around with nostalgic joy as they tore open packages filled with long-forgotten childhood treasures. Their inner children had shown up in full force, and for the first time in years, the sports hall didn’t feel like a sterile place of rules and schedules.

It felt like Christmas.

He passed a teacher pretending to fence with her Rock ’Em Sock ’Em Robots. Another held up a Lite-Brite like it was the Holy Grail.

“You did good, Calvin,” someone said, clapping him on the back with a beaming grin.

But Scott barely acknowledged it. His eyes were already locked on her.

Carol stood near the center of the hall, arms crossed—not in defensiveness, but as if anchoring herself. Her smile was soft, faintly puzzled. Her gaze distant, even as music played and laughter swirled around her. The party was joyful—undeniably so—but something tugged at her beneath the surface.

A feeling she couldn’t name. A question she didn’t know how to ask.

She saw him approaching and tilted her head slightly.

“Hey, party animal,” Scott grinned, holding up his present in mock toast. “You want to play?”

She didn’t smile back—not yet. She was watching him intently now, searching his face as if the answers might be hiding in plain sight. “I can't figure it out,” she said quietly.

He followed her gaze to where JJ was tossing beanbags across the floor, cheered on by a few enthusiastic colleagues. “It’s tic-tac-toe with beanbags,” he offered.

Carol didn’t look away. “No, I mean the Secret Santa thing. Someone tracked down and bought all those wonderful antique toys.”

He gave a little shrug, glancing around innocently. “Probably someone who knows his way around eBay.”

“Yeah,” she said, clearly not buying it.

“Yep,” he echoed, still playing it cool.

She stepped a little closer. “It was you. I know it was you. I just can't figure out... how did you do it?”

His eyes twinkled, but his voice stayed warm. “You know, sometimes you don't need to know all the answers.”

Then he pulled the last box from under his arm. “Speaking of which... even the principal needs a Christmas gift.” He held it out with a quiet smile. “Merry Christmas.”

Carol accepted it, her fingers brushing his. She paused as she looked down at the wrapping—red and white with a perfect red bow. Festive. Thoughtful. Intentional. It made her feel... seen. “You don’t have to—”

“Come on,” he urged gently, nudging the box toward her. “Open it. Rip it open. We’re not gonna save the paper.”

A soft laugh escaped her lips despite herself. She began to peel back the wrapping carefully, lifting the lid—and froze.

Her fingers hovered over the plastic face, framed by the pink bonnet.

She stared, motionless. Breath caught. She swallowed.

“It’s... Baby Doll,” she whispered.

Scott said nothing. Just watched her, waiting.

Carol brushed her thumb across the doll’s little cheek, her throat tightening. The memory hit her so hard she swayed with it: falling asleep with Baby Doll tucked under one arm, her mother’s voice in the hallway, her tiny fingers curled around fabric worn soft from love.

She had to blink quickly to keep the tears from spilling. Until tonight she hadn’t thought about that doll in years—not since childhood. Not since...

She looked up at him. “How did you—?”

But her voice cracked. She bit her lip and took his hand instead.

Before she could stop herself, her hand found his. “Come here,” she said—and was already walking. She didn’t even know where. Just away. Somewhere quieter. Somewhere she could breathe.

She led him away from the party, around the corner into the front hall, where the echo of music was soft and far away. The Christmas lights through the tall windows lit the floor in quiet, colored patterns. The hush was immediate. Welcome.

Under the arch of a doorframe, she turned to him, the box with Baby Doll still cradled in her arms.

Her voice was soft, but urgent. “Did you call the office?”

“No,” Scott said gently, watching her carefully.

“Did they call you?”

“It’s not like that.”

“Did you investigate us?”

“No,” he repeated, still calm. “I wouldn’t do that.”

She stared at him, trying to ground herself, but nothing made sense. “Did you...? I told you about Baby Doll an hour ago, and... Did you send someone to...?”

“No,” he said again—firm, sincere.

She let out a short, confused laugh. “Well... I don’t know how you did it. It’s like some kind of magic.”

Scott smiled faintly, his voice lower now. “Yeah... sort of like some kind of magic. And... and pretty much the last that I have.” His smile faltered slightly. He hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

“What?” she asked, taken aback. “What does that mean? What—?”

But she stopped herself and leaned in closer. “You know what? I don’t want to know.”

She looked at him, eyes luminous, and added, “What you did in there tonight—for everyone—was wonderful. Thank you.”

And then she kissed him.

It was instinctive, impulsive, her lips brushing the rough edge of his cheek, as if the emotion had overwhelmed caution. She pulled back almost immediately, eyes wide.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I shouldn’t have done that. Is that okay?”

“Yeah,” he said quietly. Scott touched the place her lips had been, fingers brushing his skin like he needed to confirm it had really happened. “I get this weird feeling in the pit of my stomach. I’m, um... I’m not real good at this.”

She looked at him—really looked—and her expression softened into something deeper, more vulnerable than a smile.

They drew closer again, the weight of the moment thick between them. The air shifted. She could feel it in her chest, behind her ribs. It was real.

Just before their lips met, her eyes flicked upward.

Above them, glimmering softly against the pale ceiling tile, was a sprig of mistletoe.

Carol stared at it. “Where did that come from?”

Scott glanced up, then smiled. “I don’t know.”

And then, before she could ask anything else, their lips met.

The kiss was soft. Gentle. Slow. Not hesitant—just careful. Like unwrapping something precious. Something passed between them that neither of them could explain—something deeper than words, something fragile and warm, like a spark caught in snow..

One of her hands found the back of his neck; his fingers settled at her waist. The kiss deepened, her hand anchoring him, his touch drawing her in.

When it ended, it ended slowly—like a song fading out or a snowflake melting on warm skin.

They didn’t move. She still held Baby Doll loosely in her arms. His fingers still rested at her waist. Their foreheads nearly touched, breaths mingling, eyes locked—stunned, suspended, as if they’d just stepped off a cliff and were only now realizing they were falling.

Scott cleared his throat first. Carol lingered a heartbeat longer, her eyes still on him, lips parted slightly—like the world was holding its breath with her.

“So… uh,” he said, voice light and uncertain. He exhaled. “That happened.”

The flicker of emotion behind her eyes was soft, unreadable. She let out a shaky little laugh. “Yeah. That… happened.”

They looked at each other, both trying not to smile too much—and failing.

Silence followed, but it wasn’t awkward. It was suspended, charged with electricity and wonder—like they were standing in a bubble just out of reach from real life.

Carol glanced back toward the gym, where the party still carried on. Then she looked at the doll in her arms, cradled like a lifeline. She turned to him again. “That kiss…” She didn’t want to ask what it meant—not yet. But part of her already feared how much she hoped it did.

Scott tilted his head. “Good? Bad? Somewhere between being handed a fruitcake and running into your ex at the DMV?”

She blinked once, then laughed—a real, involuntary laugh. Sharp, bright, slightly startled. Like it had been coaxed out of her chest by accident.

“Don’t ruin it,” she said softly, laughing again. “It felt like the first time I’ve believed in something in a long time.”

That softened something in his face. His voice dropped. “Then I think we’re both in trouble.”

Carol looked down at the doll again. Her smile lingered, but there was a new softness behind it. A carefulness. The air between them was warmer now—but delicate too. As though saying too much might make it disappear.

She chuckled again. “We should probably get back,” she said, quieter this time.

“Yeah,” Scott echoed. “Our coats are still in there. And I think someone may have spiked the punch with actual conversation.”

She smiled, but her eyes stayed on him just a little longer. Something had shifted. And for the first time in years, she didn’t want to shift it back.

They stood there a moment longer before Scott nodded toward the direction they came from.

They rounded the corner back into the gym. The party was still going—only now it truly felt like a party. People were animated, talking across tables, playing with their childhood toys as though time had snapped backward for an hour or two. It was a strange, beautiful thing to walk into, and both Scott and Carol paused to take it in.

They didn’t get far.

“Scott!” someone from the English department waved them over. “You’ve got to tell me where you found that Slinky Train! I’ve been trying to hunt one of those down for years.”

“Principal Newman,” another staff member chimed in, “you must keep this guy around. He’s better than a grant.”

Carol gave a polite, almost dazed smile, still feeling the ghost of his lips on hers, the echo of something that had shifted inside her. She wasn’t sure what had just happened—only that something had.

As they moved toward their coats, Scott fielded the questions with his usual blend of charm and vague deflection—until a sudden hush began to settle over the gym.

The stage curtains parted.

A handful of students walked onto the stage, dressed in matching scarves and holding small songbooks. One of the custodians dimmed the overhead lights, casting the gym in a soft gold glow as the first notes of O Holy Night began to rise.

They didn’t leave right away. Instead, they sat at the edge of the folding chairs in the back. Her body leaned just slightly toward him, her knee bumping his—a quiet awareness thrumming between them like a third presence. They didn’t speak. They just listened. Occasionally, she felt his thumb brush gently over the back of her hand, and it made her heart skip more than the cold ever could.

Just as the final round of applause and a few festive announcements began, before the crowd could slowly start to break apart, Carol leaned closer to Scott. “That’s our cue,” she whispered.

“Yep.” He nodded, already gently steering her toward the side doors.

They slipped out quietly, unnoticed in the lull of music and hush of reverence. Scott held the door open for her, and they stepped outside together, their breath visible in the crisp night air. The moon was bright, silvering the parking lot. Her breath curled in front of her.

The world had turned quiet. The kind of quiet that comes after snowfall—thick, muffled, expectant.

Then she saw it.

“Oh God,” she murmured.

The sleigh.

It sat exactly where he’d parked it—sleigh bells and all, subtle and inexplicable and completely out of place in the real world. Carol shot Scott a look that was part amusement, part disbelief.

“You actually brought me here in that,” she said, amused disbelief laced with something warmer.

“I can tell you,” he said, deadpan, “it was either this or a unicycle.”

She shook her head, laughing softly, as he helped her first into her coat and then into her seat. He climbed in after her, and a moment later, they were gliding through the quiet streets, the runners cutting through snow with barely a sound.

The sleigh rolled gently along the snowy streets of Carol’s neighborhood. The horses kept a steady pace, the bells on their harnesses giving off the occasional soft jingle as they passed glowing windows and sleeping houses.

The cold air pressed in around them, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Carol’s shoulder brushed his again, this time lingering. She didn’t move away. Her arm stayed there, drawn by gravity—and a warmth that had nothing to do with her coat.

She hadn’t said much since the party. Scott didn’t push. He could tell she was turning the night over and over in her mind. Honestly, so was he.

For a while, Carol tucked Baby Doll securely in her lap and just stared straight ahead.

“So,” Scott said finally, breaking the silence, “if I hadn’t given you that doll, would you still have kissed me? Or was that a pity peck?”

Carol turned to him slowly, eyebrows lifted.

Scott winced. “Okay, yeah, definitely ruining it now.”

She smirked. “A little bit.”

Silence returned, but it was lighter this time. Warmer.

He watched her out of the corner of his eye. She looked different in the moonlight. Softer. Her features were more relaxed than usual—something he saw more and more now. She wasn’t the principal tonight. She was just Carol.

And he… he wasn’t just the guy in the suit anymore.

He was Scott Calvin—and Santa Claus. And somehow, impossibly, he was falling even deeper for someone who still didn’t know the whole truth about who he was.

“I lost her when I was seven,” she said quietly into the night, glancing down at Baby Doll.

He simply watched her, but otherwise kept silent.

Carol blinked back the tears threatening to fall, heart aching and full. “She is haunted.”

Scott’s brow rose. “By what?”

“Christmases that used to feel magical. By the way it used to feel to believe. And for a long time, I thought I’d never feel that again.” Her voice cracked as she looked at him. “I don’t know how you did this. Or why.”

He took a slow breath. “Because you’re the kind of person who remembers the names of every kid in your school. Who shows up on Saturday mornings and never complains. And because you said you thought Christmas magic was for everyone else.”

“Scott…” she began, but her voice faltered.

He offered a small, self-effacing smile. “I figured a little magic wouldn’t hurt.”

She turned to face him. “You almost made me cry in the middle of my own faculty Christmas party.”

“I make a habit of being both deeply inconvenient and weirdly charming.”

“I’m still deciding on the second part.”

Scott chuckled, but his eyes searched hers gently. “You okay?”

“I think so.” She looked down at Baby Doll again. When she looked up, her expression had changed—something open. Unspoken. “That was the most thoughtful thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

He didn’t say anything, just reached for her hand. His thumb brushed softly over her knuckles—just once, but she felt it like a spark. She didn’t pull away.

The sleigh kept moving.

They reached her street sooner than he would’ve liked. The sleigh creaked to a gentle stop in front of her house, the horses letting out soft puffs of breath that curled like smoke into the air.

Neither of them moved for a moment.

Then Carol shifted, reaching down to gather Baby Doll from where she’d tucked her.

“Well,” she said softly, “that was... quite a night.”

Scott smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah.”

She placed one shoe down on the railing, preparing to climb out, when Scott stood and hopped down first. He circled the sleigh and offered his hand.

She hesitated for just a second—then took it.

As soon as her shoes hit the ground, she turned toward the house, but paused on the walkway, halfway between him and the steps.

Scott let out a breath, trying for lightness. “So… do I walk you to the door, or would that break some sort of principal code of conduct?”

Carol turned to him, raising her brows with mock sternness. “I think we passed that line about one sleigh ride and a mistletoe ago.”

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck, his grin sheepish. “Fair point.”

Together, they walked the short path to her porch, the only sound their boots crunching against the frost-covered grass.

At the bottom step, they both stopped. The porch light cast a soft halo around her, catching the glint of snow in her blond hair. She turned toward him fully, and for a beat, they simply stood there—face to face, breath mingling in the cold. Neither moved.

The silence stretched. Not awkward—just charged. Waiting for something neither wanted to break first. The frost shimmered around them, but all he could see was her.

“I had a really lovely night,” she whispered.

“So did I,” he said, taking a half step forward—not pushing, not assuming—just there.

“I’d really like to kiss you goodnight,” he said gently. “But only if you want me to.”

Carol’s eyes searched his face. She didn’t answer with words.

She just leaned in.

It wasn’t like the first kiss—no rush, no surprise, no pull of the unexpected. This was slower. Intentional. Her lips met his with quiet certainty, like a promise given freely, warm despite the chill around them. Scott responded with the same reverence. One hand slipped into his coat pocket to keep from moving too fast; the other found her waist, grounding him to a moment that didn’t feel real—but was. The kind of kiss you didn’t forget—not because of heat, but because of hope.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t showy.

It was everything.

When they finally parted, she smiled at him—shy, glowing.

“Scott…” she began, then stopped. Her forehead rested gently against his. “What are you doing to me?”

He smiled faintly. “Hopefully something good.”

She let out a breathless laugh. “It’s… unexpected.”

“The good kind of unexpected?”

She nodded, her eyes never leaving his. “Yes.”

But when she said it, the meaning felt heavier.

“I should go in,” she murmured.

“I know.”

“Goodnight, Scott.”

He stepped back slowly, grinning like a fool. “Goodnight, Carol.”

She turned—and just before opening the door, she glanced over her shoulder. One last look, just to make sure this wasn’t something she imagined.

Scott gave her a two-fingered salute, that same crooked smile still lingering on his face.

Then she disappeared inside.

The door clicked shut behind her.

Scott stood there for another breath or two, the cold finally catching up to him as the warmth of her presence faded from the air.

He turned back to the sleigh, climbed in, and settled into the seat.

He stared up at the sky for a long moment, snow drifting lazily down, catching in his hair and lashes.

That kiss had been real. The whole night had been. And somewhere between the snow and the sleigh and the look in her eyes, he realized just how much he wanted the magic to last.

He shook his head with a low whistle. “You’re in trouble now, big guy,” he muttered to himself.

He wasn’t sure if he meant because of the magic—or because of her.

And with that, he flicked the reins.

The sleigh began to roll forward, the bells jingling faintly into the distance.

Chapter Text

Wednesday, December 18th, 2002

The Doll on the Dresser

Carol closed the door softly behind her.

She stood in the entryway for a long moment, coat still on, clutching Baby Doll to her chest the way she had as a little girl — only now, the weight of it was heavier. Not in mass, but in meaning. Her heart hadn’t stopped its quiet race since the sleigh rolled to a stop in front of her house.

He kissed me.

No. I kissed him.

And then… she had wanted him to kiss her again.

She peeled off her gloves first, setting them gently in the tray by the door. Then her coat. The air inside felt warmer than she remembered, or maybe it was just her skin. She padded into the kitchen and switched on the small lamp by the sink. Pale light spilled across the room, casting a soft glow on her modest little tree in the corner and the stockings — still empty — hung over the fireplace.

Still holding the doll, Carol walked slowly upstairs to her bedroom. She didn’t bother changing into pajamas. She just sat on the edge of the bed and looked down at the box in her lap.

Baby Doll.

It was Baby Doll — exactly like the one Santa brought her when she was five. Same pink smocked dress. Same silly lace bonnet. Same stitched little heart on the foot — already fraying, just like the original had.

How?

How had he done it? How could anyone — even someone with a warehouse of connections and a budget to match — find something that specific, that personal, on such impossibly short notice?

Unless…

Carol shook her head and stood abruptly. She set the doll upright on the dresser, still in her box, like it might topple if she looked away.

This was ridiculous.

She wasn’t going to fall into some sugarplum daydream just because a man had been… wonderful.

But oh, he had been.

Too wonderful.

Thoughtful. Gentle. Funny. Kind. Heart-meltingly good with people in a way she hadn’t seen in anyone in a very long time. Possibly ever.

He made her laugh. Really laugh — not the tight, polite kind she used during staff meetings or awkward dinner conversations. No, Scott had gotten her to loosen her grip on herself. And that scared her more than she wanted to admit.

She rubbed her hands over her face, then turned off the light. In the bathroom, she brushed her teeth on autopilot. When she finally crawled into bed and pulled the covers up to her chin, her eyes found the ceiling and refused to close.

Sleep didn’t come.

Her brain kept replaying the night in scattered pieces — the lifeless gym, the way he stepped onto that stage like he knew how to fix things, the stunned faces of her staff unwrapping relics of their childhoods. It had been magic.

There was no other word for it.

And then… the kiss.

That moment beneath the archway outside the sports hall. His voice, soft but sure: “I get this weird feeling in the pit of my stomach.” That boyish grin. Those eyes that never seemed to hide what they felt.

She had butterflies — not just before the kiss, but during every touch, every glance, every smile.

It’s what had undone her.

It’s what made her give in to the feeling instead of clinging to her rules.

He was Charlie’s father. A student. Her student.

What had she been thinking, bringing him to a faculty party? What would the staff say? What would she have said, if it were someone else?

“I’d really like to kiss you goodnight… but only if you want me to.”

She’d leaned in before she even realized she had.

That kiss had been warm. No rush. No pretense. Just him — hands gentle, lips soft, presence steady — like he knew exactly how not to scare her away.

And her — leaning in without thinking, because for once, her heart had outrun her fear.

And she knew — knew — she wouldn’t be able to talk herself out of it later.

She turned on her side.

She didn’t know what this meant. She didn’t know where it was going.

But for the first time in a long time…
she wanted to want something.
And maybe, just maybe… this could be it.

***

The Miller house was still lit when Scott pulled into the driveway — of course it was. Laura had always been a light sleeper, and Neil… well, Neil hovered. Especially now that he was monitoring what he called “an ongoing case of emotional development under holiday duress.”

Scott trudged up the steps and let himself in, still smiling a little — that kind of dazed, post-first-kiss look he didn’t even bother trying to hide.

Before he could take two steps into the hallway, Laura appeared in the kitchen doorway in a robe, arms folded, one eyebrow raised.

“So?”

Scott blinked. “So what?”

Neil popped up behind her like he’d been waiting for a cue. “You kissed her, didn’t you?”

“Hi, good evening, yes — I’m back from my very adult and respectable evening out. Thank you for your concern.”

Laura grinned. “You so kissed her.”

Scott sighed and walked into the kitchen. “Fine. Yes. Maybe. Sort of.”

Laura and Neil exchanged a quick, delighted glance. Neil clapped his hands. “I knew it! You had that look when you left. That serious face.”

Laura was already getting a plate out of the cabinet. “Want something to eat?”

“No thanks,” Scott muttered. He grabbed a glass and went to the sink, running the water mostly just to do something. “I’m still processing a sleigh ride, a mistletoe moment, and the realization that I apparently have feelings for a woman I barely know… but who somehow already matters more than I can explain.”

“That’s called romance,” Neil said, matter-of-fact. “It sneaks up on you. Like indigestion.”

Scott gave him a dry look. “Thanks, Dr. Freud.”

Laura exchanged a knowing glance with Neil. “You really do like her.”

Scott’s shoulders tensed — not defensively, but with the weight of knowing he couldn’t take it back now.

“I do,” he said quietly. “And it’s not just tonight. It’s been sneaking up on me — quietly at first, then all at once. I didn’t even notice until… there she was.” He took a breath. “It’s Carol.”

Silence.

Then Neil let out a choked sound. “Principal Carol?”

Scott nodded.

Laura’s jaw dropped, but it softened quickly into amused disbelief.

“Carol, Carol…” Neil echoed, settling beside him at the counter. “Honestly, I didn’t see that one coming.”

“I know. Neither did I,” Scott admitted, scrubbing the glass like it had personally offended him. “She kind of… grew on me.”

Laura returned, setting a plate of cookies on the counter anyway. “She grew on you?”

He shrugged, still not meeting their eyes. “We grew on each other. There was… growth. Slowly, awkwardly… but it’s real. There’s something there. Something that scares the hell out of me — and I don’t scare easy.”

Neil snorted.

“Well, that’s great,” Laura said gently. “You found someone. And just in time.”

Scott stilled. The warmth in her voice was welcome, but it also cut close.

They all knew what just in time meant.

She leaned back against the counter beside him. “How’d she take it when you told her?”

Scott froze, turning slowly to look at her.

“You did tell her… right?” Neil asked.

Scott winced. “Not exactly.”

“You didn’t tell her you’re Santa Claus?” Neil sounded horrified.

“It’s not the kind of thing you blurt out over punch and stuffed mushrooms,” Scott shot back. “Unless you want to get tackled by the gym coach and handed a restraining order.”

“I mean, I gotta side with Scott on this one,” Laura admitted. “It’s not like telling someone you have a cat or wear socks with sandals.”

Scott turned on her. “That was a phase I was going through.”

“It was just such a vivid memory,” she said, raising an eyebrow.

“But you never forget, she never forgets,” Scott muttered. “Ever.”

“Alright,” Neil cleared his throat, stepping into what could only be described as a TED Talk. “Here’s what you do. Take her out for a lovely dinner — nothing with a drive-thru. Then you take her home, sit her down by a warm fire, give her a glass of eggnog, and then…”

He paused dramatically.

“…you perform some incredible feat of magic. You know. Something unforgettable. A sleigh in the backyard. Talking snowman. Time loop. Go big.”

Laura nodded, clearly on board. “He’s not wrong. If anyone could make her believe it, it’s you.”

Scott stared at both of them like they’d grown antlers. “Right. Then I’ll take the act to Vegas. We’ll make millions.”

Neil looked wounded. “What?”

Scott sighed. He set the glass down, pulled up his sleeve, and showed them the watch. The clock hands were at zero. “Look, Neil, I’m not a magician and secondly I’m out of magic.”

Both Laura and Neil leaned in instinctively.

“What?” Laura whispered. “You mean…”

“What does that mean?” Neil asked. “Is something going to happen to Christmas?”

“I don’t know,” Scott admitted. “I’ve never run out before. All I know is that I’m on zero. And I’ve got… what? Five days?”

He dropped into a chair, suddenly exhausted. The weight of the evening — the kiss, the doll, the hope in Carol’s eyes — all pressed down on him.

“She doesn’t know who I really am,” he said softly. “And now I’m not sure if I’ll get the chance to tell her before it’s too late.”

Laura sat beside him. “Then make the time, Scott. Find a way. Because she deserves to know. And if she’s the right person — really the right person — she’ll understand.”

He looked between them — his ex-wife and her new husband. Two people who had once thought he was losing it. Who now believed in him. Not just as Charlie’s father. Not just as Santa. But as himself.

And now they were rooting for him.

“I kissed her,” he said again, quieter. “And for the first time in… I don’t know how long, I felt like myself. Like the part of me I forgot was still in there.”

Neil smiled. “Alive?”

Scott blinked. “Yeah. That’s the word.”

“Then don’t waste it,” Laura said gently.

Scott nodded, mostly to himself.

There was still time.
Not much.
But maybe enough.

Chapter Text

Thursday, December 19th, 2002

Carol’s house

Morning came quietly — soft light, fresh snow, and the kind of stillness that only winter mornings could bring, when even the sun moved gently across the sky.

Carol Newman sat at her kitchen table, two hands wrapped around a mug of lukewarm coffee she had yet to drink. The radio murmured holiday classics in the background, and the cinnamon candle she’d lit out of habit flickered low and forgotten.

She hadn’t slept much. Not in a tossing, restless way — more in a wide-eyed, replaying-every-moment sort of way.

That kiss.

That kiss.

She’d played it back a hundred different ways — the brush of his lips, the way his hand had settled at her waist, the look in his eyes just before it happened. And every time, it managed to steal her breath a little more.

There had been something in the air between them last night — not just the mistletoe (which she still swore hadn't been there before), not just the lights or the soft voices from the choir. It had been… him. Scott.

The way he looked at her like she was the only person in the room. The way he handed her that gift like he knew — like somehow, impossibly, he’d understood exactly what that doll had meant to her, even though she hadn’t told anyone in decades. And the way he didn’t push. Didn’t assume. Just quietly asked if she wanted that kiss.

She had wanted it.

She still did.

Carol sighed and finally brought the coffee to her lips, grimacing at the bitter taste. She didn’t bother reheating it.

But it wasn’t just the kiss. It was everything before it — the way he made her laugh when she was trying not to, the way he’d become a regular fixture in her school this month, popping into the service club or volunteering here and there. The way the kids lit up around him with his stories and his sly little jokes. The way she did, too. It was hard to remember what it had been like before he arrived.

And maybe that was part of the problem.

She needed to be careful.

He was a parent. A visitor. A guest in town. He didn’t even live here — he was staying with the Millers, for crying out loud. If he had a lease or a job or even a reason to stay, she might allow herself to breathe a little deeper. But he didn’t. And when winter break hit… would he still be here?

Carol’s gaze flicked to the calendar by the fridge. Thursday, December 19th.

Break started tomorrow.

Which meant she had, what… two days left? If that?

She stood, restless now, and carried her mug to the sink. She rinsed it out, letting the water run far longer than needed. She wasn’t good at this kind of uncertainty — the kind that made you hope when you weren’t sure it was safe to.

She liked things planned. Predictable. With clear lines and professional boundaries.

And she especially didn’t like what it felt like to have her heart inching toward someone she barely understood.

Because Scott Calvin — charming, infuriating, sweet, chaotic Scott Calvin — didn’t fit into any of her safe categories. He wasn’t a teacher. Wasn’t a local. Wasn’t a parent she could dismiss after a conference and forget until June. No, he had woven himself into her December somehow — and now she didn’t know what it meant.

Carol pressed a hand to her forehead and leaned against the counter. “You kissed a student’s father at the staff Christmas party, Carol,” she muttered. “And liked it.”

If her staff found out, she didn’t know what they’d think.

More than that — she didn’t know what he thought.

Scott hadn’t reached out last night. Or this morning. No call. No text. No unexpected showing up at her door.

But then again… it was still early.

And he had a knack for showing up when she least expected it.

Still…

She pulled the curtain back just enough to peek outside. Snow dusted the sidewalk. The world looked clean and calm.

But inside her, everything was tangled.

The street was empty. No footprints in the snow.
Not yet, she thought — and hated that she was watching for him.

She didn’t regret the kiss. Or the kisses. Not for a second.

But she did wonder what came next.

And maybe that was what terrified her the most.

Because for once, Carol Newman — principal, planner, rule-follower — didn’t have a clue.

***

The Millers’ house – Guest Room

Scott Calvin had never been more acutely aware of how unmagical the North Pole could feel than in the quiet early hours of the Millers’ guest room, where the magic was gone, his heart was too full, and his mind was absolutely useless when it came to sleep.

He’d tossed. Turned. Fluffed his pillow. Counted reindeer. Tried not to replay the kiss.

Failed.

Carol.

She had kissed him. And not in the polite “thank you for being a good sport at the party” way. No, it was a real kiss. A deliberate kiss. A “come here” and “follow me” and “please don’t be an idiot about this” kind of kiss.

And then the goodbye kiss in front of her house?

He hadn’t stopped thinking about it since she’d walked inside. It was stuck in his mind like tinsel on a wool sweater. He could still feel the press of her lips, the warmth of her breath in the cold air, the way she’d leaned into him like she meant it.

But beneath the dazed high of kissing her — Carol, smart, stubborn, impossible, wonderful Carol — was a weight he couldn’t shake.

What if she kissed him under the illusion of December — not knowing what came after?
What if she found out and walked away before he ever got the chance to show her what the rest of the year could feel like?

Because he hadn’t told her.

Not really.

Not the big thing. The real thing. The thing with red suits and chimneys and sleigh bells and a deadline that felt like it was hurtling toward him faster than ever.

He hadn’t told her he was Santa Claus.

And he didn’t know how.

Scott dragged himself out of bed just as the sun started stretching across the frost-covered backyard. The house was quiet except for the kettle heating in the kitchen and the soft shuffle of Neil getting ready for the school run.

Laura poked her head into the hallway as Scott passed, half-dressed and brushing her hair into a clip. “I’ve got an appointment across town, and Neil’s taking Lucy,” she said in a tone that was far too casual to be casual. “That leaves you on Charlie duty. It’s too cold for him to walk.”

Scott paused mid-yawn. “Oh. Yeah, sure.”

“You okay?” she asked, brow raised.

“Peachy. Just didn’t sleep much.” He scratched the back of his neck. “You think Charlie’s still not thrilled about the whole principal situation?”

Laura gave him a look. “I think you might need to figure out how you feel about the principal situation before you start worrying about Charlie.”

Fair.

Scott nodded, still groggy, and made his way to the kitchen. Neil was already at the table, pouring orange juice into a thermos with the intense focus of someone performing surgery.

“You’re driving Carol’s kid to school,” Neil said brightly.

“I’m driving my kid to school,” Scott corrected, opening the fridge. “Same school. Minor difference.”

“Right. Minor.”

Scott ignored him.

Charlie came down a few minutes later, bundled up but scowling like any good teenager forced out of bed at dawn. “Can we not talk about school?”

“Didn’t say anything,” Scott said, holding up both hands.

Charlie muttered something and grabbed his backpack. “Let’s just go.”

***

Drop-off Duty

It was cold enough that the minivan’s engine whined when Scott started it. He cranked the heat and backed out of the driveway, glancing sideways at his son.

Charlie stared out the window. Scott drummed his fingers on the steering wheel.

“So,” he ventured after a moment, “you guys doing anything cool in science today?”

Charlie didn’t look at him. “You don’t actually care about that.”

Scott sighed. “You’re right. I was just trying not to say the wrong thing.”

“Too late,” Charlie said — but there wasn’t much heat in it.

By the time they pulled up to Sycamore, the parking lot was half full and still waking up. Charlie started to hop out — and of course left his winter hat in the passenger seat.

“Wait!” Scott called, grabbing it and jogging after him. “You’ll freeze your ears off!”

Charlie turned, sighed dramatically, and yanked the hat from his dad’s hands before disappearing inside.

Scott watched the door swing shut behind him and turned back toward the van. He hadn’t made it ten steps before—

“Mr. Calvin!”

He turned to find two teachers standing near the side entrance, waving and smiling like they’d known him for years.

“Hi,” he called, trying not to look as uncomfortable as he felt.

“You were incredible last night,” one of them — Ms. Martinez, he thought — gushed. “The way you brought the party around? Those gifts? You made a lot of people feel seen.”

Another teacher chimed in. “Seriously, you made Christmas happen.”

Scott held up his hands. “It’s all part of the service.”

They laughed, and one of them stepped aside to open the door. “We’re just wrapping up a little post-party breakfast in the lounge. Nothing fancy. Just muffins, coffee, some leftover quiche from Mrs. Kaplan’s catering spree. You should come in.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to—”

“Nonsense,” Ms. Martinez said, practically pulling him by the sleeve. “It’s the least we can do.”

He hesitated at the threshold. Would Carol be in there? Would she smile at him like last night hadn’t changed everything — or like it had? The last thing he wanted was to blunder into her school again without a plan — especially when he didn’t know where they stood.

But declining kindness from strangers wasn’t really in his nature. And maybe — just maybe — Carol wouldn’t be there yet.

“Okay,” he said finally. “Coffee sounds good.”

He stepped inside.

And whether he liked it or not, the magic — or the mess — was already starting again.

***

Sycamore Secondary School – The Lounge

Scott stirred the lukewarm coffee in his paper cup with a plastic stirrer, the clink barely audible over the hum of soft conversation and the buzzing fluorescent lights. He sat perched on the edge of one of the mismatched sofas in the corner of the teachers' lounge, flanked by a tray of half-eaten bagels and the smell of day-old cinnamon rolls someone had microwaved a little too long.

He wasn’t supposed to be here. Originally, he was just going to drop Charlie off, drive away in Laura’s minivan, and spend the morning… he didn’t know. Probably pacing somewhere. But one moment he was jogging after Charlie to give him the winter hat he’d left in the passenger seat, and the next, a couple of teachers had recognized him and waved him in like he belonged.

“You’re not leaving without breakfast, are you?” one had said, smiling warmly. “Party magician gets breakfast privileges.”

He’d followed them in without much resistance. How could he say no? Especially when it beat sitting alone in a car wondering if Carol was already regretting kissing him.

Now he found himself surprisingly… comfortable. Which was weird. Because school faculty rooms weren’t exactly known for being cozy sanctuaries. But something about the energy was different today. Maybe it was the end-of-term buzz, or the paper snowflakes taped to the windows, or the soft background sound of instrumental carols playing through a tinny Bluetooth speaker. Or maybe it was just that—for once—people were actually smiling.

“Hey,” one of the younger science teachers said as he refilled his mug, “I heard you were helping out with the service group earlier this week. The tree in the lobby? That was a game-changer. Normally we just slap up some tinsel and call it festive.”

Scott gave a sheepish smile. “I’m more of a garland-and-hope-for-the-best guy, but I’m glad it worked.”

“You’ve been around a lot this month. It’s nice. Kinda reminds us what all this chaos is for.”

There were a few nods of agreement, even a chuckle or two. Scott sipped his coffee and let their words soak in—unexpected, but grounding. These were real people. Teachers, sure. Adults, yes. But they still lit up over the holidays. They still laughed about gingerbread houses collapsing in front of students or admitted to singing along with the morning announcements when no one was listening.

They were grown-ups who still believed in Christmas—not necessarily in sleigh bells and reindeer, but in the spirit of it. The warmth. The togetherness. The goofy joy that came from letting go, even briefly. And he’d helped bring a little of that back.

Maybe there was still time. Maybe he could still make this work.
If not for him, then for them.
For the kids.
For her.

Carol.

As soon as her name crossed his mind, she appeared—walking through the staff lounge door like a perfectly timed plot twist. His breath caught, and everything around him dulled for a moment as he instinctively straightened his posture.

She looked… tired. Not disheveled, but not polished either. Her hair was down, loosely curled around her shoulders, like she’d let it air-dry out of sheer defiance against the clock. Her cardigan was a soft pine green, the kind of color that made her eyes look impossibly blue. She clutched a travel mug with both hands like it was the only thing keeping her upright.

And then she looked right at him.

For a split second, neither of them moved. The rest of the lounge fell away—just the two of them, hovering in that weird limbo of what does this mean?

Scott swallowed, heart tapping faster against his ribs. He thought he’d feel better seeing her. Less tangled up. But instead, he was hyperaware of everything—his posture, his hands, the wrinkle in his shirt, the way his collar suddenly felt too tight.

Carol gave him a lingering glance and a quiet nod.
Not cold. Not exactly warm either.
Just… careful. Guarded.

He mirrored it, just as cautious.

A teacher waved her over to talk about schedules, and she moved away before either of them could say something.

Scott exhaled slowly, eyes lingering on her as she leaned in to answer a question, brushing a stray curl from her face. She looked calm. Composed. Like someone who hadn’t kissed him under mistletoe the night before.
Like someone who wasn’t thinking about it at all.

He would’ve been lying if he said he didn’t want her to look just as flustered as he felt. And it crushed him that she didn’t.

He took another sip of coffee and muttered under his breath, “Cool. No pressure.”

Still, the warmth from the lounge hadn’t left him.
Neither had the certainty that—whatever came next—he wasn’t ready to give up.

Not on Christmas.
Not on her.

***

Carol’s POV

Carol wrapped both hands around her travel mug like it could summon patience into her bloodstream.
It didn’t work.

The coffee machine in her office had sputtered its last pathetic gasp earlier that morning, coughing out a sad excuse for caffeine before blinking out completely. Of all mornings to die on her, it had to be this one. Of course.

She hadn’t slept. Or rather, she’d barely slept.
Not because of grading or deadlines or student drama—
But because of him.

Scott Calvin.

She’d kissed him. Or maybe he’d kissed her. Or—well, they’d kissed each other. That part still blurred around the edges.
But it wasn’t the kiss that kept her awake.

It was the moment after.
The way the world had fallen quiet around them.
The warmth that had lingered long after he walked her to the door.
The way her name had sounded on his lips, like something he didn’t want to let go of.

And now?
Now she had to get through an entire Thursday pretending none of it had happened. Pretending she was just the principal. Just Carol. Just normal.

The only thing that might help was more coffee. Even if it meant braving the teachers’ lounge.

She tugged her cardigan tighter around herself and stepped into the hallway, trying to keep her expression neutral. Focused.
She was just here for coffee.
Not looking for anyone.
Definitely not scanning the corridor for a familiar shock of brown hair and a too-charming smile.
Nope. Not her.

But when she didn’t spot that familiar tousle of brown hair anywhere in the halls, her stomach sank before she could even stop it.

Ridiculous.
She should be relieved. Last night had been a lovely little lapse in judgment. A moment. But that didn’t mean it meant something.
He was unpredictable. Spontaneous. Clearly a bit magical in the way he’d pulled off the party.
But did he have a plan? A direction? A place here?
She reminded herself that he didn’t even live in town.

She pushed open the teachers’ lounge door, already preparing to pour her coffee and bolt.

And there he was.

Sitting on the edge of the sofa like he belonged there. Laughing softly with two teachers—Marcy from English and Dave from Science—who were smiling like they hadn’t smiled all semester.
He looked at ease, legs stretched out in front of him, holding a plate with what was probably a cinnamon roll someone had smuggled in from the Christmas Party leftovers.

Carol froze.
Her brain stalled entirely as their eyes met across the room.

She hadn’t intended to look at him. She hadn’t prepared for it.
But he saw her the second she stepped through the door—eyes flicking up mid-sentence like he’d been waiting for her.
And for a breathless moment, neither of them looked away.

Then, slowly, they both nodded.
Just the smallest gesture. Just enough.

Her grip on her travel mug tightened.

Someone waved her over, and she crossed the room quickly, heading for the coffee counter like that moment hadn’t just happened.
Like her whole body wasn’t suddenly aware of itself—of him—of the fact that he was still watching her.

Behind her, his voice picked up again. Back to easy conversation. But something in the tone had shifted—quieter, more careful.

Janice appeared at her elbow, all reindeer pin and mid-December cheer. “Principal Newman. You look exhausted.”

“That’s because I am.” Carol forced a smile, grateful her voice still worked. “My coffee maker gave up on me this morning. I’m here on a mercy mission.”

“Well, good timing. We were going over final week cleanup. Scott said he’s happy to help with decorations.”

Carol turned just in time to catch his gaze again.
He wasn’t smiling anymore, not exactly—but there was warmth there.
Something open. Steady.
Something that made her chest ache with the effort of staying still.

“Sure,” she said, carefully. “Let’s talk cleanup.”

The rest of the conversation moved around her—storage bins, student volunteers, who had access to the supply closet—but she heard almost none of it.
Every time she shifted, she felt him.
Every time someone laughed, she wondered if he was still listening. Still watching.

She was Principal Newman.
She’d handled much worse than this.
But this quiet tension? This thing that neither of them had dared to name?

It scared her.

Because it didn’t feel like a mistake.

It felt like something waiting.

And when she finally let herself glance at him again—just for a second—he smiled.

Soft. Quiet.
Like he already knew.

That they were both in trouble.
And neither of them wanted to be anywhere else.

***

  Sycamore Secondary School – The Lounge, after the meeting

The teachers’ lounge slowly began to empty as a bell loomed in the distance, like distant thunder rolling through a snowstorm.

Carol felt the shift in energy—shoulders squaring, mugs being rinsed, voices softening back into professional tones.

She hadn’t moved from her place near the counter. She was holding her second cup of coffee like a shield, letting the low hum of conversation wrap around her while she tried not to look again. Not at him.

Scott hadn’t moved either. He was still seated on the couch, now talking with Dave in quieter tones. He didn’t seek her out again. Didn’t push.

And somehow, that made it worse.

She was torn—half of her wanted to pretend the past twelve hours hadn’t happened, and the other half was screaming for her to do something. Say something. Stay.

But staying would raise questions. Lingering in the lounge with a too-handsome father who’d been suspiciously involved in a magical Christmas party would earn her sideways glances at best. And after years of drawing careful lines, she couldn’t risk anyone thinking she’d blurred one.

So she did what she’d always done.

She straightened her shoulders, offered a few closing remarks on break cleanup, and excused herself with the mention of a full inbox.

Her parting glance at Scott was almost involuntary. Just a flicker. But he caught it.

And for one heartbeat, it felt like they were right back under the mistletoe.

Chapter Text

Thursday, December 19th, 2002

She walked away before he could stop her — heels clicking, coffee in hand, wrapped in that same green cardigan that still smelled faintly of cinnamon when he leaned in close. Scott didn’t move. Couldn’t. Not right away. Something about the look she’d given him — cautious, unreadable — left him rooted to the spot, heart pounding and hands useless around a coffee cup that had long since gone cold.

As the door clicked shut behind her, the room softened back into casual chatter.

“That woman’s a machine,” Dave said, shaking his head with admiration. “Still running point on everything and looking like she hasn’t slept in three days.”

“Probably because she hasn’t,” Janice chimed in, adding another sugar packet to her cup. “Her coffee maker died. You could see it on her face this morning.”

“Is that why her hair was down?” one of the aides mused. “I don’t think I’ve seen that since the staff photo five years ago.”

Scott had remained quiet through the exchange, pretending to sip his now-cold coffee, but at the mention of her coffee machine, something in him stirred.

He wasn’t great at timing. He wasn’t always graceful with his words.

But he could fix things. At least… sometimes.

And if he was being honest with himself, it wasn’t just about the machine.

It was a chance. A moment. An excuse to see her again. To maybe—just maybe—say something real.

He stood abruptly, placing his mug on the tray. “I’m gonna head out. Thanks for the hospitality, Marcy.”

“Anytime, Scott,” she smiled. “It’s good having you around. You’re like our unofficial morale boost.”

“Guess next time I bring the cinnamon rolls.”

A few chuckles followed him out as he stepped into the hallway, his pace a little quicker now. Nerves buzzed under his skin, but so did something warmer. Braver.

Her office door wasn’t far. He remembered exactly where it was—the countless times he’d stood in front of it for Charlie’s conferences or quick morning greetings. But now it felt different. Like approaching a castle gate without knowing if the drawbridge would lower.

He lifted his hand and knocked. Two short raps, not too loud.

Inside, he heard movement. A pause.

Then, her voice. “Come in.”

He pushed the door open slowly, heart thudding like he was back in middle school.

Carol looked up from behind her desk, still clutching her second cup of coffee like a security blanket. She looked tired. Beautiful. Startled.

The room felt smaller suddenly, like the air between them had thickened. He smelled faintly like pine and cinnamon—the party still clinging to him, or maybe something more stubborn.

“Hey,” he said, offering the smallest smile. “Heard about your coffee maker.”

She blinked, then raised an eyebrow. “Word travels fast.”

He stepped inside, holding up both hands like he came in peace. “I come bearing no cinnamon rolls, but… I might be able to fix it. I’ve picked up a few things in the North—up north. Workshop life. You know, wires, gears, uncooperative appliances.”

Carol stared at him for a moment, unreadable. Then her lips twitched. “You want to fix my coffee maker?”

He shrugged. “Figured it’s the least I could do after, you know… stealing a kiss under suspiciously placed mistletoe.”

Her eyes narrowed just slightly, but she didn’t look angry. Just wary. “And you’re not here for another one?”

He swallowed. “Only if you want me to be.”

A pause.

Then, she gestured with the mug toward the tiny counter where the offending coffee machine sat, sullen and unplugged.

“It’s over there. Be my guest.”

Scott moved to it carefully, trying not to trip over the cords or his own nerves. She didn’t say anything, but he could feel her watching him, like she was trying to read between his every movement.

Watching the same man who’d kissed her like she was the only thing keeping him tethered to the ground. And now here he was, crouched beside her broken coffee maker like this was the most important thing in the world.

He crouched in front of the machine, inspecting it. “This model’s old. Probably just a busted wire or a loose fuse.”

Carol sipped her coffee, studying him over the rim. “Is that your thing? Fixing what other people leave broken?”

He glanced up, offering a crooked grin. “I try.”

She looked down into her mug. “Good luck.”

Scott nodded, trying to focus on the task in front of him—but truthfully, he was grateful for the silence. Grateful for the chance to be near her again, even if they didn’t quite know how to talk about everything that hung between them.

He didn’t know how to say what he needed to say. Not yet.

But maybe this was a start.

And maybe, just maybe, a little magic still lingered in the wires.

***

Carol’s POV

She hadn’t expected him.
And she definitely hadn’t expected him to knock on her office door with that half-smile and a makeshift excuse about her broken coffee machine.

But there he was—standing in her office like he belonged, sleeves pushed to his forearms, offering to fix something just because he could.
Just because it gave him a reason to see her.

And the worst part? It was working.

She hadn’t meant to sound flirtatious when she asked if he was here for another kiss. It had just… slipped out. Sleep deprivation had apparently lowered her filter—and so had last night.

But he hadn’t flinched. Hadn’t laughed it off.
“Only if you want me to be,” he’d said.

And now, that sentence lingered—warm and a little dangerous—hanging in the air like the scent of pine and cinnamon.

She hated how much she liked the way he’d said it.
How it made her imagine what might have happened if she’d said yes.

Instead, she’d waved vaguely toward the machine like a coward, willing her heart to calm as he crouched beside it—already focused, already working.

Her fingers curled tighter around her mug.

It wasn’t just that he was fixing something.
It was why.
He’d overheard something—just a passing comment in the lounge, probably—and he’d come. No fanfare. No speech. Just… a quiet gesture of care.

And that got to her more than it should have.

She wasn’t used to being taken care of. Not like this.
Not in the small, thoughtful ways that made her feel… seen.

It unnerved her.
Because it meant something.
And she had no idea what that something was.

Was he staying? Was he leaving?
Was last night a spark—or the start of something she wasn’t ready for?

She didn’t know.
And the more she watched him, the harder it became to think straight.

He really was surprisingly good with his hands—steady, focused, precise. Like he’d done this a hundred times before. She leaned back slightly and took another sip of coffee, eyes drifting without permission.

He was crouched low, brows furrowed in concentration, that same ridiculous charm softened now by focus.

Strong arms.
The thought came uninvited—followed closely by another as her gaze dropped.

Oh, God.

She looked away fast, feigning interest in her inbox.

Was she seriously checking out a student’s father? In her office?
A man she’d kissed less than twelve hours ago?

A man who made her laugh. Made her feel. Made her forget—for one breathless moment—that life had rules and boundaries and perfectly arranged walls.

And that was the scariest part.

Because with Scott, she wasn’t just Principal Newman.
She was Carol.

The woman who laughed too loudly at his puns.
Who looked forward to his visits more than she’d ever admit.
Who heard her name in his voice like it mattered.

The woman who hadn’t stopped thinking about him since the moment he left.

She sighed softly, trying not to fidget in her chair.

This was ridiculous. She was a professional. A grown woman. She had survived years of chaos without ever crossing the line.

And now—now—a charming, infuriating, cinnamon-roll-bearing man was fixing her coffee machine, and she couldn’t stop thinking about how badly she wanted to kiss him again.

Maybe not in this office.
Maybe not right this second.
But soon.

And if he said her name like that again—

A soft click and a flicker of red light pulled her from her thoughts.

The machine powered on.

“Got it,” Scott said, rising and brushing off his hands. “One tragically under-caffeinated coffee machine, resurrected. No magic required.”

Carol blinked up at him. “You fixed it?”

He shrugged, grinning. “You’re talking to the unofficial repair guy for about two million toys. This was practically a vacation.”

Her lips parted. “I… thank you.”

Their eyes met again.
Longer this time.

So many things she should say.
So many questions she still didn’t have the courage to ask.

But all she could think about was how close he was.
How his sleeves were still pushed up.
How her pulse hadn’t slowed since he walked through the door.

She cleared her throat, glancing toward the machine. “I, uh… I really needed that.”

“I figured,” he said, softer now. “You looked like you hadn’t slept.”

She met his eyes again. “Neither did you.”

Silence.
But not awkward.

There was something in it—weight, maybe.
The echo of that kiss still humming beneath her skin.

Maybe this wasn’t nothing.
Maybe she wasn’t ready to admit what she wanted.

But she stood, poured herself a fresh cup, heart still hammering.

“You want some?” she asked quietly.

Scott smiled. “Only if it comes with good company.”

She smiled back despite herself. “That can be arranged.”

And for the first time all morning, the tightness in her chest loosened—just a little.

***

Scott’s POV

Scott could feel her eyes on him the entire time.
Not in a principal-watching-your-every-move kind of way—but in the kind of way that made his pulse jump, like every motion he made suddenly mattered. Like her eyes saw something in him worth pausing for.

It made his hands work faster, steadier. Like he had something to prove.
Not just that he could fix a coffee machine.
That he could matter to her—in a way that had nothing to do with school or staff meetings or being Charlie’s dad.

She hadn’t done a single thing the entire time he was crouched on the floor beside that wheezing little machine. No typing. No shuffling papers. No pretending to multitask.

She just watched.

She didn’t even try to look busy.

He could feel the weight of her attention, the tension laced between them like invisible thread, and he was stupid enough to feel proud of it.
It meant something. She felt this too—whatever this was.
That gave him hope. More hope than he’d dared let himself feel since the kiss.
Maybe it wasn’t just him.
Maybe she was just as tangled up in this as he was.

When she handed him the mug—something bright blue and crooked, clearly handmade—he couldn’t help the grin that tugged at his mouth. Not just because she was offering him coffee. But because it felt like she was offering him a part of her day. Her world. A quiet kind of trust.

“Thanks,” he said, accepting it carefully like it was sacred. He turned the mug in his hands, admiring the uneven glaze, the faint fingerprint smudged into the ceramic. “This is... kind of amazing. You make this?”

Carol laughed softly, shaking her head. “My niece, Sophie. Fourth grade. She made one for everyone in the family last year. I got the honor of receiving the most structurally questionable one. But I like it.”

He smiled, turning it again, suddenly picturing a small girl with paint on her sleeves and a determined look on her face. “She’s got style.”

Carol nodded and sat down—not behind the desk, not where she usually positioned herself like a figure of calm authority, but beside him, in the visitor’s chair.
Not close enough to touch—but close enough that if he shifted slightly, their arms might brush. Close enough to feel the warmth of her presence, quiet and steady like the hum of something waking up.

No desk between them.

He didn’t know if that was intentional. But it felt significant.

His fingers tapped the side of the mug. “So... you’re trusting me with Sophie’s masterpiece. That’s a big deal.”

She gave him a sidelong glance, her lips tugging in the corner. “Don’t break it, Calvin.”

He chuckled and took a sip, savoring the moment—and the coffee, now so much sweeter for the company.

He ran a hand through his hair, suddenly aware of how he probably looked—floor-dusted, sleeves rolled, trying not to stare. But when her eyes lingered a moment too long on his hands, something flickered in his chest.

His gaze drifted to a small cardboard advent calendar propped on the counter near the mini-fridge, its little doors mostly open now, some candy wrappers sticking out like lazy bookmarks.

“Nice calendar,” he said, nodding toward it. “The classic kind. Cheap chocolate. Bit of charm.”

She followed his gaze, something soft crossing her expression. “I bought that with your donation. Back when you first stopped by. End of November.”

Scott blinked. “Seriously?”

She nodded. “I split the money between classroom decorations and small things for the staff lounge. That was one of them.” She gave a sheepish shrug. “The kids love it. And the teachers... well, sugar helps.”

He laughed, warm and maybe a little in disbelief. “Wow. We’ve, uh... we’ve come a long way since then.”

Carol tilted her head, amusement flickering in her eyes. “You mean from the man who was terrified to sit in that chair without permission?”

“I still feel like I need a hall pass,” Scott said, smirking into his coffee. “But at least I don’t tremble anymore when you look at me.”

Her laughter came easier this time, and the sound wrapped around him like warmth from a fireplace.

There was a comfort in this. An ease he hadn’t dared expect.

He looked over at her again—hair loose, eyes tired, cardigan sleeves tugged halfway over her hands—and felt something stir in his chest.

He didn’t need to name it. Not yet.

But he wanted to give it space.
Let it breathe.
Let her know—gently, quietly—that he’d wait.

He didn’t know where this was going. If she’d want to keep going. If she’d pull back again.

But right now, in this moment—with her beside him and Sophie’s mug in his hand and the faint hum of that half-dead coffee machine rumbling behind them—he felt like maybe, just maybe, this was the start of something real.
Something worth waiting for.
Something worth holding onto—if she reached back.

***

Neither of them moved.

Scott sat with the bright, lopsided mug cradled in his hands—his fingers long since gone still. Carol’s hand rested loosely on her knee, the other curled around her own cup, long forgotten. The moment had stretched—comfortably. Almost dangerously so.

Neither wanted to break it.

There was a hush in the office that didn’t quite belong to school hours. The soundproofing wasn’t perfect, of course. Faint footsteps moved through the halls beyond the door, a classroom door banged somewhere down the corridor, but in here—it felt quiet. Separate. Like they were tucked inside a snow globe—just the two of them—and if anyone dared to shake it, they might shatter something delicate between them.

Scott didn’t want to leave.

He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this... settled. And that scared him a little. The longer he stayed, the more rooted he felt—and the more uncertain he became about how to pull away.

Was he supposed to salute her? Crack a joke and slip out like it was just any old Thursday?

Or did he... hug her?

Kiss her cheek?

God, kiss her?

Too much. Or maybe not enough.

He turned the mug in his hands again, buying time, then finally lifted his eyes to hers. “So,” he said, a bit too casually, “me volunteering for the clean-up tomorrow... that wasn’t too much, was it?”

Carol looked at him, amused. “You’re really asking me that here? While we’re literally sipping coffee in my closed office, alone?”

Scott gave a sheepish grin, rubbing the back of his neck. “Just thought I’d offer you an out. If this is... you know. Weird.”

She shook her head, her smile softening, and leaned back just a little. “It’s not weird,” she said quietly. “It’s confusing. And unexpected. And honestly kind of ridiculous. But... not weird. Not in a bad way.”

Scott let that sit between them for a moment. He watched her fingers trace the rim of her cup, and noticed again just how tired she looked—beautiful, yes, but guarded. Her eyes carried the same weight he’d seen in his own mirror this morning. That mixture of exhaustion and curiosity. Hesitation. Hope.

She was overthinking everything. Just like he was.

And maybe... maybe that was the problem.

Maybe they were both so afraid of breaking the spell that they were forgetting the point of it in the first place.

He set the mug down gently on her desk, then looked at her—really looked, all pretense gone.

“I like you,” he said, voice low and honest. “A lot more than I expected to.”

Carol blinked. Her lips parted, but no sound came out.

He pressed on, unwilling to let silence undo the truth. “I didn’t plan for this. You probably didn’t either. But... I’m not just here to fix coffee machines and play the holiday hero. I’m here because I want to be. Because last night meant something to me. You mean something to me.”

Carol looked at him then—really looked. And something in her eyes shifted. “You do too,” she said softly. “That’s what scares me.” She swallowed hard, her throat tightening around it. Her voice was quiet when it came. “But I thought maybe I imagined that.”

“You didn’t.” His smile came slow, shy. “You couldn’t have. Because I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you either—no matter how hard I’ve tried to convince myself I imagined it.”

Carol let out a breath that was half laugh, half sigh. Her eyes sparkled in that tired, vulnerable way he’d come to recognize—her walls thinning. Still up, but lowering.

Her fingers brushed her coffee cup again. “I don’t know where this goes, Scott.”

He nodded. “Me neither.”

Another breath. Another look.

But neither of them moved away.

Carol tilted her head slightly, a strand of hair falling forward, and before she could reach for it—

Scott did.

His hand came up slowly, gently, fingertips brushing just behind her ear as he tucked the strand back into place. She didn’t pull away. She didn’t blink.

“You’re tired,” he murmured.

“So are you.”

He didn’t argue. His hand lingered a second longer than it needed to. Her eyes dropped to his mouth, just for a second. And when she looked back up—he was already closer. Then—almost imperceptibly—she leaned in.

So he met her halfway.

His lips met hers—gentle, unsure—but the way she sighed against him felt like the answer to every question he hadn’t dared ask. The kiss was soft. Careful. Not the kind that asked for anything—just one that promised.

It barely lasted a few seconds, but when they pulled back, neither of them spoke.

Scott’s heart thundered in his chest, and Carol... Carol was looking at him like maybe she wasn’t quite sure what had just happened, but she also wasn’t regretting it.

“I should probably get back to being the principal now,” she whispered.

He smiled, voice low. “Only if you want to be.”

And the look she gave him—part disbelief, part amusement, part something else—made his stomach flip in the best possible way.

She stood slowly, and he followed suit.

The bubble was thinning. He could feel it.

But before it burst completely, Carol said quietly, “I’m not asking you to promise anything, Scott.”

“I know.”

“I just...” She hesitated, then looked up at him, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips. “Please don’t disappear on me.”

His answer was simple, certain.

“I won’t.”

This time, when he left her office, he didn’t salute or crack a joke.

He just smiled at her—soft and steady—and closed the door behind him with a heart beating a little faster... and a whole lot lighter.

***

Alone at the Millers’ House

Scott barely remembered the walk back through the school halls. He might’ve smiled at someone. Might’ve said goodbye. He wasn’t sure. Everything felt a little dreamlike—like the world had softened around the edges, muffled by the echo of her smile and the feel of her lips still lingering on his.

He’d told her.

He’d actually said the words out loud—I like you—and she hadn’t run for the hills. She hadn’t asked him to leave. She’d smiled. She’d kissed him back.

And just like that, something that had been knotted tight in his chest for days—maybe weeks—unspooled.

The chill outside didn’t even register as he trudged up the snowy sidewalk toward the Millers’ house. Everything in him felt warm. The good kind of warm. Like he’d finally stepped into the right place at the right time.

By the time he slipped through the side gate and made his way into the backyard, the late morning sun glinted off the snow like powdered sugar. Comet waited for him near the edge of the shed, stamping impatient hooves into the frostbitten grass.

Scott raised an amused brow. “You’ve got the subtlety of a sledgehammer, you know that?”

The reindeer snorted, flicking his ears back. He nudged Scott’s chest as he approached—a silent prod for news. Scott rubbed Comet’s nose affectionately and exhaled, letting his body finally start to come down from the high of the morning.

“I kissed her,” he said simply. “Again.”

Comet gave a satisfied little grunt and tossed his head.

Scott chuckled under his breath. “She didn’t slap me. Or throw me out. She smiled. Actually smiled. And I told her I liked her. I mean—who does that? I don’t think I’ve said that out loud to a woman since...”
His voice trailed off.

Since Laura. And that felt like a different lifetime.

He looked at Comet—who stood there, steady and solid. A not-so-gentle reminder of everything he still had to do.

The Claus thing.
The sleigh.
The lists.
The letters.
The truth.

Yeah. That part.

He glanced back toward the house, heart already tugging somewhere else.

“I couldn’t tell her today,” he admitted quietly. “She had her hands full—with teachers and holiday break prep and coffee emergencies. It wasn’t the right moment. And... I just wanted to be Scott for a little while longer. Just a man falling for a woman who might actually be falling for him too.”

Comet made a low sound, like he didn’t fully approve—but he wasn’t arguing either.

“I’ll tell her,” Scott said again, more to himself than to the reindeer. “Soon. Before Christmas Eve.”

There was still time. It was only the 19th. Five days left before he’d have to suit up and fly. Before she’d need to see the full truth of who he was—and what he carried.
It all depended on her.
If she would say yes...
The magic could continue.

But for now—for today—he’d given her honesty. And she’d given him something even rarer.

A real chance.

And that was enough.

He fed Comet an apple slice from his coat pocket, then trudged back inside, cheeks pink from the cold and something warmer underneath. The Millers weren’t home—Laura and Neil at work, and the kids at school—which left the house blessedly quiet.

He kicked off his boots, unwrapped his scarf, and collapsed onto his bed in the guest room with a soft groan. The kind that came from his chest and somewhere deeper.

Her smile still echoed in his mind.
Her touch still warmed his skin.
And her kiss—soft, tentative, a little surprised—lingered faintly, like sugar on his lips.

Maybe I’ll just close my eyes for a bit...

The second his head hit the pillow, a peaceful kind of stillness settled over him. A different kind of magic.

Maybe—if he was lucky—the Sandman would let him dream of a certain blonde with a tired smile and coffee on her breath.
And maybe this time, he’d get to stay in the dream a little longer.
Maybe this time...
He wouldn’t have to wake up at all.

Because maybe the dream—the kiss, the smile, the way she looked at him—
Was finally becoming real.

Chapter Text

Thursday, December 19th, 2002

The door clicked shut behind him, and for one aching moment, Carol just sat there.

Still in the guest chair. Still holding the coffee mug he’d used, her fingers curled loosely around the handle like it could anchor her to the moment—like the heat from his hands might still be there, if she just held on long enough.

He kissed her.
Again.
And she let him.

Worse—she wanted to.
And not just in the heat-of-the-moment kind of way.

Her heart had been thudding since the moment his fingers brushed that loose strand of hair behind her ear—gentle, deliberate, like he already knew how easily she could unravel under careful hands.

And the kiss—soft, intentional, almost reverent—still echoed on her lips like the trace of a melody she wasn’t ready to forget.

He had leaned in like he was offering something precious, something he wasn’t sure she’d take. And when she hadn’t pulled away—when she’d kissed him back—he had smiled against her mouth like she’d just said yes to something neither of them had spoken aloud.

She didn’t do this. Not here. Not like this. Not with someone who made her laugh so easily. Who made her forget the edges she’d spent years sharpening, who looked at her like she was something more than composed and competent. Who made her want something warm and unguarded in return.

But now he was gone, and reality rushed back in like a cold draft beneath the door.

She had papers to sign, emails to answer, teachers needing things, and a student asking if the gym was open for basketball during lunch. The regular chaos of a Thursday in December.

Still, she lingered in her office a few moments longer before finally setting the mug down and pulling herself together. Hair pushed back, cardigan smoothed, expression neutral.
And if her lips were a little pinker than usual… well, no one needed to know that.

***

The hallways buzzed with energy as the lunch bell rang. Students swarmed from classrooms like bees from a hive, eager for vending machines, freedom, and gossip. Carol moved through them with practiced calm, fielding hellos and sidesteps like a pro.

She had just passed the trophy case near the main stairwell when she caught sight of a familiar mop of dark brown hair—slightly too long, a little unkempt, like someone who hadn’t yet decided whether he wanted to be noticed or disappear. Charlie Calvin, standing with two other boys by the water fountain, laughing about something she didn’t quite catch.

Carol hesitated a second too long, then adjusted course to pass a little closer.

He looked relaxed—lighter than he had the last few times she’d seen him. The last time they spoke, he’d barely looked at her. Not that she blamed him. She’d called his dad irresponsible in front of the entire disciplinary board. Not exactly the warmest way to start a relationship with a teenager.

But now…
Now everything felt different. Or might be different.

She slowed slightly, waiting for one of the boys to move, giving her a clean look at Charlie.

He caught sight of her a second later. Their eyes met—just briefly—and she offered a quiet, professional nod. “Hi, Charlie.”

He blinked. “Oh, hey, Principal Newman.”

No venom. No sarcasm. No muttered insult under his breath.

It wasn’t much. But it cracked the door open.

And for the first time in days, something like hope curled up quietly beside her worry.

She gave a small smile, not wanting to make it a thing, and moved on toward the teacher’s lounge. But his voice drifted behind her just before she reached the corner.

“Hey, Mr. Devlin, do you know if I’m still on the list for cleanup duty tomorrow?”

Carol’s step faltered. She didn’t turn, but the smile tugging at her lips grew a little wider.

So… he was planning on showing up.

Just like his dad.

God help me, she thought as she pushed open the lounge door, I might be in trouble here.

And not because of some Christmas party kiss, or because Scott Calvin had fixed her coffee machine like some off-brand knight in a fleece-lined sweater.

No. She was in trouble because she had a feeling—one that settled somewhere warm and nervous in her chest—that this wasn’t just a passing crush or an awkward flirtation.

It was becoming something.
Something real.

And if Charlie noticed… if Charlie minded…
She’d have to figure out how to navigate that. Carefully. Respectfully.

Because Carol had worked too long and too hard to build trust here—not just with students and faculty, but with herself.

She’d spent years building frost around her heart, layer by careful layer. But lately—especially today—she wasn’t sure it was holding.

Something was melting.

And yet…

As she poured herself a fresh cup of decaffeinated coffee, she realized with startling clarity that—for once—she didn’t want to be cautious.

Not with him.
Not with this.

Her fingers drifted briefly to her lips, brushing lightly. Still warm. Still buzzing.

She glanced at the clock, wondering what he was doing now.

And if that made her reckless?

Maybe it was time.

Time to stop waiting for perfect clarity, and start listening to the quiet, steady pull of something honest.

It was almost Christmas.

Maybe a little recklessness wasn’t the worst thing.

Chapter Text

Thursday, December 19th, 2002

Scott felt like he had barely dozed off when he felt a warm, determined hand patting at his shoulder.

“Uncle Scott,” Lucy whispered urgently, a little too close to his ear. “Wake up.”

He blinked, bleary-eyed, turning toward the voice. Her face was inches from his—bright-eyed, bundled up in her pink coat, full of purpose.

He rubbed at his face. “Lucy? What—what time is it?”

“Four-thirty,” she answered cheerfully. “You promised, remember?”

“Promised what?”

She gave him a look—the kind only a child could get away with. “The library. You said you’d take me back to the library this week. And it’s Thursday.”

Right. The library.
Carol.

Her Thursday night volunteer program. Reading with kids, winter-themed literacy games, cocoa and paper snowflakes and glittery construction paper bookmarks. Lucy had loved it last week. She’d checked out two books, drawn a snowman with a green mohawk, and talked about “Principal Carol” the entire ride home.

Scott sat up slowly, wincing at the creak in his back. “You don’t want to go tomorrow instead?”

Lucy shook her head firmly. “Nope. She won’t be there tomorrow,” she said. “Only Thursday nights—you said so.”

He groaned lightly, not at her, but at himself. Right. He had said that. It had felt like a safe promise at the time—before kisses in school offices and confessions over crooked mugs and the lingering fear that maybe he’d stepped into something delicate too quickly.

Seeing her again tonight felt like standing too close to something warm he wasn’t sure he deserved to touch.
He didn’t want to seem like he was chasing her. He didn’t want to overstep, not after that kiss.
But the thought of her in that library, surrounded by glitter and cocoa and tiny paper snowflakes, made his chest ache in a way he wasn’t ready to name.

Seeing her again felt like tempting fate.
But the idea of not seeing her?
That felt worse.

Lucy was already tugging at his hand, leading him out of the room and down the stairs. “I packed my books,” she said brightly. “They’re in my backpack. And I made her a Christmas card.”

Scott blinked. “You did?”

“With glitter and everything,” Lucy beamed.

Well... hell.
He was toast.

From the kitchen, Neil’s voice rang out: “We’re still doing the library run, right? I figured I’d tag along, get some shopping in after. Laura asked me to grab a few stocking stuffers.”

Scott turned toward the hall. “You’re coming too?”

Neil appeared around the corner, coat slung over his arm and reusable shopping bag in hand. “I think you’ll survive. Unless seeing Carol again tonight is going to send you into cardiac arrest.”

Scott gave him a dry look. “Thanks, Neil. Really.”

“Just saying,” Neil added with that patented psychotherapist smirk. “Try not to look like you followed her there. Let the child lead.”

***

The library smelled like paper and peppermint.

They arrived just after five. The warm glow of overhead bulbs spilling through the tall glass windows made the place feel cozy against the backdrop of early winter darkness. Inside, children clustered around tables with glue sticks and books stacked nearly to the ceiling.

Lucy beelined toward the returns desk with practiced ease, waving at a librarian who clearly remembered her. Scott and Neil trailed behind, coats slung over their arms.

Scott glanced around, heart annoyingly high in his throat.
And there she was.

At the far end of the reading area, crouched next to a toddler struggling to sound out a word. Carol wore jeans and her pine green cardigan over a white long-sleeved shirt, and her hair—God help him—was still down, still perfect, still dangerous.

She brushed a strand behind her ear as she leaned in—gentle, patient, completely absorbed—and he felt something shift in his chest. God, she was beautiful. And not just in the way that made his breath catch, but in the way she showed up, fully, for other people.

She smiled gently as she coaxed a shy syllable from the boy, then laughed softly at his proud grin.

Scott swore quietly under his breath.

Neil followed his gaze. “So... we’re pretending to browse the nonfiction section now?”

“I’m just... making sure she’s here,” Scott muttered.

Neil rolled his eyes. “She’s definitely here.”

Before Scott could overthink it further, Lucy reappeared at his side with two new books clutched to her chest. “She’s over there,” she whispered like it was a secret mission. “Can I go say hi?”

Scott hesitated. “Let’s not interrupt if she’s busy—”

Too late. Lucy was already skipping across the carpeted floor.

Carol looked up at the movement and saw her just in time to smile. The moment their eyes met, Scott felt his ribs tighten—then loosen when her smile lingered, eyes drifting past Lucy to him. A flicker of surprise maybe, but not discomfort.

She looked... glad.
And maybe a little breathless, like she hadn’t expected him, but wasn’t sorry he came.

He exhaled, slow and steady.

Lucy threw her arms around Carol’s shoulders in a side-hug around Carol’s shoulders, chattering away about books and glitter and how she made a special card just for her. Carol smiled, leaning in and listening, and then—

Then her eyes found his—and held. Just briefly.
But it was enough.

Enough to make his heart thud.
Enough to remind him how she’d looked at him before the kiss.
Like maybe, just maybe, she was still thinking about it too.

Scott lifted his hand in a small wave.
She returned it.

And just like that, the whole day felt worth it.
She hadn’t disappeared.
She hadn’t pulled away.

And even though he still didn’t know where this was going—what would happen tomorrow during cleanup, or the next day, or Christmas Eve—he was here.

They were here.

And maybe—for today—that was enough.
A glance. A wave.
A tether stretching quietly between them.

It wasn’t a grand gesture.
But it was something.
And that something was beginning to feel dangerously close to hope.

***

Neil stood with his hands in his coat pockets, observing the quiet exchange between Carol and Lucy with mild amusement and a raised brow.

Then his gaze slid sideways to Scott, who was still standing half-behind a bookshelf, trying to act like he wasn’t watching Carol every five seconds.

“Should I call ahead for the defibrillator?” Neil asked dryly, “Or are we still in the safe zone?”

Scott didn’t answer. Not out loud. But he gave him a look.

Neil chuckled. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

He watched for another moment as Lucy launched into a proud explanation of her new books, Carol kneeling down beside her again like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like they already knew each other. Like Lucy trusted her.

Scott swallowed. The way Carol glanced up at him again—soft, curious, cautious—almost made him forget how to stand still.

Neil clapped him lightly on the shoulder. “Well. Looks like my work here is done.”

Scott blinked. “Wait—what?”

“I’m going to sneak off and grab those stocking stuffers. No point dragging Lucy along when she’s clearly in good hands, and she doesn’t need to see what we’ve got in store for her. Don’t worry, the big presents we leave up to Santa.” He winked.

“You’re just leaving me here?”

“I’m graciously removing myself so the romantic tension doesn’t fry my frontal cortex,” Neil said, already backing toward the exit. “Have fun. Or don’t. But maybe try breathing a little, huh?”

He raised his hand in parting. “Lucy, fifteen more minutes, then meet me with Uncle Scott, okay?”

“Got it!” she called back, barely glancing up from her book pile.

Scott stepped forward, closer. Carol turned, amused. “Everything okay?”

“Apparently Neil is... giving us space.”

She stood slowly, brushed her hands on her jeans, then stepped beside him.

Not across from him. Not angled away. Just beside him.
Close enough that he could see the tiny shimmer of glitter still stuck to her shirt sleeve from craft time.
And her perfume—soft, wintry, just a little sweet—lingered between them, pulling his thoughts into places they probably shouldn’t be going. Not here. Not now.

“You didn’t have to come, you know,” she said, voice soft but curious.

“I didn’t mean to intrude,” he admitted. “I promised Lucy, but I almost forgot. I figured you might want a quiet night, or, I don’t know—time to recover from your day.”

Her lips twitched into a smile. “It wasn’t that bad.”

Scott raised a brow. “You didn’t look thrilled to face the afternoon when I left.”

“No,” she said truthfully. “But it got easier.”

His heart did something strange at that. “Yeah?”

Carol shrugged. “I think I’m still just... finding my footing.”

Scott glanced down at his shoes. “You and me both.”

They stood like that for a moment. Quiet. Peaceful. The faint noise of storytime drifting across the room.

Then he looked at her again, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “For what it’s worth... I didn’t mean to crash your night.”

Carol looked up at him, eyes warm and just a little playful. “You didn’t.”

“It’s just—” He scratched the back of his neck. “Apparently you made quite the impression on Lucy. She wouldn’t let it go. She really wanted to see you again.”

Carol blinked. Her expression softened even more. “She did?”

He nodded, then met her eyes fully, letting the smile turn gentle, honest.

“And... I guess she must’ve gotten that from her uncle.”

For a moment, Carol didn’t say anything.
Her lips parted just slightly, the breath catching there. For half a second, she didn’t move at all.
Then she laughed—quietly, the kind of laugh that lifted one corner of her mouth more than the other, like she didn’t want to admit how much the line affected her.

“That so?”

Scott nodded, a little bolder now. “Definitely.”

She looked like she might say something, but then Lucy called out from the reading table: “Carol, come see my snowflake!” With one last glance—eyes bright, cheeks a little pink—she stepped away to head back to the kids.

But as she walked, Scott noticed her hand brush lightly over his wrist in passing.

Not enough to hold.
Just enough to say: don’t go far.

And he didn’t.
He couldn’t.

***

A few minutes later, Scott settled onto one of the low benches near the craft corner, Lucy nestled in beside him, already flipping through a glittery holiday picture book she’d selected with careful precision. Her snowflake was tucked away in his coat pocket.

The library was quiet in that warm, community kind of way—muffled pages turning, crayons squeaking faintly on construction paper, a child giggling somewhere behind the bookshelves.

But Scott wasn’t really paying attention to any of it.

Not when Carol was sitting cross-legged on the rug just a few feet away, her hand gently guiding a little boy’s as he tried to cut along the jagged edge of a paper snowflake.

There was something about watching her like this—focused, patient, lit by the soft glow of fairy lights strung along the bookshelves—that made his chest tighten in a way he wasn’t quite prepared for.

She laughed at something a girl whispered in her ear, then leaned in to respond. Her hand rested lightly on the girl's back, reassuring without drawing attention. Just present. Just steady.

And suddenly, Scott could see it.

Her—in the middle of the North Pole.
Not just a fleeting fantasy, not just some reckless part of his heart running wild, but... real.
Possible.

He could picture her moving among the elves, navigating the energy and chaos of that world with that same balance of calm and command. She had the presence to command a room—but also the softness. The warmth. The patience.

She could handle thousands of excited elves. Probably better than he did most days.

The image hit him like a snowball to the chest—startling and oddly specific.

It scared him more than he wanted to admit.
And thrilled him in equal measure.

His phone buzzed. He blinked and looked down.

Neil:

Mall’s a war zone. Staged five counters deep.

Might need a little more time.

Don’t leave the library without me unless you call.

Scott sighed softly, thumb hovering over the screen.

Me:

Got it. We’re good here.

He looked back up—and there she was again, now standing with a clipboard in one hand and a child’s coat in the other, helping a mom bundle up a pair of twins for the walk home. She was smiling—not the polite kind, but the one that crinkled the corners of her eyes and made you want to keep talking to her.

He knew that smile. He’d felt it on his lips just hours ago.

And maybe—just maybe—he’d feel it again before the night was over.

He leaned back, letting Lucy’s head rest against his side as she read quietly, and watched Carol make her rounds.

If he had to wait a few more minutes before Neil dragged them into the night, he didn’t mind.

There were far worse places to be stuck than a library with the woman he couldn’t stop thinking about.
Especially when she kept glancing over her shoulder...
like she couldn’t help herself.
Like some part of her was hoping he wouldn’t leave.

***

Scott shifted a little on the bench, careful not to disturb Lucy, who was now curled up beside him, lips moving as she whispered along to a book about a mischievous snowman.

His attention drifted—inevitably—toward Carol.

Her voice, her laugh, the way she moved through the room like she belonged in every corner of it. She didn’t just lead this group—she anchored it. Calm. Capable. Lit from within by something earnest.

God, she was good with them. Not in a performative, Pinterest-board way. It was real. Natural.

He watched her crouch beside a girl who’d glued a red pom-pom to her nose and was proudly declaring herself Rudolph. Carol didn’t miss a beat.

“That means you’re in charge of leading the sleigh tonight,” she said seriously. “So we’d better make sure you have a good dinner first.”

The girl grinned, triumphant.

He couldn’t help imagining her in a different room—one filled with elves and cocoa steam and Christmas lights.

He thought about Mrs. Claus. About what that title used to mean to him—and what it could mean now. If Carol wanted it.

But not yet. Not tonight.

She was just beginning to trust him.

For now, it was enough to sit here with Lucy and quietly want things he wasn’t ready to say out loud.

It was enough to know Carol kept glancing back.

Gently disentangling from Lucy’s small weight, Scott stood, stretching out his legs. The bench had been built for children, not full-grown Santas.

Carol moved between the tables, pausing near him. Her hand brushed the edge of a bookshelf. She looked at Lucy, then up at him.

“You’re still here,” she said, soft and amused.

He gave an exaggerated shrug. “Neil abandoned me to the mall wolves. Said he needed more time.”

“Coward,” she muttered, smiling.

“Smart coward,” he corrected. “He left Lucy in your capable hands and told me not to leave without calling.”

She folded her arms, tilting her head. “And what about your capable hands?”

“Strictly here for moral support. And maybe hot chocolate duty. I go where I’m needed.”

She smiled again—that smile—and it lingered longer than he expected.

Scott leaned in, just slightly. “Hope this isn’t too much. I know we saw each other this morning, and now again tonight…”

Carol looked up at him, unreadable but soft. “Lucy couldn’t wait to come. That’s not on you.”

“No, but… she talked about you the whole ride over. Said you were ‘sparkly in a smart way.’ Which I think might be the highest honor a six-year-old can bestow.”

Carol’s laugh slipped out, low and genuine, and Scott took one small step closer.

“She probably got that from her uncle as well,” he added.

She met his eyes—really met them—and something passed between them again. Not electricity this time. Not fire. But warmth. Pull. The kind of tension that didn’t demand attention—it invited it.

“You always say the right thing at the wrong time,” she murmured.

“That’s probably fair.”

She didn’t step away.

Neither did he.

Her sleeve brushed his. He noticed the fine edge of glitter clinging to her sweater cuff, the faint cinnamon scent from earlier still lingering on her skin.

The room behind them buzzed with quiet joy—crayons, soft laughter, the tap of scissors—but here, between them, everything was still.

Carol glanced back at the kids, then leaned in a hair closer. “You’re really just here for the books?”

Scott smiled, slow and crooked. “No. I’m here for the red glitter. And the way you say ‘sleigh logistics’ like it’s a real subject.”

She laughed again, and it was softer this time. “It should be. These kids are passionate about reindeer air traffic control.”

“I’d trust you to run it.”

“You should. I run a whole school.”

“And now I’ve seen it with my own eyes. You’ve got that teacher power, the one that gets ten kids to listen just by raising your eyebrows. Scared me a little, not gonna lie.”

She gave him a mock look. “And what do you know about wrangling hyperactive children?”

He almost said I command elves, but stopped himself. Instead, he let his smile speak.

“Let’s just say… I’ve had a little practice. But you—you’re really good at it.”

It was a simple compliment. Honest.

Carol faltered just slightly, the line of her mouth softening.

She looked at him again—and this time, she lingered.

Scott remembered that morning in her office. The kiss. The catch in her voice. The hesitation wrapped around want.

But this moment was different. No urgency. No lightning.

Just quiet gravity.

“You gonna be here next week?” he asked gently.

She hesitated. “Technically no. School’s out tomorrow. Winter break starts in the afternoon.”

“And the library?”

“They’re open for drop-ins. I said I’d come Thursday. If I’m around.”

“If?”

She shrugged. “Depends.”

“On what?”

Her eyes flicked up to his, and this time, there was something unguarded behind them. Honest. Curious.

“On whether I get a better offer,” she said lightly, but the note underneath was real.

Scott’s smile deepened, and something inside him twisted in the best way.

He was in trouble.

Big, beautiful, glitter-dusted trouble.

Before he could reply, his phone buzzed. A text from Neil:

“I need 20 more mins. Line’s long, Santa.”

Scott slid the phone back into his pocket. “Looks like I’m stuck here.”

Carol didn’t look remotely disappointed.

“You can help cut out snowmen.”

“I’m handy with safety scissors,” he offered solemnly. “Very trainable.”

“We’ll see,” she teased, gesturing toward the nearest table. “Come on, Mr. Calvin. Time to prove your worth.”

He followed her, grinning like a fool.

And for twenty sweet minutes, surrounded by sticky glue sticks, excited voices, and construction paper chaos, he let himself belong to the moment.

To her smile. Her voice. The soft glow she brought to every corner of the room.

He didn’t think about magic or marriage clauses or what he’d have to tell her eventually.

He just thought about her.

The woman in the green cardigan who made everything feel like it could still turn out okay.

***

Scott settled into the rhythm of the moment—passing out glitter pens, fishing rogue snowflake cuttings off the floor, and laughing along as the kids debated whether a snowman should have a candy cane, a carrot, or “a wizard wand” for a nose.

Carol moved through the little crowd like she was made for it—kneeling beside a girl with tangled braids to help her align sparkly buttons, redirecting a glue-happy pair of boys with a tone that was firm but never harsh, and somehow still remembering to offer an encouraging word to each child as their crafts came together in various stages of holiday chaos.

Scott couldn't stop watching her.

Not in a way that felt intrusive—more like he was witnessing something quietly extraordinary. She wasn’t putting on a show. She didn’t need to. She was steady. Kind. In control without being controlling. And the kids loved her for it. He could see it in how they relaxed around her, how they leaned in to tell her things, to show her things.

And every so often, she’d glance his way—quick, secretive looks exchanged across the cluttered table or from where she was taping up a row of finished crafts on the back wall. And Scott, he’d smile. Every single time. Because something passed between them in those small looks—recognition, maybe. Gratitude. And something else.

Something warm and dangerous and slow-burning.

She looked at him differently now. Less guarded. Like she’d begun to believe that maybe he was exactly who he seemed to be—no strings, no games, no expectations. Just a man who was falling for her, slowly but surely, with every passing minute.

And he was. God help him, he was.

At one point, while helping a kid pick sequins off the floor, Carol reached past him for the glue gun, her hand brushing against his arm. She didn’t pull back immediately—and neither did he. The contact was brief, but her fingers lingered.

The spark was real. Unmistakable.

And it was happening out in the open.

None of the kids paid them any mind, too wrapped up in their projects and the excitement of the evening, but still—it felt different. Bold, even. Neither of them was hiding it now, not really. Not the way their eyes kept finding each other, or how their shoulders bumped when they leaned over the same pile of snowflake templates.

It was like they’d carved out a tiny, enchanted pocket of time inside the library walls. Just them, a bunch of happy kids, and the scent of cinnamon paper and washable glue.

When Scott’s phone buzzed, he checked it reluctantly, already guessing what it might say.

Neil: Almost all clear. Heading your way soon.

Of course.

Carol must’ve seen the look on his face, because she stepped in close, voice low. “You okay with wrapping up soon?”

Scott turned to her with a crooked smile and a shake of his head. “Not really. But I guess the day only has so many hours.”

Her laugh was soft. Genuine. “Come on, then. You’ve been here for most of the volunteer program—you might as well help with clean-up.”

Together, they helped the last few kids gather their crafts, find their coats, and meet up with parents at the front door. Carol gave every child a warm goodbye, and Scott—still holding a crooked snowman with jellybean eyes one of the boys had insisted he take—found himself oddly reluctant to let go of the night.

But he didn’t have to. Not yet.

Because Carol wasn’t rushing him out. In fact, she was pointing toward a bin of art supplies.

“Okay, elf. You’re on glitter patrol. Everything sparkly goes in the blue tub over there.”

Scott saluted. “Yes, Principal.”

“Library volunteer,” she corrected, deadpan—but her smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

He followed her orders without complaint, secretly enjoying the way she bossed him around—efficient but warm, matter-of-fact but never sharp. She had a system, and he respected that. The kind of mind that kept track of a dozen kids and twice as many craft projects didn’t switch off easily.

He moved back and forth across the room, cleaning up the aftermath of snowflake warfare, while Carol stacked books at the checkout counter and scribbled notes in her binder. Lucy was curled up in a beanbag by the window, nose deep in a new chapter book, completely content.

“Do you want these labeled or just boxed?” he asked, holding up a container of half-used markers.

Carol looked up. “Boxed is fine. I’ll sort through them later.”

Scott nodded and stepped into the back room, where a few crates were already stacked near the wall. It was quieter back here—dimly lit, the air faintly scented with old books and peppermint.

He had just set the box down when he heard the door creak softly behind him.

Carol stepped inside, the edge of her cardigan brushing the shelves. She leaned against the doorframe, arms folded loosely, eyes studying him like she was trying to figure something out. Don’t be stupid… but don’t let him go either, she thought.

“Didn’t peg you for the craft type.”

“I’m a man of many sides, remember?”

Carol huffed a soft laugh. “Seriously though—you were good with them. You surprised me.”

“Yeah?” He stepped a little closer. “You surprised me, too.”

The room felt still—like the world outside had fallen away. Carol held his gaze, and neither of them looked away.

“I liked having you here tonight,” she said quietly.

“I liked being here,” Scott replied, just as softly. “More than I expected.”

Her pulse stumbled at the echo of her own words.

He took a step closer—a slow, careful step. And she didn’t step back.

“Carol,” he said gently, “I know I probably overstepped showing up again today. Twice. But I meant what I said earlier—I’m not going to disappear. Not unless you ask me to.”

Her lips parted, but she didn’t speak right away. Instead, she crossed the final distance between them with quiet purpose, coming to stand directly in front of him.

“I’m not asking you to,” she whispered.

The air shifted—thick with something unspoken but deeply felt. Her hand brushed his arm as she reached past him to adjust a box. It didn’t have to mean anything, that touch. But it did.

Scott’s heart pounded. She was so close—close enough to see the tiny tension lines at the corners of her eyes, to watch the flutter of her pulse at the base of her throat. Close enough to feel the soft hitch in her breath as he reached up—carefully, gently—to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

Their eyes searched—asking permission neither of them said aloud. She tilted her chin slightly, and he leaned in. Slow. Unhurried. Leaving room to stop.

She didn’t stop him. Her thumb brushing his wrist instead.

Their lips met in a kiss that was steady and sure—not rushed or dramatic, just real. Honest. A kiss that said I see you. I want this. I want you. His hand rested at her waist, hers curled gently against his chest.

A second kiss followed, briefer, sweeter. A promise. A yes.

When they pulled apart, her forehead rested lightly against his.

“See you tomorrow?” he asked, voice low and warm.

Carol smiled, soft and a little dazed. “Tomorrow,”
Scott squeezed her hand once before stepping back into the main room, grin wide and utterly unbothered by it. His heart felt lighter than it had in weeks.

Carol lingered for a moment in the quiet room, fingers brushing her lips.

And Scott?
Scott didn’t even try to play it cool.
Tomorrow couldn’t come fast enough.

Chapter Text

Thursday, December 19th, 2002

Carol emerged from the back room with her heart still ticking out of rhythm.

Scott had returned to Lucy, crouching beside her chair while she finished the last page of her new book. He didn’t rush her—just sat there, patient and warm, like he belonged in this place of soft voices and stories.

Carol crossed the room slowly, catching Lucy’s eye.

“Did you find what you needed?”

Lucy looked up and grinned. “Yes! I got a book about The Polar Express and one with a snow dragon.”

“Sounds magical,” Carol said, crouching down beside her. “You’ll have to let me know what you think.”

Lucy nodded solemnly. “I will. Thank you for helping me find them, Miss Newman.”

“You’re always welcome, sweetheart,” Carol smiled and gently brushed Lucy’s hair back from her forehead—a brief, affectionate touch that surprised even her.

Scott stood and looked down at them, and Carol felt the heat rise in her chest again at the way he watched her. Like he was seeing something sacred. Like he didn’t quite believe he’d found it.

“Dad!” Lucy suddenly called, springing to her feet.

Neil appeared near the entrance, shopping bags hanging from both arms and a slightly winded look on his face. “You wouldn’t believe the line at that toy store,” he said, then turned to Carol. “You survived the glitter tornado, I see.”

“Barely,” Carol replied with a dry smile. “I think I inhaled enough sparkles to qualify as a Christmas ornament.”

Neil chuckled, then offered his hand, a little formal but friendly. “Thanks for letting her tag along tonight. And for tolerating that guy,” he added with a glance at Scott, his tone good-natured.

Carol shook his hand, but her eyes slid to Scott again—and the look they shared said far more than any polite exchange.

“It was no trouble at all,” she said softly. “Really.”

Scott stepped closer, Lucy’s hand tucked safely in his now, but his attention fixed entirely on Carol. “We should get going. Early start tomorrow, right?”

“Right,” Carol said, trying not to smile too much, not to look like she wanted to rewind the last half hour and live in it a little longer.

“Goodnight, Miss Newman!” Lucy called, already halfway out the door.

“Goodnight, Lucy,” Carol called back. “Sleep well.”

Scott lingered a heartbeat longer, holding her gaze with something unspoken but unmistakable in his eyes. The kind of look that made promises without needing to say a word. That saw her and stayed.

“See you in the morning,” he said—gentle, low, like it meant more than just another day.

And Carol nodded, warmth blooming under her skin, chasing out the chill.

“I’ll be there,” she said—because she couldn’t imagine not being.

She stood at the library window and watched them cross the street into the December night, Lucy skipping beside Scott, Neil falling into step beside them. A small, patchwork family she never thought she’d find herself brushing against.

But Scott turned back just before they disappeared around the corner.

One last look.

And this time, Carol didn’t look away.

***

It was late by the time Carol locked up the library, the quiet echoing back at her in soft creaks and the lingering scent of paper, glue, and peppermint hand sanitizer.

She drove home with the radio low, the heater humming gently and her fingers resting loose on the wheel. It had snowed lightly while they’d been inside. The roads shimmered under the streetlights, powdery and pale. The kind of night that made everything feel softer.

She didn’t go straight to bed.

She never could after nights like this—when the building emptied out, but her mind stayed full. When the kids’ voices still echoed faintly in her memory, when the smell of crayons and cocoa and construction paper lingered on her clothes. It always took a while to come down.

But tonight... it wasn’t just the kids keeping her up.

Carol changed into her favorite old sweater and thick socks, padded to the kitchen, and filled the kettle. She didn’t bother turning on the main lights—just the soft under-cabinet glow that made the place feel warm and close, like a well-kept secret.

The tea steeped—forgotten—on the counter.

Because her thoughts kept drifting.

To Scott.

To the way he looked at her. The way he watched her without pressure or expectation. How he somehow took up space without ever making her feel smaller in it.

She’d seen him differently tonight—this man who so often walked a tightrope between charming and ridiculous. She’d watched him laugh with kids, coax shy ones into joining the group, kneel to tie someone’s shoe without a second thought, and let Lucy drape glitter garland over his shoulders like it was a crown.

And the thing was... he hadn’t been trying to impress her.

He just was that way.

Kind. Present. Ridiculous in the best possible way.

And when she’d followed him into the back room, when they were finally alone—God, the way he had looked at her. Like there was nothing else he wanted to be doing. Like the world had narrowed to the two of them, and he hadn’t minded one bit.

Their kisses had been different from the ones they shared before. Not that she was comparing—at least, not on purpose. But these had been slower. Clearer. Real.

And when she leaned into it, she hadn’t felt nervous or uncertain. She had only felt him—his hands, his mouth, the steadiness of his presence—and the quiet, certain hum of something unfolding between them.

Carol sighed and leaned her back against the kitchen counter, tea cooling behind her.

Was this real?

Was she letting it be?

Because if she was honest with herself—and she was too tired not to be—it had been a long time since she’d let someone see her. Not the principal. Not the tightly-wound planner. Her.

And somehow... Scott Calvin had slipped past all her defenses with a crooked smile, a broken coffee machine, and a genuine affection for a child who he wasn’t even related to.

She ran her fingers through her hair and smiled a little at the memory of Lucy waving goodbye, of Neil’s joking goodbye, of Scott’s look over his shoulder that had rooted her to the floor.

Tomorrow, she’d see him again.

She would try not to make a fool of herself in front of Charlie.

She would pretend she wasn’t already anticipating how it might feel to be near him again.

She would try.

But tonight, in her quiet kitchen, in the soft halo of winter light and steeped warmth and worn-in socks, Carol let herself believe it was okay to want this.

To want him.

And she whispered to no one, to the warm air and the quiet dark, a secret only her kitchen would hear:
“Don’t disappear on me.”

And in her heart, she hoped he’d heard it anyway.

Chapter Text

Friday, December 20th, 2002

Scott’s POV – Morning

Scott woke with a smile on his face, the memory of Carol’s lips still lingering on his own like a dream he didn’t want to shake off.

The North Pole felt a lifetime away as he lay there in the guest room at the Millers' house, sunlight sneaking through the curtains. For a brief, blissful moment, the world was quiet. Peaceful.

And then Charlie knocked once and pushed open the door without waiting.

“You’re seriously coming today?” he asked, arms crossed over his chest, already dressed in jeans and a hoodie that definitely didn’t meet the school’s definition of clean.

Scott sat up, rubbing a hand over his face. “Good morning to you too, buddy.”

Charlie sighed heavily, dragging his feet a few steps into the room. “It’s just—can’t you volunteer somewhere else? It’s weird. People talk.”

Scott raised an eyebrow. “People talk?”

“You know. About you. About… stuff. With the principal.”

That got Scott’s full attention. He blinked once, his heart climbing into his throat. “What kind of stuff?”

Charlie shrugged evasively, like the specifics didn’t matter, but the flush of color on his cheeks said otherwise. “Nothing. Just… people notice things. And you being around all the time lately—it’s not subtle.”

Scott paused. He could press, but he didn’t. Because the truth was, he had no explanation to give Charlie that didn’t open a door he wasn’t quite ready to walk through.

He didn’t even know where this was going—this thing with Carol.
What he did know, with a growing clarity that surprised him, was that he couldn’t give up Christmas. Not yet.

Not after seeing those kids in the library last night—their eyes shining, their laughter ringing like bells. Not after the way Lucy had sat cross-legged on the floor, nose buried in a picture book, completely lost in the magic of it all.

The world still needed Santa.

But the clause hadn’t gone anywhere. Time was still ticking, and there was only one person who even remotely came to mind.

Carol.
Pragmatic. Sharp. Guarded.
Kind. Gold-hearted. Ridiculously good with children.
And somehow, against all logic, the only person he could imagine standing beside him at the North Pole.

It wasn’t about saving his job anymore. Not even really about saving Christmas.
It was her.

But how did you say that?
How did you look a woman like Carol Newman in the eye and tell her that—yes, this was real, and yes, you were in love with her—but also, by the way, there’s this small detail where you live at the North Pole with a team of elves and a flying sleigh and magic reindeer and oh, you are Santa Claus?

Scott exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair.

“I won’t do anything to embarrass you,” he said finally, turning to Charlie. “I’m just here to keep an eye on you and to help clean up. Same as everyone else.”

Charlie gave him a skeptical look but didn’t push. “Whatever. Just… don’t be weird, okay?”

“I’m never weird.”

Charlie snorted and left the room.

Scott got up, tugged on jeans and a sweater, and headed downstairs, where the Millers were finishing breakfast. Lucy looked up from her cereal with a toothed grin and waved.

“Are we going back to the library next week?” she asked, her voice hopeful.

Scott’s heart clenched a little, the way it always did around her. “Maybe not, kiddo. Miss Newman might need a break from us.”

Lucy looked disappointed for a moment, but then returned to drawing hearts on her napkin. “She likes you, though.”

He glanced up sharply. “Yeah?”

“She looked at you the way Mommy looks at Dad when he brings her flowers.”

Scott blinked. “Did she now?”

Lucy only nodded, then popped another spoonful of cereal into her mouth.

Scott grabbed a travel mug of coffee, not looking at either Laura or Neil, and stepped onto the back porch while the others got ready. Comet watched him from the end of the backyard, well hidden, but close enough to keep a watchful eye. The deadline was ticking loudly.

He couldn’t waste more time.

Not when she was the first person who’d made him feel like Scott mattered—not just the suit.
He needed to find a moment to be alone with her—really alone.

Not in the middle of a crowded classroom. Not in the lounge. Not while gluing construction paper snowflakes.

Just the two of them.

He didn’t know if she’d let him in. Not all the way. But if she did—if she gave him even half a chance—he’d hold on and never let go.

He’d figure out how.
He had to.

Because even if he didn’t know what the clean-up day would hold, or how she’d react when she learned the truth, there was one thing he was certain of:

He couldn’t wait to see her again.

And if he was lucky—if she smiled at him like she had last night—then maybe, just maybe, there was still a chance to make her believe in something magical.

Even if that magic looked like Scott Calvin.

***

Carol’s POV – Morning

Carol awoke with a feeling she hadn’t carried in a long time—lightness.

The bed was warm, the sheets tangled around her legs, and the street lights of this early December morning slipped between the curtains in soft, golden streaks. For a heartbeat, she lay still, smiling into her pillow as her mind drifted back to the night before. Scott. The library. That kiss in the back room.

It hadn’t been hurried or awkward or full of uncertain weight. It had been… perfect. Real. And it had settled into her dreams like it belonged there.

She’d fallen asleep quickly, deeply, and the images her mind conjured were oddly domestic—Scott helping children cut out crooked snowflakes, Lucy tugging on his sleeve, Scott laughing, eyes crinkled, holding out a mug of cocoa…to her. He had brown hair begging her to run her fingers through, a disarming smile and a way of looking at her like she was the only one in the room. And even in her dreams, she had looked back.

Now, as she sat up and stretched, brushing sleep from her eyes, that warmth followed her into the real world.

There were still things she didn’t understand—still feelings to untangle and conversations to have—but the thought of seeing Scott again today didn’t twist her up like it once had. It didn’t leave her bracing for awkwardness or missteps. It felt… comforting. Like something she could lean into. Like something she wanted.

Of course, school was still school—and it was still her school. And whatever this was between them, it didn’t come before her responsibilities.

So, she pulled herself together, tugged on her favorite pant suit—the dark gray one with just enough tailored structure to make her feel both competent and confident. Her heels were out of the question; the sidewalks were slick with fresh snow. She slipped into her sensible boots instead, then gathered her hair up neatly, twisting it into a low bun.

At the last minute, she left a few strands out to soften the look.

Not because of Scott.
Not really.
Well… maybe a little. But no one needed to know.

When she stepped outside, the cold nipped at her cheeks, and she pulled her coat tighter, breath misting in the air as she made her way to her car. There was a brightness in her step, a quiet anticipation she wasn’t ready to name. All she knew was that it was the last day before winter break, and she was starting it in a good mood.

***

Once she arrived at Sycamore Secondary, she walked through the nearly empty corridors, nodding at the handful of early staff and students already moving about. Her first stop was her office, where she shrugged out of her coat, set her bag down, and immediately moved to her beloved coffee maker—the one Scott had brought back to life just yesterday. She brewed herself a fresh cup, savoring the smell and warmth.

As she sipped, she pulled out the clipboard she’d prepped the day before, skimming through the names and assignments for the day’s clean-up.

Charlie was listed for the east hallways—picking up tinsel, helping move desk bins back into classrooms, re-stacking lost-and-found jackets.

Scott Calvin was assigned to the gym.

Her pen paused above his name, lips quirking.

The gym was a bit out of the way. Not as busy. It still had a handful of garlands and folding chairs left over from the faculty party, things an adult needed to put away. Nothing strenuous, but nothing mindless either. And it just so happened to place him away from the crowd.

She hadn’t planned it that way. Not exactly.

But she also hadn’t changed it.

There might be a moment… a chance to talk. Maybe laugh. Maybe something more. Not that she was thinking about kissing him again. Not really. Well… maybe once. Or twice. Just to be sure it felt the way it had last night—like falling into something familiar she hadn’t even known she was missing.

She finished her coffee and glanced out the window, watching as the wind danced through the snow-covered trees in the distance. Somewhere beyond those windows, Scott was getting ready. Coming to her school. Again.

He’d been here so many times this past month, she found herself expecting him. It would feel strange when break started and he wasn’t just down the hallway, flashing her a crooked grin and teasing her about something ridiculous.

She wasn’t ready to miss him yet. Not when she’d only just started to let herself hope.

And that was a thought she wasn’t ready to linger on.

So, she folded her list, clipped it back onto the board, and squared her shoulders. There was work to be done. Kids to wrangle. Decorations to organize.

Whatever the winter break would bring for them—whatever this strange, exciting, impossible thing between her and Scott was—she could wait to find out.

She just hoped he still looked at her the way he had last night.

And maybe, if the day went right, she’d get the chance to look back.

Chapter Text

Friday, December 20th, 2002

Sycamore Secondary – Morning

The halls of Sycamore Secondary buzzed with a different kind of energy than usual.
Gone were the bells and shuffling backpacks, the hurried chatter of students between classes. In their place was the low hum of chairs scraping floors, the sharp rip of packing tape, tinsel crammed unceremoniously into plastic tubs, and the occasional groan of a teenager forced into labor by community service or extra credit bribes.

Carol stood by the front office with her clipboard in hand, checking off names as students trickled in. Her voice carried clearly over the din—firm, organized, but never unkind.
“Charlie, east hall. Hallways and classroom doors. You’ve got Olivia and Max on your team.”

Charlie gave a barely perceptible nod, his eyes flicking to the clipboard like it had insulted him personally.

“And Scott Calvin,” she continued, glancing up just in time to catch the slightly-too-cheerful grin on his face as he approached. “Gymnasium. Folding chairs, streamers, and whatever was left behind from the faculty party.”

He raised his hand in a mock salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

Carol arched an eyebrow but couldn’t help the corner of her mouth from lifting. “Try not to injure yourself with a rogue garland.”

Charlie groaned under his breath and walked off toward the east wing, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like, "Why is he always like that?"

Scott caught it but didn’t comment. He watched his son’s retreating figure with a quiet sigh, tugging at the sleeves of his blue sweater before turning back to Carol.

“He loves having me around,” he deadpanned.

She smirked. “He's a teenage boy. If he wasn’t annoyed by something, I'd think he had the flu.”

Scott leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “Thanks for not outing me as the guy who kissed the principal in the back room of the library.”

Carol’s cheeks warmed, but she kept her voice light. “Don’t tempt me. I still have the intercom password.”

He chuckled and nodded toward the gym. “Guess I’ll go make friends with some folding chairs.”

“You’ll be with a few juniors,” she said, glancing down at her clipboard again. “But you’ll mostly be on your own. There’s a cart in the storage closet for the tables, and a ladder if you need to reach the streamers on the ceiling beam.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You really thought of everything.”

She looked up, meeting his gaze more softly now. “I do try.” Her voice was quieter, and for a second, she wondered if he could see how much she liked having him here.

Something flickered between them again—familiar, charged, and comforting all at once. Then a loud crash from down the hallway startled them both.

“East hall’s in trouble,” she muttered, but lingered a second longer, her eyes scanning his face before she turned away. “I better go rescue someone from the wrath of Charlie.”

Scott gave her a gentle smile. “I’ll be in the gym… not falling off ladders.”

“I appreciate that,” she tossed back. Her voice was quiet now, almost fond. She turned on her heel.

As she disappeared down the hallway, Scott exhaled slowly. He hadn’t touched her, hadn’t even said much—but somehow, he still felt lit up inside.

***

Sycamore Secondary – Later, in the gym

It was quiet. Bright winter sunlight streamed through the high windows, catching on the stray glitter still clinging to the floor. A few students chatted as they worked, but they were focused and respectful—probably afraid of breaking something and being asked to stay longer.

Scott hauled the last folding table onto the rolling cart, wiping his hands on his jeans as he surveyed the room. It wasn’t perfect, but it was miles better than what he’d walked into.

The distant sound of Carol’s voice echoed down the hallway—giving instructions, making decisions, keeping order. He couldn’t help but smile.

When the last student in the gym was dismissed, Scott stayed back to put away the ladder and gather the leftover boxes of decorations. He heard the door open behind him again and turned—half-expecting a kid to have forgotten a phone or jacket.

It was Carol.

“Wow,” she said, stepping inside and glancing around. “I thought you’d be buried under a pile of garland by now.”

He swept into a fake bow. “I survived. Mostly thanks to my exceptional hand-eye coordination and a sturdy cart.”

She folded her arms loosely, lingering near the entrance. “This looks great. Thanks for doing all this.”

“I like being useful,” he said with a shrug, voice gentler now. “And I’m really just trying to impress the principal so she lets me hang around.”

She laughed, warm and low, and slowly crossed the room toward him. “Well, that depends.”

“On?”

“Whether she thinks your ladder etiquette meets district standards.”

“Oh, I’m very safety-conscious,” he replied, holding her gaze.

They were close now—close enough that their voices softened on instinct.

Scott’s heart was pounding, and he did what he always did when things got too real—he joked. “The principal assigning me to the far-off gym feels like she wants me all to herself.”

Carol smirked but only gestured to one of the storage bins. “That one goes in the back closet. The rest can be stacked by the doors. I’ll have a custodian pick them up later.”

“Aye aye, captain.”

He hefted the bin easily and followed her to the back closet. It was cooler in there, lined with shelves of old basketballs, AV equipment, and PTA signage dating back to the late ’90s. Carol reached for the light switch, flicking it on.

As he set the bin down, their arms brushed—not by accident.

Silence settled between them. Not awkward. Not tense. Just… full. Charged. Familiar.

Carol stepped back slightly, leaning against a shelf. Her voice was softer now. “You’re really good with kids, you know.”

Scott blinked. “Yeah?”

She nodded. “Last night, today… you just sort of… settle into it. You don’t force it. They respond to you.”

He looked down, the compliment sinking warm and deep into his chest. “I used to think I had no idea what I was doing. Still kinda do sometimes.”

“Same.” Her smile was small but honest.

They stood there a beat longer—surrounded by forgotten decorations and dusty bins, both a little afraid to break whatever quiet, precious thing had formed between them.

Scott took a small step closer. “Carol, I don’t know where this is going. But I meant what I said yesterday. In your office. I like you. More than I probably should, for someone who still doesn't know how to do this right.”

She met his eyes. “I know.”

And then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, she straightened and kissed him. Slow. Certain. Not stolen like last night’s—it was offered, shared, and accepted. One of her hands found its way into his hair, curling softly there like she’d dreamed of doing. Scott’s arms wrapped around her waist, anchoring her, drawing her impossibly close.

When they pulled apart, his hands still lingered at her waist, hers now resting over his chest.

“I should probably get back out there,” she whispered.

He nodded, dazed. “Yeah. Yeah, me too.”

But neither of them moved.

“Are you ever going to ask me out now that your accidental meet-ups won’t happen anymore?” Carol asked, acting braver than she felt. This—whatever this was—felt like it was leading somewhere. Dating. Time together, alone, without students or other teachers interrupting. And she didn’t want to keep wondering when he’d take the next step.

Scott looked at her sheepishly, not letting go. “Yeah. I was just waiting for the right moment. Didn’t want to break any workplace rules.”

“It’s safe to say that by kissing me three times on school grounds, you probably broke them all.”

“Hey, this time you kissed me first,” he teased. “But who’s counting, right?”

Of course he remembered every kiss. Two days ago, outside this very gym. Yesterday in her office. And now… Looking at her, he had a feeling she might just let him steal a fourth if he played his cards right.

He lowered his voice, no trace of humor now. “I would love to take you out.”

“Noodles and pie?” she smiled, both of them remembering what he’d blurted when he first showed up at her door before the faculty party.

“I’m sure we can find something to your liking.”

“Here, let me…” Her hands moved down his body—confident now—and she slipped his phone from his back pocket. No passcode. Typical trusting man. She entered her number and tucked it back where she found it.

Her eyes returned to his, still in his arms. She smiled—hesitant, but hopeful. Brave. If he could be vulnerable, so could she.

“You know, if you keep doing things like that, I can’t be responsible for wanting to kiss you again.”

This woman was full of surprises. And making his heart thunder.

“Only wanting to?” she challenged softly.

Scott let out a low growl, then kissed her again—their most sensual yet. His mouth moved over hers with a quiet intensity, slow enough to make her heart stutter, deep enough to make her knees unsteady. One hand slid into her hair, anchoring her to him. The other pressed into the small of her back, fingers digging just enough to make her shiver.

When they finally parted, he rested his forehead against hers, his thumb brushing her lower lip.

His voice was husky. “I’ll call you.”

“I’m counting on it.”

***

  Sycamore Secondary – After cleanup, in the hallway

Scott walked out of the gym with the kind of dazed, goofy smile that would’ve been impossible to explain if anyone asked.

He blinked as he stepped into the cooler corridor, the fluorescent lights humming above him, footsteps echoing faintly in the distance. But he barely registered any of it—still caught somewhere between the dusty back closet and the press of Carol’s lips against his.

His lips.

He ran a hand through his hair, still a little breathless. Get it together, Calvin.

He didn’t get far before Charlie spotted him.

“There you are,” his son said, coming up from the east wing with a half-suspicious look on his face. “I thought you left without me or something.”

“Nope,” Scott said quickly. “Still here. Helping out.”

Charlie gave him a long, sideways look. “In the gym?”

Scott nodded, trying not to look too pleased with himself. “Had a few more boxes to move. Custodian’s picking them up later.”

Charlie’s eyes narrowed. “Were you with Principal Newman?”

Scott hesitated for just a second too long. “She stopped by. Checked on progress. Wanted to make sure I didn’t injure myself stacking folding chairs.”

Charlie folded his arms. “Uh-huh.”

There was a beat of silence as they started walking toward the front of the school. Charlie kept glancing at him, like he was trying to figure out if he’d just missed something important.

“You’re acting weird,” Charlie finally said.

Scott laughed lightly. “Weird how?”

“I don’t know,” Charlie said. “Just... different. You’re smiling too much. It’s suspicious.”

Scott lifted an eyebrow. “Smiling is suspicious now?”

“On you? Yeah.” Charlie gave him a look. “Especially after Principal Newman shows up.”

Scott didn’t say anything at first—just reached up to scratch the back of his neck and nodded like he was considering it. “She’s cool. Smart. And she works hard.”

Charlie gave a dramatic sigh. “You’ve said that before.”

“Well, she is your principal,” Scott said, his tone just a little too casual. “Might be good to appreciate that once in a while.”

“She’s not your principal,” Charlie muttered.

Scott raised a brow but didn’t respond.

They stepped out into the cold. A light snowfall was just beginning—fluffy flakes tumbling down in slow spirals, catching in Charlie’s hair and on Scott’s coat. The December air smelled like pine and wet pavement.

“So... anything else happen while I was doing cleanup?” Charlie asked, fishing casually. Too casually.

Scott shook his head. “Nope. Just some boxes. Some garlands. Maybe a rogue glitter attack.”

Charlie clearly didn’t buy it. “You know, if something was going on, you could tell me.”

Scott stopped walking and looked at his son. “Charlie... I will. When it’s the right time. Okay?”

Charlie frowned. “You mean when it’s already over or already serious?”

Scott sighed and placed a hand gently on Charlie’s shoulder. “No. I mean when I know what to say.”

Charlie didn’t respond—just stared at him for a moment. Then he looked away and started walking again.

Scott followed, quieter now. “You’ve got good instincts, kid. But give me a little space to figure things out first. Deal?”

Charlie shrugged. “I guess.”

Scott let out a breath, the air fogging in front of him. “C’mon. Let’s go find some dinner. I owe you a burger.”

“You owe me more than a burger if this turns out to be what I think it is,” Charlie muttered.

Scott grinned behind him but didn’t say another word.

Because yeah—Charlie was right.

But that didn’t mean Scott was ready to admit it.

Not yet.

Chapter Text

Friday, December 20th, 2002

Carol’s POV

Carol straightened a stack of sign-out sheets on the front desk—even though they were already perfectly aligned. She’d already closed out the visitor logs, updated the schedule for the first week of the new year, and restocked the emergency Band-Aid box in the nurse’s office—all while trying not to replay everything that had happened in the gym closet.

But the weight of Scott’s touch still lingered.

The warmth of his palm. The curve of his fingers at her waist.

The way he’d said, “I would love to take you out,” like it wasn’t just a date. Like it mattered.
Like she mattered.

She’d kissed him.
No second-guessing. No nerves. She’d just leaned in and done it. And he’d kissed her back like he’d been waiting for her to.

That should’ve felt like a relief. It should’ve made everything easier.
But the truth was, Carol hadn’t been able to concentrate on anything since.

She’d managed to keep her voice steady during final announcements. Greeted a few parents who showed up for early pick-up. Checked in with the janitorial staff and walked the perimeter with her clipboard like she always did.

But she kept catching herself glancing at the front doors.
Like maybe—just maybe—he’d walk back through them.
Or call.

He’d said he would.
He’d promised.

***

Carol slipped off her heels the moment she walked into her townhouse. The space was quiet, save for the ticking of the wall clock and the low hum of the furnace kicking on. She didn’t bother turning on more than one light—just the small lamp in the corner that made the room feel soft. Safe.

Her purse landed on the kitchen island, followed by her keys. She hung up her coat. Loosened her bun. Stared at the phone still tucked in her hand.

Still nothing.

She shook her head at herself and set it down.
God, get a grip.

It had only been a couple of hours. She wasn’t a teenager. She’d lived through entire adult relationships with less anticipation. But something about him—the way he looked at her, the way he saw her—was different. It wasn’t just the way he made her laugh, or how easily he fit in with the kids, or how he looked at her like he’d never seen anyone quite like her before.

It was that he saw her.
Not just Principal Newman. Not just Charlie’s teacher.
Not someone who had to be in charge all the time.
Just… Carol.

And that terrified her.
And thrilled her.

She poured herself a glass of wine—white, crisp, nothing fancy—and padded into the living room. Curled up on the corner of the couch beneath a soft throw blanket. The Christmas tree stood in the corner, half-decorated from some night earlier in the week. She hadn’t gotten around to finishing it.

Maybe she would this weekend.
Or maybe… they would.

Maybe he'd help her hang the last ornament.

Maybe he’d kiss her under the blinking lights and act like he’d meant to all along.

Carol smiled faintly at the thought, then rolled her eyes at herself.
“Slow down,” she muttered aloud.

The house stayed quiet. She flipped through channels on the TV, but nothing held her attention. Not even the familiar comfort of It’s a Wonderful Life could stop her from glancing at her phone every five minutes.

Was he second-guessing himself?
Was she?

What if he changed his mind?
What if he realized this was all a mistake?
What if she was just a convenient flirtation during a hectic holiday season—

The phone lit up.
Carol’s heart leapt.

Unknown Caller.

She froze. Let it ring once. Twice.
Then picked it up, swiped to answer, and brought it to her ear.

“Hey,” she said, aiming for breezy. Normal. Not like she’d just spent half an hour curled up on the couch thinking about his mouth.

“Hey,” came his voice—warm and familiar, already undoing the knot in her chest. “Did I wait long enough to avoid being too eager, or did I screw that up completely?”

Carol laughed, unguarded. “You’re safe. Just barely.”

There was a pause. She could hear his smile.

“Good. Because I really didn’t want to wait until tomorrow to hear your voice again.”

She closed her eyes, the wine forgotten on the table beside her.
“Me neither,” she whispered, and sank deeper into the couch like she was settling into something safe.

And just like that, the silence between them wasn’t heavy anymore.
It was full—of promise, of warmth, of the beginning of something neither of them had the words for yet.

But they’d get there.
One conversation—
One kiss—
One phone call—
At a time.

***

Scott’s POV

The twinkling lights around the Millers’ living room pulsed gently, casting a golden glow over Lucy, who sat cross-legged on the couch with a bowl of popcorn tucked in beside her. Charlie was stretched out at the other end, remote in hand, flipping through holiday movies.

“Come on, Lucy,” he groaned, “we’ve seen Home Alone like six times already—”

“Yeah, and it’s still funny,” Lucy argued, shoving popcorn into her mouth with the unshakeable confidence only a six-year-old could manage.

Scott leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching them with quiet fondness. Charlie had grown so much this past year, and yet moments like this reminded Scott he was still just a kid. A kid with a sister who adored him. A family that had somehow found its rhythm.

The smell of butter and cinnamon drifted from the kitchen, where Laura was mixing something in a big red bowl. Neil sat nearby in the recliner, deeply immersed in Understanding the Adolescent Brain—though Scott doubted he’d turn down another round of holiday cookies when they were ready.

It was peaceful. Cozy.

And yet…
There was a growing pressure in Scott’s chest.

Carol.

He stepped quietly away from the living room and into the guest bedroom, not yet closing the door behind him. He sank onto the edge of the bed with a sigh so heavy it practically echoed.

That’s when Laura poked her head in.

“Whoa,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “That’s a pretty big sigh for the Keeper of Jolly.”

Scott huffed a laugh, rubbing a hand over his face. “Caught me.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah. No. I don’t know.” He exhaled again, this time collapsing backward so he stared at the ceiling. “Is it weird that I’m terrified of making a phone call?”

Laura stepped inside and sat on the edge of the bed, one foot tucked under the other. She didn’t say anything at first. Just waited.

“It’s Carol,” Scott said eventually. “I want to call her. I need to. But now that it’s actually time, I’m… stalling.”

Laura gave a small smile. “Because?”

“Because I have no idea what I’m doing. Not with her. Not when it matters.” He sat up, gesturing vaguely. “This thing between us… it’s real. It feels real. But what if I mess it up? What if she’s perfectly happy here—with her school, her life, and that stupidly symmetrical Christmas tree—and I show up asking her to… what? Leave all that behind? Be Mrs. Claus? In the North Pole?”

“You’re not asking her that,” Laura said gently. “Not yet. You’re just calling her.”

“Yeah, well. Baby steps toward a potentially huge leap.”

Laura studied him for a moment, her expression soft. “Scott… do you remember how unhappy we both were, toward the end?”

He nodded. “Yeah. I remember.”

“I think we both tried to make it work for Charlie. But we stopped choosing each other. And I think—no, I know—you weren’t truly yourself until you took that job at the North Pole.”

He looked at her, surprised.

“I mean it. You finally found your place. And it didn’t mean you stopped loving Charlie or being his dad. You became more of yourself. That’s what real love does. And that’s what you’re afraid of, isn’t it? That if you bring Carol into that world, it won’t fit. Or worse, that she won’t want it.”

Scott swallowed. “Yeah.”

“But let me ask you this,” Laura said, tilting her head. “What if it does fit? What if she’s exactly what that world needs? What you need? What if this becomes something beautiful… and you let it slip because you were afraid?”

He looked down at the phone in his lap.

“You’ve changed,” Laura added. “You prioritize differently now. You’re not the same man I married—and that’s a good thing. So maybe it’s time to stop worrying about what went wrong back then… and start leaning into what’s going right now.”

Scott stared at the screen.

Then, finally, he nodded. “Okay.”

“I’ll make sure no one interrupts,” she said. Then paused, softening. “Good luck, Scott. But I don’t think you need it.”

He gave her a grateful look as she quietly pulled the door closed behind her.

Alone again, Scott took a deep breath.
Then another.
His thumb hovered over Carol’s contact.

He pressed the button.

It rang once. Twice.

Then her voice—soft, warm, amused—came through the line.
“Hey.”

Scott exhaled, a grin spreading across his face, too wide and too genuine to hide.

Scott exhaled, and a slow grin spread across his face before he could stop it.

“Hey,” he murmured, his voice soft, instinctively intimate. “Did I wait long enough to avoid sounding too eager… or did I completely blow it?”

***

Settling back into the pillows of his bed, Scott already felt lighter just hearing her voice.

For a moment, neither of them spoke—both simply enjoying the quiet reassurance of being close without needing to say anything at all.

Then Carol’s voice came through, laced with that teasing warmth he was beginning to crave.
“So… did you wait the appropriate number of hours before calling, or are we pretending that wasn’t a dilemma for you?”

Scott let out a sheepish chuckle. 
“Oh, I deliberated. Paced. Sighed dramatically. I even stared at your number for a solid twenty minutes. Very dignified.”

“I’m honored,” she said dryly. “Sounds like you made a whole night of it.”

“Well, in all fairness, I had some stiff competition. Charlie and Lucy are watching Home Alone, and Neil’s knee-deep in a book about adolescent development.”

“Riveting,” she replied. “No wonder I won.”

He grinned, picturing the way she’d be smiling now, how her eyes might soften with it.
“So… how’d the rest of your day go? Did the school survive the final bell?”

“Barely. We had a minor crisis when one of the sixth graders tried to gift-wrap the office printer.”

Scott laughed, genuinely picturing it.
“Was it successful?”

“Honestly? Surprisingly tidy. But yes, we survived. School’s officially closed for the break, and I made it out with only two tinsel burns and half my sanity.”

“Sounds like a win.”
Then, a little softer: “Did you at least eat something?”

“Oh no. Not you too,” she groaned in mock horror. “If you keep this up, I’m going to start thinking you care.”

“I do care,” he said quietly, the truth of it grounding the words, more present than ever. “A little.”

“Mhm,” she murmured, clearly amused. “What’s next? You going to ask what I’m wearing?”

Scott burst out laughing, quickly sitting up and covering his mouth to keep from alarming the house.

“Okay—fair. I deserved that,” he admitted when he caught his breath. “But for the record, I wasn’t going there.”

“Good. Because you’d lose your calling privileges very quickly.”

“Noted. Strict dress-code policies, even over the phone.”

“Exactly.”

The laughter faded into something softer—comfortable. That easy hush between two people who didn’t feel the need to fill every second with sound. Scott ran his hand along the comforter, grounding himself in the moment.

“Okay, Principal,” he said, quieter now, “what’s your schedule like the next few days leading into Christmas?”

She hesitated, just for a breath.
“I haven’t really decided yet. I was… waiting to see if any plans firmed up.”

Scott let the words warm him.
“And now?”

Another pause. Then her voice—gentle, just above a whisper: “I think they’re starting to.”
She glanced toward her tree, picking up a single ornament from the coffee table.

He smiled. Big. Unapologetically big.

“In that case,” he said, settling deeper against the headboard, “would you want to go out tomorrow? Saturday?”

She didn’t answer right away. And he imagined her—curled up in her living room, legs tucked under her, smiling at her phone the same way he was at his.

“I’d love to,” she said at last.

“Okay. Good,” he said, relaxing. “Because I’ve been thinking… and I’ve come up with a list.”

“A list?”

“You love lists,” he reminded her.

“Okay, fair point. Go on, then.”

“As I said, I made a list. Of things people do on dates. Normal, seasonal, totally cliché things.”

“Oh boy.”

“First: ice skating. Very romantic. Very slippery. High chance of me falling into your arms and pretending it wasn’t planned.”

“Charming, but I’d rather not have anything broken.”

“Noted. Second: dinner. Somewhere casual. Or fancy. Or both.”

“Ambitious,” she teased.

“Or…” he paused for effect, “we do what you once said makes a great date. Pizza and a movie.”

“Mmm,” she hummed. “So, no noodles and pie? Well, that does sound nice.”

“I’d offer Two for the Road, but I doubt it’s playing at the Lakeside Theater this weekend. Unless they’ve added a 1967 Audrey Hepburn rerun section.”

“I own it,” Carol said easily. “On tape.”

Scott blinked. “Of course you do.”

“And if you’re nice,” she added, voice playful, “I might let you borrow it. Or—if you feed me first—I might even let you stay and watch it with me.”

He tilted his head, smirking. “That sounds suspiciously like an invite to your place.”

“It might be.”

Scott tried not to let his heart race.
“So… dinner, and a lakefront walk. And then, if we’re still on speaking terms, movie night?”

“I’d say that’s a solid plan.”

He smiled into the phone, letting the silence stretch again. But this time, it wasn’t nervous—it was full. Full of something real. Something beginning.

“I’ll pick you up at six,” he said. “That way, if we’re enjoying ourselves, we have a little more time before the night ends.”

“I like how you’re thinking,” she replied, a smile in her voice.

“I’m really looking forward to tomorrow,” he said.

“Me too,” Carol replied—and he could hear the truth of it in her voice. “Sleep well tonight, okay?”

“You too. Dream about printer-wrapping sixth graders.”

“And you? What’ll you be dreaming about?”

He smirked. “You already know.”

“Goodnight, Scott.”

“Goodnight, Carol.”

He ended the call, still smiling. And for the first time in a long time, he felt like something good was just beginning.

Chapter Text

Saturday, December 21th, 2002

Carol’s POV – Late afternoon

Carol stood in front of her bedroom mirror, fingers frozen halfway through brushing her hair. The soft, familiar tug of the bristles should have grounded her—but instead, her reflection stared back with wide eyes and a pulse she could feel in her throat.

It wasn’t like this was her first date. It wasn’t even the first time she’d kissed someone she had feelings for. But something about tonight carried a different kind of weight. Maybe it was the quiet way he’d asked her last night. No games, no pomp—just that soft-spoken confidence that made her believe he actually meant it. That he wasn’t chasing some Christmas fantasy, but her.

She let her hair fall around her shoulders and set the brush down. For once, she didn’t pin it back or twist it into something more “principal-like.” No clips, no fuss. She looked more like herself—how she used to look on slow Sunday mornings in grad school or quiet evenings at home before life got complicated.

Her eyes moved to the outfit laid out on the bed: a pair of blue jeans, her favorite—the ones that actually fit right—and the soft, fitted brown sweater she hadn’t worn in over a year. She used to feel beautiful in it. She hoped that wasn’t entirely in the past.

She slid the sweater on slowly, smoothing the fabric against her sides. It clung just enough to remind her she was still allowed to feel attractive. Still allowed to want. Even now.

The small silver hoops she wore most days were still on the nightstand. She reached for them, pausing when she caught sight of her phone resting beside them. Just after five. An hour to go.

Her stomach flipped again. Nervous. Excited. She couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.

She turned from the mirror and walked down the hall toward the living room. Everything was tidy—she’d spent most of the day doing small tasks: vacuuming, dusting, lighting a scented candle she didn’t even like that much. She even baked a small batch of Christmas cookies. Anything to pass the time without overthinking.

Of course she’d tried to play it cool when he called yesterday. The teasing had helped her stay in control—poking fun at his nerves so she didn’t have to examine her own. But when he asked about her plans for the week, her heart had already answered before her mouth had caught up.

“I think they’re starting to.”

It was true.

She hadn’t realized until that moment just how much she’d been waiting—not just for Scott to make a move, but for someone to really see her again. As a woman. As Carol.

The knock at the door would come soon. She could feel it in her skin, her pulse dancing higher every time she glanced at the clock. Still, she didn’t sit. She didn’t pour wine. She just walked slowly around the living room, adjusting little things that didn’t need adjusting.

It had been a long time since she let herself hope this way. Since she let someone in far enough to look around and see where the walls had been. And Scott… he was persistent, but never pushy. He met her sarcasm with warmth. Her doubts with steady kindness.

And those eyes. That smile. The way he looked at her like he knew—not just that something was happening between them, but that it could matter.

The clock ticked past 5:57. She stopped pacing.

And then—three soft knocks on the door.

She smiled.

***

Scott’s POV – 5:57 p.m.

Scott had never been more aware of the weight of a bouquet in his hand.

The paper crinkled softly as he adjusted his grip, standing at Carol’s front door in the fading dusk. The air had that crisp December sharpness—cold enough to make your breath visible, but not yet bitter. He bounced slightly on his heels, more from nerves than the cold, and gave the flowers another glance.

He’d gone for winter whites and soft greens—simple, clean. A few ivory roses, pine branches, something red with a name he didn’t know. Nothing too flashy. Just something that said: I’m not trying too hard. But I care. A lot.

Three soft knocks. One beat. Then another.

And then she opened the door.

And just like that, the air in his lungs stalled.

Her hair was down.

He loved it when she wore it that way—free and soft around her face. There was something almost intimate about it—not because it was styled or romantic, but because it felt like her, unfiltered. Like she didn’t feel the need to be polished or guarded around him. Like maybe… she trusted him.

“Hi,” she said, tucking one side behind her ear. And when she smiled—just slightly nervous, just slightly shy—his heart pulled.

“Hi,” he said back, then looked down at the bouquet in his hands. “These are for you.”

She blinked, pleasantly surprised. “Oh—thank you. They’re beautiful.”

And when she took them—carefully, like they were something precious—and smiled up at him with her whole face lit from within, Scott forgot himself entirely.

He leaned in and kissed her.

Soft. Barely more than a breath. Just enough to feel the way she leaned into it, too.

But the moment he pulled back, a flicker of doubt caught him off guard.

“Was that okay?” he asked, hand still hovering near her elbow. “I—sorry. I should’ve—”

Carol looked at him for half a second, then smiled again. Warm. Certain. “It was more than okay.”

Relief washed through him. He let out a quiet breath, nodding as she turned to lead him inside.

The house smelled faintly of cinnamon and balsam, and the small tree in the corner twinkled softly with white lights. He followed her into the kitchen, watching as she moved to fill a small vase with water.

She glanced at him over her shoulder. “So… do you bring flowers on all your dates?”

Scott raised an eyebrow, amused. “Only the ones I really want to go well.”

Carol smirked but kept arranging the bouquet. “Mm-hm. All part of the Calvin charm offensive?”

He could feel the hesitation underneath the banter. The lingering doubt. She knew he’d been on a few dates. He hadn’t hidden it—because there had been nothing going between them. Not then.

But she needed to understand this wasn’t one of those dates.

He stepped closer, voice quieter. “Honestly? I haven’t been on a date since December 9th.”

She paused, glancing back at him. “Really?”

He nodded. “That was the day you told me you ‘contain multitudes.’”

Her expression softened—eyes searching his, like she was deciding whether to let him see how much that meant to her.

She didn’t say anything at first. But her smile said enough.

“I remember,” she said quietly, and turned back to the flowers.

That smile—God, he would do anything to keep it coming back.

She grabbed her light blue coat from the hook by the door and slid it on, pulling on gloves while he helped with the buttons like it was second nature. The small, domestic gesture made his chest ache in a way he hadn’t expected.

Outside, the sidewalk was slick from the light snow earlier that afternoon. Carol stepped carefully onto the porch, and Scott reached a steadying hand toward the small of her back—totally, absolutely for safety.

…Okay, mostly for safety.

She didn’t pull away.

He guided her toward the curb where Laura’s old minivan sat waiting. Cleaned and polished just for her—looking almost new. He opened the door for her, of course. Old habits, maybe—but it felt right. He caught the faint look of surprise and appreciation on her face as she slid into the passenger seat.

Once behind the wheel, he glanced over and grinned. “Ready for pizza, Principal Newman?”

She returned the smile, settling in. “Only if it comes with extra cheese and no psychoanalysis.”

Scott turned the key in the ignition, heart light and full. “Deal.”

And with that, they pulled away from the curb and into the night, the town aglow with Christmas lights and the quiet promise of something beginning.

***

Dinner time

The place was called Gino’s on Main, a little family-owned spot tucked between a hardware store and a barbershop that hadn’t changed its prices since the '80s. The windows were fogged from the inside, the neon OPEN sign casting a soft red glow against the snow falling gently outside.

It was casual. Cozy.

And since it was Carol’s suggestion, they thankfully served thin crust.

“Table or booth?” the waitress asked as they stepped inside, brushing off the cold.

Scott glanced at Carol. “Booth, please,” she answered easily.

He grinned. “Good choice. You strike me as a booth person.”

She looked at him, amused. “And what does that mean, exactly?”

As they slid in and peeled off coats and gloves, he feigned deep consideration. “Someone who likes a little privacy. A solid barrier between them and the world. Strategic seating with plenty of back support.”

Carol laughed, picking up her menu. “You get all that from a booth preference?”

Scott leaned back, adopting a look of sage wisdom. “Years of experience. And I’m very observant.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Oh, you’re one of those.”

“Those?”

“You know, the kind who reads too much into small, insignificant choices. Next, you’ll be telling me you guess coffee orders based on the way people tie their shoes or something.”

 “Well, now I have to try that,” he said with a grin. “But for the record, we already established you’re a ‘black, no sugar’ kind of woman.”

Carol blinked. “That’s… disturbingly observant.”

“Told you.”

Their eyes met across the table. And for a moment, everything softened—like they’d stepped into some quiet place apart from the world. Nothing to define. Nothing to explain. Just warmth.

And neither of them wanted to leave.

Their waitress arrived with waters and a notepad. “Any starters tonight?”

Scott gestured toward Carol, and she glanced down at the menu like she hadn’t already memorized it years ago. “Thin crust pepperoni and vegetables. Large, please.”

“And make it extra cheese,” Scott added, remembering her saying it in the car.

Carol smiled at that—one of those quiet, slow smiles that curled at the corner like it couldn’t help itself. The kind she gave him more freely now.

The waitress blinked. “Coming right up.”

Once she was gone, Scott leaned in slightly. “So you really meant that thin crust comment.”

Carol gave him a smug look. “Did you think I was joking?”

“I hoped you were flexible. Deep dish has its merits.”

She feigned offense at that. “Deep dish is lasagna in disguise.”

“That’s a bold claim.”

“It’s a hill I’ll die on.”

He chuckled, sipping his water. “Good to know. If this doesn’t work out, I’ll just tell people it was an irreconcilable crust conflict.”

“Well, at least you’d be honest.”

Their laughter faded into another easy silence—the kind that didn’t press.

Scott let himself just look at her for a moment.

She was wearing that soft brown sweater that somehow made her eyes look even bluer, and her cheeks still carried the faint pink of the cold. And there was something in her posture—relaxed but alert—that told him she was enjoying this. That she wanted to be here. With him.

Their pizza arrived not long after—thin crust, just how she liked it, with plenty of roasted vegetables and extra cheese. Scott took one bite and raised an eyebrow.

“This is… criminally good,” he said. “I might need to file a complaint with whoever let me go this long without knowing about this place.”

Carol smirked. “Consider this my gift to you. One night only.”

“So I should savor it?”

“Absolutely.”

He nodded, chewing thoughtfully. “I mean, I might even forgive you for doubting my booth instincts.”

“Oh, I still doubt them,” she said, sipping her own water. “But the pizza’s helping your case.”

He laughed and leaned forward on his elbows. “You know, I can’t tell if you’re trying to humble me or flirt with me.”

Carol met his gaze, a teasing glint in her eye. “Why not both?”

Something flipped in his chest. It was ridiculous, really, how easily she did that—unraveled him with a glance, a word, a smile. But there it was, all the same.

“I like this version of you,” he said, his voice quieter now. “The one who smiles at me like that and pretends she doesn’t know exactly what she’s doing.”

Her smile softened. She didn’t look away. “Maybe I just like the version of me that shows up around you.”

Scott wasn’t sure what to say to that—only that he didn’t want to lose the warmth of it. Se he reached for another slice and let the moment stretch between them, slow and unspoken.

They talked easily—about childhood snow days, weird holiday traditions, favorite movies and worst school stories. At one point, he nearly choked laughing as Carol described the time a student dared the vice principal to sing All I Want for Christmas Is You over the intercom

“I’m telling you, Scott, I’ve seen things,” she said, shaking her head amused. “Middle school is not for the faint of heart.”

He wiped his eyes. “And yet you still show up. Voluntarily, I might add.”

She gave a one-shoulder shrug. “Somebody has to. And as terrifying as it can be… I love it. The chaos, the kids, the chance to make a difference. That’s the real stuff.”

He watched her for a long moment, his expression quieter now. “You’re really good at it, you know. All of it.”

She looked away then—not out of discomfort, but maybe to hide the smile tugging at her lips. “Thank you,” she said softly. “That means a lot.”

They finished the meal slowly, neither one eager to step back out into the cold. When the waitress dropped off the check, Scott reached for it without hesitation.

Carol narrowed her eyes. “You’re not even going to pretend to let me split it?”

“Nope.”

“Chivalry’s dead, you know,” she teased.

“I’m trying to bring it back,” he said, rising to his feet and offering her his hand.

She took it—warm, steady—and stood.

“You ready for that walk?”

Carol looked up at him, her fingers still curled around his. She held his gaze a beat longer than necessary—searching, maybe. Or settling into something neither of them had words for yet.

Then she nodded.

“Lead the way.”

***

Walk Around Lakeside

Outside, the evening had grown colder—the kind of cold that bit gently at the tips of ears and noses, but felt oddly refreshing after the warmth of good food and easy conversation. The first stars were beginning to scatter across the sky, dusting the dark with quiet light.

Scott helped Carol with her coat before they stepped outside, his hand brushing hers for a moment longer than necessary as he held the door. She didn’t pull away. In fact, she leaned into it just a little—so little that most people wouldn’t have noticed.
But he did.

The streets of downtown Lakeside were strung with lights, storefronts dressed in wreaths and ribbon. It was charming in the way only small towns could be—like a snow globe someone had forgotten to shake.

Scott slid one hand into his coat pocket and glanced at her as they turned toward the lake. “Still up for a walk?”

Carol looked out toward the frozen shoreline, the way the icy water caught the glow from the town behind them. Then she turned to him with that same soft, sure smile he was starting to memorize.

“Absolutely,” she said, and took his gloved hand in hers as she led the way.

The night air was crisp but calm, their breath visible in soft clouds as they strolled along the sidewalk, shoulders nearly brushing. Christmas lights glittered in the shop windows—tiny trains chugging through snow villages, a row of nutcrackers with impossible posture, red ribbon and frosted pine in every pane.
Carol paused now and then, studying each display like she didn’t want to miss a detail. Scott didn’t mind. It gave him an excuse to watch her—the way her face lit from within when something made her smile.

A bell jingled overhead as they stepped out of a small café, each holding a paper bag with dessert—something rich, warm, and full of chocolate. She’d insisted on paying this time, and he’d only let her because she looked so smug about it.

They strolled a little longer, simply enjoying the closeness. At last, they found a bench near the park, beneath a tree strung with gold lights that flickered like candle flames. It was quieter here. Only the distant sound of a car passing every so often, or the soft crackle of snow underfoot when someone walked by.

They sat close, knees nearly touching—the kind of closeness that wasn’t accidental.

Scott broke the silence first. “You were right, by the way.”

Carol glanced at him, unwrapping her dessert. “About what?”

“Thin crust. It’s the only kind worth eating.”

She smirked, elbowing him. “Told you.”

They sat like that for a while, stealing bites and brushing hands when they both reached for napkins. Scott didn’t rush the silence. It felt good—the kind of good that made the cold fade.

Then her voice cut through the hush, quieter than before.
“Tell me something you haven’t told anyone.”

He blinked. His pulse shifted.

Her tone wasn’t teasing now. She didn’t look at him as she said it, just picked at the edge of her paper bag with careful fingers.

Something you haven’t told anyone.

Scott felt the weight of it. Her trust. Her curiosity. Her heart inching closer to his.
For a second—just a second—he thought about saying it.
I’m Santa Claus.

It perched on the edge of his tongue. But then the reality hit him like the winter wind.
Not yet.
Not here. Not under a tree in a public park where she could walk away and leave him frozen in place.
Not when they still had to get through the rest of this night.
Not when he hadn’t even kissed her properly yet.

He wasn’t going to put that on her. Not now.

So instead, he said, “I haven’t been on a date since December 9.”

Carol looked over at him, her brows raised slightly.

He went on, “That morning. After dropping off a lunch for my son. When you told me you contain multitudes. I remember thinking, That’s it. I’m done. That’s the woman I want to figure out for the rest of my life.”

Her breath caught. Not loud. Just barely. But it was enough.

She set her empty bag aside, fingers fidgeting in her lap, then turned to him more fully.
Her eyes were lit in that warm, candle-soft way that made Scott feel like she saw right through every version of himself.

They didn’t say anything else for a moment. The space between them thinned.

“You have chocolate,” he murmured, his gaze dropping to the corner of her mouth.

She licked her lips unconsciously. Missed it.

Scott leaned in, brushed the corner of her mouth with his thumb—gentle, warm. She stilled beneath his touch, her breath stalling. He drew his thumb back slowly, and without thinking, brought it to his lips. A little smile curved at the corner of his mouth as he tasted the chocolate—sweet and sharp.

Their eyes locked.

The hush between them deepened. A heartbeat too long. Charged and humming.

Carol slid closer. He felt her fingers graze his neck, trailing upward to where her hand gently curled into the back of his hair. Her touch was soft. Slow. Unhurried.

And then—still watching him—she tilted her face toward his, lips parted, waiting.

Scott didn’t hesitate.

He closed the distance with a kiss that wasn’t rushed or eager, but deeply intentional.
His mouth brushed hers softly at first, as though he was trying to memorize the shape of it, the feel, the exact sound she made when she sighed into him.
He kissed her like he meant it.
Like he’d been waiting for this since the moment they met.

When her hands slid around his shoulders and she leaned into him, he pulled her gently closer, his arms curling around her as though he could keep the cold—and the rest of the world—at bay.

The kiss deepened. Open-mouthed now, slow and sensual, the kind of kiss that didn’t demand but asked, that offered and answered in turn.

It built between them in a rhythm of need and trust and all the almost-kisses they hadn’t allowed before.

And when they finally parted—breathless, flushed, still holding onto each other—Scott let his forehead rest against hers.

Neither of them spoke.
They didn’t need to.
The kiss had said everything.

Chapter Text

Saturday, December 21st, 2002

The warmth of her home met them like a quiet exhale.

Carol slipped out of her coat and boots, cheeks still flushed from the cold—and maybe from something more. She moved about with ease, her body language soft, casual, and sure, like the woman who’d kissed him back in the park hadn’t gone anywhere—like she didn’t regret a single second of it.

Scott stood awkwardly by the door for a beat, fingers in his coat pockets, before he moved. He left his coat by the stairs and followed her into the living room, settling onto her couch. Their intimate kiss still hummed in his bloodstream. He’d never known something could be so soft and equally dizzying at the same time. And yet, here he was—thoroughly wrecked by her and not even mad about it.

“I had such a great time tonight,” Carol said warmly, returning with a small tray from the kitchen. “It’s good, walking around, looking in storefront windows.” She set the tray down on the coffee table: two glasses of milk and a plate of homemade cookies, simple and sweet.

“I haven’t done that in longer than I can remember,” she added, sitting beside him on the couch, folding her legs up comfortably, like she wanted this moment to last.

Scott sat not too close, but close enough to feel the gravitational pull between them.
“Thanks,” he murmured, taking the glass from her, their hands touching slightly. Their eyes met, and both of them couldn’t keep the smile at bay. Something had changed, and Scott leaned into it, wanting this to last as long as possible.

He didn’t drink his beverage right away. He was thinking, turning over every word before saying it out loud. “I think…” he began slowly, eyes on the milk, “my favorite part was that store window with Santa’s workshop in it.”

That got her attention. She turned her head, curiosity lighting her face.
“It looked like a pretty cool place, didn’t it?” he asked, finally meeting her eyes.

Carol smiled, soft and amused. “You have so much kid in you.”
“That good or bad?”
“It’s good,” she said immediately. “It’s really good.”

He looked at her fully now, seeing her as she curled her arms around her knees. Blue eyes wide. Open. Trusting. Scott took a breath, his heart knocking against his ribs.
“I have a lot of kid in me,” he muttered, more to his glass than to her.

Carol laughed, that low, familiar sound that already felt like something he’d miss if it vanished. He held onto it for a second longer, his smile lopsided. But inside, the nerves started to rise again. Because the truth was sitting just beneath the surface, pressing at the seams of the night.

He wanted to tell her. He had to. He owed it to both of them—before the night went any further.

But how do you tell a woman like Carol—a grounded, rational, fiercely intelligent woman—that you are Santa Claus?

He looked down at the milk still in his hands, thinking, Maybe if I explain it right… Maybe if I show her the wonder before the madness…

Before he could say anything more, a dull thud echoed from the window.

Scott flinched slightly. Carol turned toward the sound, brow raised.
Another thud, followed by muffled giggling.

Scott got to his feet and crossed to the window. He couldn’t see much past the glass, but he knew the sound of a snowball hit when he heard one. He couldn’t help himself from stepping outside onto the porch and raising his voice in mock-authority.

“Hey! Attention, you hooligans behind that snowbank! You have snowballed the wrong house! Drop the snowballs, kick them away from the snowsuits, and keep the mittens where I can see them!”

Over Carol’s laughing, he could hear a high-pitched whisper ring out: “Your dad is hanging with Principal Newman? Is he dating her?”
And a familiar voice answered flatly, “No.”

Before he got a chance to react, there was a flurry of motion and scattered laughter. Scott squinted into the dark but didn’t get a clear look.
“Go to your homes! Uh… pelt the ones you love! And a merry Christmas!”

Behind him, Carol was laughing even more now. He turned, heart still light from her laughter—but his chest weighted now with what he had to say.

He closed the door, shaking his head with a wry grin, and turned back inside to find Carol still laughing. He really could get used to this—the open smile and contagious laugh.
“Do you always threaten children with mitten management?” she said, trying to hide her amusement with her hand over her mouth.

He was hoping beyond hope not to lose this—whatever this was between them—with what he was about to do. And the moment to come clean was fast approaching. He could feel it.

Because now, the house was quiet again.
And so was she.
Waiting.
Inviting.
Trusting.

Carol moved to the living room window, pulling the curtains closed with a soft swish, the fabric sealing them into the warm cocoon of her house. She turned, her smile soft and lingering with contentment, and with a happy sigh, rolled back onto the couch. Her legs tucked up beneath her as she rested sideways on the cushions, head propped on her hand, watching Scott with a gaze that could only be called fond.

He filed this look away, not ever wanting to forget her looking at him like this. Like she felt safe to be vulnerable around him, her walls down, letting him in without a filter.

But he wasn’t sitting. Or smiling. He was pacing.
Something was shifting. They could both feel it.

“There are things about me you should know,” Scott said, voice taut with nerves. “Personal things.”

Carol lifted her head slightly, brow furrowed. “We don’t need to rush things, Scott.”
“I think you need to know these things,” he said, serious now. There was a strain in his voice she hadn’t heard before—something vulnerable and almost… scared.

Her casual posture didn’t change, but the atmosphere had. Carol sat up a little straighter, her legs still curled beneath her, but her attention sharpened, full on him. “Okay.”

Scott ran a hand through his hair, stopping mid-pace.
“Um… remember the mistletoe? How it just showed up?”

Carol tilted her head, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Yes.”
“And the sleigh,” he added. “How magical that was?”
“Yes.”
“Secret Santa Claus… that was me.”

“Yeah?” she said, eyes sparkling. There was something expectant in her tone now—like a long-burning question had just started to form into an answer. She looked… giddy. Her excitement made him smile. For a moment, he thought maybe—just maybe—this would go better than he feared.

He paused, watching her reaction closely. Still smiling. Still with him. His voice softened.
“I’m not this size much,” he admitted, stepping a little closer to the couch, to her. “I’m usually much bigger than this,” he gestured toward his stomach.

She raised an amused brow. “So am I, sometimes.”

He chuckled but pressed on. “I have a very big white beard. It’s beautiful.”
“I don’t,” she countered, lips quirking.

“I work a long way from my home,” he continued, each word bringing him closer to the edge of what he really needed to say. “When I get back to my home, I sleep for long periods of time.”

Carol’s expression softened, trying to make light of his strange confession. “See? Okay. It’s not so bad so far. You work far away from home, and you sleep a lot. Hey, you’ve never been to prison, and you don’t wear socks with sandals.”

Scott hesitated. “Well…”

Carol laughed at that, the sound light and genuine, but he didn’t join in this time.

Instead, he paced slowly, heart pounding. Behind him, the faint scent of cinnamon and something floral lingered in the air—her perfume, maybe. He wanted to bottle this moment, the glow in her eyes, the way her gaze followed him as if she already knew something was coming. Something that might change everything.

Because now it was time to come clean.

He drew in a breath and said it plainly.
“I’m Santa Claus.”

There was a beat of stunned silence. Carol blinked, smile faltering. “What?”

“The suit—the red suit—it’s real. The North Pole is a real place. There are elves. Elves make the toys. They’re beautiful. It’s all real. It exists. I exist.”

The light in her eyes dimmed, uncertainty rushing in. “That’s not funny, Scott.”
“It’s magical,” he said, still trying, still reaching.
Carol’s smile had vanished completely. “Okay, cut it out.”

“I’m telling you the truth, Carol,” he said, voice urgent now.
“I told you something very personal from my childhood, and now you're making a joke out of it, and it's not funny. It hurts.”

“I know how hard this is to believe, but you’ve got to connect the dots. Think about everything that’s happened with me—think about the little girl.”

“I know what’s going on,” her voice trembled, just a little.

Abruptly standing, she crossed her arms over her chest like a shield. Like she suddenly felt the need to protect herself from him.

Scott stepped toward her. “I have a watch—”
“You felt something for me,” she cut him off, eyes narrowing. “And now you’re acting like a mental patient because you’re scared.”

“I’m not scared,” he said quickly. “I deliver gifts all over the world in a sleigh pulled by reindeer.”

Carol stared at him, incredulous. “Incredible.” She turned, furious now, heading for the front door. Scott followed her, ready to reach out, but stopped short. If he touched her now, he might fall apart completely.

“I go down chimneys with burning logs, and I still deliver gifts. I’m not scared. That’s not what this is.”

Carol picked up his coat from the railing, and for a moment there was hesitation. But it only lasted a breath, and then she held it out to him, her expression closed off, shuttered. “If you’re trying to push me away,” she said coldly, “it’s working.”

She pulled the front door open.

Scott froze in the hallway, eyes searching hers, pleading. “Carol, don’t make me leave. Please.”

But there was no warmth left in her gaze.

Whatever spell had wrapped around them before… had broken.

For a long second, they just stood there—him on the edge of a truth that had taken everything in him to say, her on the other side of it, unable or unwilling to cross the distance.

And then, slowly, he stepped outside.

The cold bit at his face, but it was nothing compared to the ache in his chest as Carol shut the door behind him.

And just like that… she was gone.

***

The drive back to Laura and Neil’s house felt longer than it was.

Snow flickered past the windshield like ghosts, the streets nearly empty this late at night. Scott kept both hands tight on the wheel, but his thoughts were nowhere near the road.

They were still in Carol’s living room.
Still standing on her doorstep.
Still stuck in the moment her face went cold and distant and she told him to leave.

He hadn’t just blown it.
He’d crushed it—tried to place his truth into her hands and watched her drop it like something grotesque and unreal.

His heart felt like it had splintered in two places: one from her disbelief, and the other from the fact that he didn’t blame her for it.

When he finally pulled into the Millers’ driveway, he shut off the ignition and sat for a beat in the silence. The house lights were still on.

Too late to slip in unnoticed.

Scott sighed, climbed out of the car, boots crunching over the thin sheet of frost coating the driveway. He made his way up the steps and into the warm house, the door clicking softly behind him.

He barely had time to hang his coat before he heard it: “How could you pick her?”

Scott turned at the voice.

Charlie stood in the living room, arms crossed, a storm cloud in the middle of the Christmas decorations.

“I didn’t,” Scott said, weariness leaking into every word.

Charlie took a step forward, jaw tight. “You don’t care anymore.”

The accusation stung—sharp and sudden.

“What? I care more about you than anybody. But it’s a two-way street, Charlie. You won’t confide in me.”

“You want it?” Charlie’s voice was rising now, raw with frustration. “Here it is.”

Scott braced himself. “What? Talk to me.”

“I don’t live a normal life!” Charlie’s voice cracked, not with immaturity, but with deep, boiling pain. “My friends get to go around saying, ‘My dad’s a plumber.’ ‘My dad’s a pilot.’ ‘My dad’s a dentist.’ You know what I get to say? Nothing. Because my dad is the best thing of all—and I can’t tell anyone.”

Scott swallowed hard, guilt sitting like a stone in his throat.

“You have no idea how hard it is,” Charlie went on, voice trembling now, eyes shining in the low light. “Walking around with that secret. Keeping it inside every single day.”

Scott opened his mouth, but Charlie cut him off again.

“And now you’re going out with Principal Newman! And you don’t even tell me about it.” His voice cracked again, this time with more hurt than rage. “My whole life has become about secrets, and I hate it!”

Scott stepped forward, the fight knocked right out of him. “Charlie… I’m sorry. Forget about Principal Newman, all right?” He exhaled—long and heavy—and dropped onto the edge of the couch like he couldn’t hold himself upright anymore. “And forget about Santa,” he added quietly. “I’m done. My time’s up.”

Charlie stood frozen, stunned by the quiet devastation in his father’s voice.

“Who cares anymore?” the boy muttered, but this time it wasn’t angry. It was hollow. Defeated. As if he couldn’t tell who had disappointed him more—Scott… or the world.

The living room went quiet then.
Just the ticking of the wall clock.
The soft hum of the furnace.
And two Calvins—father and son—sitting in the flickering aftermath of disappointment and everything unspoken.

Chapter Text

Saturday, December 22nd, 2002

“Santa comes after you fall asleep,” her mom said, half-laughing, half-tired.

But eight-year-old Carol didn’t want to believe that part. Not when she had written a letter, asking only one thing: Please show me you’re real.

She wasn’t trying to be a difficult second-grader. But when her teacher told the whole class that Santa was just a story—and that grown-ups played the part to keep kids “imaginative”—something small and precious inside her twisted up like it had been dropped in ice water.

That’s why she was here. Staying up. Trying to prove her belief wasn’t foolish.

Just as her blanket slipped from her shoulders and her eyes grew heavy, she heard it. Footsteps. Soft. Not from upstairs—but from the chimney.

Her breath caught. A figure stepped out of the hearth—round, robed in red, brushing soot from his sleeves with a huff and a mutter.

Then he looked up and saw her.

A moment passed. Then a smile—warm, kind, and real.

“Well, I guess you caught me.”

He winked.

And just like that—he was gone.

***

Carol’s POV

The late morning light crept into the living room, filtering through the closed curtains in thin, golden beams. It lit up the empty glasses on the tray, the half-eaten cookies, the throw blanket she’d kicked off sometime in the night.

Carol stirred on the couch, groggy and stiff, still in the clothes she’d worn on their date.

The dream came back in fragments—a childhood memory she hadn’t thought about in years. She’d never told anyone about it. But because of that night, she used to believe so hard it ached.

Until the world made her stop. Until she learned to keep it quiet—beneath practicality, sarcasm, and the shield of her principal’s badge.

Until Scott Calvin.

Until that same smile—kind, warm, knowing. It had lived in her memory since childhood. And now it had a face.

Until he made her feel like maybe, just maybe, she’d found someone who believed in the same impossible things.

Her chest warmed with the soft echo of last night—the walk, the hot chocolate, the way he’d kissed her lips, soft and reverent. Not rushed. Not uncertain. Like he was trying to memorize her. Like she was something rare.

And then she remembered the rest.

His voice.
“I’m Santa Claus.”

The warmth shattered.

If he was lying, it wasn’t just a joke. It was cruel.

Her breath caught. She sat up slowly, arms wrapping around herself against the sudden chill.

He had been so honest. So nervous. Like he genuinely believed what he was saying.

That was the part that shook her most of all.

Because she hadn’t seen delusion in his eyes.

She’d seen pain.

And worse—fear.

Her stomach twisted.

She’d asked for truth. Something he hadn’t told anyone. And he’d given it to her. Laid it bare in the space between them.

And she hadn’t even let him finish.

Because it sounded crazy.

She ran a hand through her hair, messy from sleep, her heart still thudding from the panic of last night.

What was she supposed to do?

He said he was Santa Claus. Not as a metaphor, not as a joke.

He meant it.

And part of her—

She clenched her eyes shut.

Part of her wanted to believe him.

The same part that lit up when toy soldiers marched in storefront windows.

The same part that fluttered under the mistletoe.

The same part that had felt known in his arms, like he’d memorized the shape of her long before she’d ever trusted him to try.

What if he hadn’t lied?

Then he’d known—all along.

And he still let her fall. Still let her feel something. Still kissed her like that.

Without telling her until it was too late.

She stood slowly, rubbing her tired eyes. The room was silent, but her thoughts roared.

Was he mentally unwell?

Had she misread everything?

Or—worse—

Had she not listened close enough?

Her gaze fell on the tray of cookies and milk, mostly untouched.

That window scene… the way his eyes softened at Santa’s Workshop. How much she’d loved that he still had so much kid in him.

She turned away, tears suddenly threatening.

You felt something for me, she had accused.

And now you're acting like a mental patient because you're scared.

But what if he wasn’t scared?

What if he was telling the truth?

Carol pressed a hand to her heart.

She didn’t know. Not yet.

Even if somewhere, deep down, she had always been waiting for this story to come full circle.

So if there was even the smallest chance he hadn’t made it up—

Then she’d just shut the door on the most magical truth of her life.

***

Scott’s POV

The day started without joy. Without bells. Without magic.

Scott sat slouched at the kitchen table, barely picking at the bowl of cereal Laura had put in front of him. The cereal had gone soggy, flakes drifting in lukewarm milk like fallen snow. He didn’t care. He wasn’t hungry. He was exhausted.

Not physically. That was the worst part—his body felt fine. It was everything else that didn’t.

He was tired in his chest. In the quiet corners of his heart that had tasted something incredible and then had it ripped away in a single breath. Her laugh, hushed and genuine, still echoed in his memory. The way she’d looked at him during the sleigh ride—like she was starting to believe, not just in him, but in something bigger. Something lasting. That look was gone now.

All because he couldn’t keep pretending anymore.

He’d told her.

And she’d looked at him like he was insane.

Upstairs, Charlie was getting ready for the first day of Christmas break and still hadn't spoken a word to him. Not that Scott expected anything else. Last night had been a double loss.

Carol walked away, and Charlie wouldn’t even look at him.

He pressed his hands to his face, trying to scrub away the ache of her absence.

A chair scraped across the floor beside him. Then another. Laura sat to his right, coffee in hand. Neil to his left with a bowl of grapefruit and a deeply concerned expression.

“I’m just going to say it,” Laura began. “You look like hell.”

Scott chuckled dryly. “Gee, thanks.”

“I’m serious.” Her voice was gentle. “What happened?”

Scott leaned back in his chair, head tilting toward the ceiling like maybe—just maybe—if he stared long enough, he could reverse time. Take it all back. Swallow the words I’m Santa Claus before they ever escaped his mouth.

“I told her,” he muttered.

Neil blinked. “Told her what?”

Scott glanced at him, as if it should be obvious. “About… everything.”

Neil’s brows shot up. “Everything everything?”

“Yeah. I mean, I didn’t pull out the snow globe or put on the suit, but yeah. I told her I’m Santa.” He dropped his gaze to the table. “She kicked me out.”

Laura exhaled softly, setting her mug down. “Scott…”

“I didn’t want to lie to her,” he said quickly, like speed could somehow make it valid. “She was opening up to me, trusting me—and I had this whole other life she didn’t know about. She deserved the truth.”

“She does,” Laura agreed gently. “But that’s a lot to drop on someone.”

“Especially if she’s not already wearing pajamas with reindeer on them,” Neil added under his breath.

Scott gave him a weak glare.

“I’m saying it’s not her fault,” Neil clarified. “But it’s not yours, either. It’s the reality you live in. It took me over a year to believe you —and I’m a therapist with degrees and an above-average tolerance for absurdity.”

Laura nodded and gently laid her hand over Scott’s. “When you first told me… I thought you’d lost it. And you’re Charlie’s father. I wanted to believe you, and it still took time.”

Scott stared at her hand, swallowing hard. He didn’t say anything.

Time was something he didn’t really have.

There was still that Mrs. Clause deadline hanging over his head—midnight, Christmas Eve. If he didn’t get it right, there’d be no more Christmas. No more Santa. Just a man who lost her over a truth that might not matter anymore.

“You didn’t lose her,” L aura said softly. “You told her the truth. That matters.”

“Give her a little space,” Neil added. “Let her breathe. But don’t give up on her.”

Scott’s jaw tightened. Then he nodded, almost imperceptibly, and stood from the table. He crossed the kitchen to the back window, staring out at the snow-covered yard.

He pulled out his phone. Hovered his thumb over her name.

Carol Newman
Still starred. Still at the top of his list.

After a long breath, he typed:

Hey…

I’m sorry for the way I dropped all that on you last night. You didn’t deserve to be blindsided like that.

But I meant every word.

I understand if you need time. Or if don’t want to hear from me again.

But if you ever change your mind…

I’ll be right here.

He read it twice. Then hit send.

And then he stood there—still in the Millers’ kitchen—the weight of the holiday and the heartbreak pressing down on him like snowfall.

All he could do now was wait. And hope she still believed in something—even if it wasn’t Santa Claus. Even if it was just him.

***

Carol’s POV – Late Morning

Carol sat curled up in the corner of her couch, knees pulled in close beneath her blanket, still in the same soft brown sweater from last night. Her hair was still tousled. The mug of tea she’d made twenty minutes ago sat cooling on the side table, untouched.

The house was quiet.

Too quiet after a night that had echoed through her entire body from the moment she woke up.

She was caught in a loop of memory—of touch, of breath, of things she hadn’t let herself feel in years.
The warmth of his mouth still lingered on hers. The way he’d pulled her closer, like she was something precious. Like he couldn’t believe she’d said yes.
The way his hands had framed her waist like he’d been memorizing the shape of her.

And then: “I’m Santa Claus.”

She winced.

Not because it had been ridiculous. Not because it was some grand punchline.

But because it hurt.

Because in that moment, he’d looked at her with so much sincerity. Like he believed every word. Like that was the moment he’d finally let her in—and it had shattered everything she thought she knew about him. And about herself.

She’d been so open with him. Told him about how her parents only got along at Christmas. How she was bullied for believing. How she’d given it up just to feel normal at school, to feel like she belonged.
That memory had sat buried in her chest like a fossil. And then he’d come along, with his eyes full of kindness and curiosity, and asked her to dig it up again.

And then told her he was the thing she’d mourned.

It hadn’t felt like a lie. It had felt like a betrayal. Of trust. Of everything she’d risked opening up.
She’d told him things she hadn’t told anyone in years—and he’d listened like it mattered.
Like she mattered.

But was it a betrayal? a quieter part of her kept asking.

She hadn’t wanted to believe it… but she hadn’t really let herself think it through, either.

The sleigh. The mistletoe. The lights. The girl with the cocoa. The way kids lit up around him like he was gravity.

There were so many things.

She could still feel the night air against her skin, the quiet jingle of reins in the distance. His laugh. Her smile.

She blinked back into the moment as her phone buzzed on the coffee table.

Scott Calvin

Her heart leapt. She hated that it still did.

She hesitated, then opened it.

Hey…

I’m sorry for the way I dropped all that on you last night. You didn’t deserve to be blindsided like that.

But I meant every word.

I understand if you need time. Or if don’t want to hear from me again.

But if you ever change your mind…

I’ll be right here.

Carol stared at the words, rereading them three times. Then once more, just for the ache they left behind.

He wasn’t chasing her. Wasn’t pleading. Wasn’t spinning more stories. He was just… giving her space.

And that, somehow, made it worse.

Because she wasn’t ready to reach back.

Not yet.

But she wasn’t ready to let go either.

Carol leaned into the couch, pulling the blanket higher under her chin, eyes drifting to the twinkling Christmas lights she’d strung across the window weeks ago. They blinked in soft patterns—distant and warm. Like they were trying to remind her of something.

What if he’s telling the truth?

She closed her eyes.

And for the first time since childhood, she let herself wonder what it would feel like to believe in something impossible.

Chapter Text

Sunday, December 23rd, 2002

One day ’til Christmas.

Scott could hardly tell how he made it through the day before. He had tried to talk to Charlie, but his son wouldn’t even look at him. Laura had told him to give it time—that Charlie probably felt it too. The magic was fading. Dwindling.

Normally, this would be the day he and Bernard went over flight plans. Or did a final review of the Naughty-and-Nice List. Or at least inspected sleigh prep with Comet.

He probably should check in with the elves. Should let them know he’d failed. That the deadline they’d set was impossible. Because humans don’t meet, fall in love, and marry in twenty-eight days.

He could’ve blamed Curtis for never mentioning the Mrs. Clause. For waiting until the last possible second to drop the most important fine print in magical history.

But he couldn’t do that.

Because he couldn’t be sure—under any other circumstance—that he would’ve had the chance to see Carol the way he had.

And while the thought of disappointing everyone—the elves, the Council of Legendary Figures, every child still clinging to belief—was devastating…

Not having had that—whatever it was—with Carol would have been worse.

So instead of doing anything, he sat at the kitchen table, alone, having successfully avoided the family breakfast. A half-eaten bagel sat on the plate in front of him. His phone lay face-down beside it, like it might burn him if he looked again.

He’d sent the message nearly twenty-four hours ago.

No reply.

He hadn’t really expected one. Not deep down.

Scott pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, dragging in a breath and exhaling slow.

He’d ruined it.

He had kissed her—really kissed anyone—for the first time since becoming Santa and finally let himself hope.

It wasn’t easy, letting someone in.

Being Santa meant carrying the weight of the world’s expectations. Every year, he felt belief waver. Felt the strain of adapting magic to a world moving faster, believing less. It was hard work staying jolly when the world kept trying to take that from you.

But for a little while, with her, it had all felt… possible.

Carol hadn’t just been someone to share the burden with. She had been the first person to see him in a long time. The man behind the suit.

That’s why he’d told her.

She’d given him her truth—about the teasing, the disbelief, the way she’d had to shut herself down just to survive childhood. She’d let him in. Let him see the part of her no one else got.

And he’d answered that trust by telling her something impossible.

Not a story. Not a joke.

The truth.

I’m Santa Claus.

And it must’ve felt like a fairytale and a betrayal all at once.

The worst part? He hadn’t lied.

Every glance, every word, every kiss—that had all been real.

And now she was gone.

He reached for his phone again. Still nothing. Just the quiet hum of Christmas music from the living room—Lucy had left the radio on earlier.

He should be wrapping last-minute presents. Should be managing Toy Santa’s behavior. Should be tracking weather patterns over the Atlantic.

Instead, he was staring at a screen, hoping a woman who didn’t believe in him anymore might want to someday.

If you ever change your mind…

He hadn’t begged. Hadn’t tried to convince her. She deserved more than pressure. She deserved time.

But the ache in his chest told him the truth:

If she ever came back—if she ever looked at him again the way she did that night—he would drop everything.

Because it wasn’t just that he cared about her.

It was that she saw him.

And for one quiet night, she had let him see her too.

***

The Millers’ House – Early Evening

The hours passed in a haze of disappointment—grief over failing Christmas, heartbreak over losing Carol, guilt over Charlie’s silence, and the ever-present need to not burden Laura and Neil.

He felt like a ghost in the house.

When the doorbell rang, Scott was mid-card game with Lucy. He wasn’t prepared for the blur of green velvet and sheer panic that came flying through the entryway.

“Scott! You have to come with me right now!”

Curtis’s voice was so high it practically squeaked. His cheeks were flushed, eyes wild.

Scott blinked. “What’s going on?”

Curtis tugged at his gloves, hopping in place like he’d just sprinted across states. “The Pole’s in trouble. Big trouble.”

Scott’s heart dropped. “What kind of trouble?”

Curtis looked around like someone might be listening in. Thankfully, Scott had already sent Lucy upstairs to play.

“Toy Santa has completely lost it,” Curtis whispered urgently. “He’s locked up the elves. Shut down the workshop. Declared every kid in the world naughty. He’s planning to give everyone coal!”

Scott’s jaw fell open. “He can’t do that. How come Bernard didn’t come down and tell me this?

“He’s under house arrest.”

“Bernard?!”

Curtis looked ready to cry. “Please. Fly back with me to the North Pole. You have to save Christmas.”

Scott’s mouth was dry. “Okay. Okay, we’ll fix this. I’ll go back with you.”

Curtis brightened—until Scott hesitated.

“Except… I can’t,” Scott said. “I have no magic left.”

Curtis’s expression fell. “What?”

“I’m out of magic. Look.”

He held out his hands. No shimmer. No spark. No warm glow of Christmas energy.

Curtis let out a groaning noise and slapped his forehead. “Ugh! I thought you had Comet!”

Scott sighed. “He’s here. But he’s been on a sugar bender since we got back. Last I saw him, he was passed out next to a pile of candy canes, twitching in his sleep.”

Curtis looked like he was going to explode. “And my jetpack burned up on re-entry! We’re out of options. Unless…”

His eyes narrowed as he tilted his head.

Scott gave him a skeptical look. “Unless what?”

“You could grow wings.”

“…I’m sorry?”

“You know. Like the Tooth Fairy.”

“Curtis, I am not a fairy.”

“I’m not saying you grow wings. I’m saying—we call in a favor.”

Scott’s expression shifted. It was a crazy idea. Ridiculous. Desperate. A Hail Mary that depended on luck, timing, and the one thing Scott wasn’t sure he had anymore:

Belief.

But then he heard Lucy’s giggle upstairs. Laura’s voice drifting through the hall—“Brush your teeth!” A shuffle. A pause.

A lost tooth.

And suddenly, Scott knew exactly what to do.

***

Lucy’s Bedroom – Later That Night

After an unsuccessful attempt to yank one of his own molars, Scott was saved by fate—Lucy had lost a second tooth.

Her bedroom was quiet now, nightlight aglow. Her tiny tooth rested under her pillow, neatly tucked in a tissue. She was fast asleep, breath soft and even.

Scott waited in silence.

Then came the shimmer.

Silver light flickered across the room, and there he was—wings flapping, aviator cap snug on his head, and the same smug grin plastered across his face.

Scott stepped into view and grabbed one of the fairy’s wings to keep him from flying away. “Tooth Fairy—it’s me. Santa. Lost the beard and the weight, but it’s still me.”

The Tooth Fairy narrowed his eyes.

Scott smirked. “Or should I say… Captain Floss? Plaque Man? Roy? The Molarnator?”

The fairy groaned. “Please don’t.”

“I need a ride.”

The fairy raised a brow. “A ride?”

“Back to the Pole.”

“You’re out of magic. No suit. No sleigh. No powers. What—are you going to storm in there with gumption and a candy cane?”

Scott folded his arms. “I’m still Santa. Whether the coat’s on me or not. And those elves? They’re mine. They’re my responsibility.”

Something shifted in the fairy’s face.

Curtis peeked around the corner. “He’s telling the truth! Toy Santa’s gone full dictator. We need someone who actually knows the workshop—and the mission. He’s our only shot.”

The fairy sighed deeply, wings fluttering. “You know you’re going to owe me big time.”

Scott nodded. “Put it on my tab.”

The fairy’s eyes lit with mischief. “Fine. Grab on. And don’t scream.”

***

In Transit – Over the Northern Lights

Wind lashed Scott’s face as he clung to the fairy’s back, Curtis flying awkwardly below them in a harness held aloft by sheer magical force and blind optimism.

Below, the snowy world blurred into streaks of white and silver. The stars bent above them like watching eyes.

Scott squinted into the dark horizon where the Pole would soon emerge.

No sleigh. No magic. No beard. Just him.

But maybe that was enough.

Because if Carol ever did believe again—if she ever found her way back to him—he wanted there to still be a Christmas left to believe in.
And he would start the impossible by stopping Toy Santa.

Chapter Text

Monday, December 24th, 2002

Scott’s POV – The North Pole – Secret Perimeter

Snow whirled around them as they touched down just beyond the shimmering perimeter of the North Pole.

“Tooth Fairy, I want to thank you. I'll never forget this,” said Scott, relieved to have made it.

“I wish I could do more, but I gotta go,” the fairy answered a little out of breath. “Denver just started a new pee-wee hockey league.”

“Before you go, I want you to know that nobody—nobody—was braver than you were today. You should be proud of your wings.”

With that, the two Legendary Figures parted ways, each dedicated to their own cause.

Scott turned back to Curtis, the sky, still deep indigo, sparkled with ribbons of northern lights overhead. But the warmth he once associated with this magical place was… gone.

It was quiet. Too quiet. And Scott didn’t know if the hollow feeling in his chest was Toy Santa’s doing, or his own failure to fulfill the Mrs. Clause.

Curtis crouched behind a snowbank, goggles fogged and teeth chattering. “This is bad. Real bad.”

Pulling his black coat tighter around himself, Scott squinted through the shadows toward the heart of the village. “Where are the patrols?”

“They do rounds now,” Curtis muttered. “Every ten minutes. Toy Santa installed a regimented ‘Elf Security Unit.’ ESU for short.”

Scott rolled his eyes. “Of course he did.”

Through the swirling snow, the glittering rooftops of the toy factory and the elf dormitories gleamed faintly — but there were no lights inside. The great doors of the workshop were shut tight. Thick ribbons of caution tape crisscrossed the front, and a crooked metal sign had been hammered above the arch:

NAUGHTY LIST PROCESSING CENTER – TRESPASSERS WILL BE FROSTED

Scott’s stomach turned. If he couldn’t take back the Pole, he couldn’t keep the promise he’d made to her — the one he hadn’t spoken out loud, but felt in his bones.

They moved in a crouch, staying low behind candy-cane-striped support posts and sleigh track pylons, careful to avoid the bright spotlights sweeping across the courtyard. At one point, Scott grabbed Curtis by the collar and yanked him flat as a tin soldier marched stiffly past on automated legs, scanning the path with glowing red eyes.

“They’re everywhere,” Curtis whispered once it passed.

“I thought Toy Santa was supposed to be jolly.”

“Turns out, he interpreted the rule book a little… literally.”

They ducked around the back of the dormitory building, toward the stables. At least there, the air still smelled faintly of peppermint and reindeer fur. Comet’s stall was empty.

“I’m telling you,” Curtis said, shaking his head, “this all started when he banned hot cocoa.”

“Monster,” Scott muttered under his breath, shoving aside a hidden panel in the stable wall.

Behind it, a narrow tunnel led beneath the courtyard — a maintenance route once used by elves when the sleigh track froze over. It was tight, cold, and barely wide enough for Scott’s shoulders. For once he was glad to still be in his more human form, because as Santa, he wouldn’t have fit.

At the end of the tunnel, they emerged inside a dimly lit supply room. And just across the corridor… stood the holding chamber.

Scott pressed himself to the wall and peered through the frosted glass.

Inside, pacing like a caged wolf, was Bernard. His shirt was rumpled, his scarf missing, and his black curls were a wild mess. But his eyes were alert and furious.

Scott knocked once.

Bernard’s head snapped up.

The two stared at each other for a beat, and then Bernard launched toward the door, mouth moving with what Scott was sure was a string of colorful words in Elvish.

Curtis immediately began fiddling with the lock. “Just give me a second, I can override this—ah ha!”

The lock clicked open.

Bernard burst out, yanking Scott into a fierce, unexpected hug — not out of affection, but sheer desperation.

“Do you know what he did to the cocoa machines?” Bernard growled. “DO YOU?”

Scott grimaced. “Heard about that. Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left the Pole the way I did.”

Bernard shook his head. “Doesn’t matter now. You’re here. You’re still Santa, and we need you.”

“I don’t have magic,” Scott said quietly.

Bernard looked him over once, eyes narrowing. He knew what that meant. “Then we’ll do this the old-fashioned way.”

Scott raised an eyebrow. “Sneak in. Break some rules. Save Christmas?”

Bernard nodded. “Exactly.”

Curtis straightened his tiny vest. “It’s what Santa would do.”

Scott glanced between the two elves—one a brilliant, sarcastic grump, the other a jittery optimist. His allies. His family.

The workshop lay dark and silent beyond the frosted doors. And somewhere inside, a plastic imposter sat on his throne.

Scott squared his shoulders. “Let’s take back Christmas… and everything that matters with it.”

***

The Millers’ House – Meanwhile

For Christmas Eve morning, the house was unusually still.

Snow dusted the windows, soft and powdery, and somewhere down the road, a neighbor’s radio played White Christmas just loud enough to be heard over the crackle of the living room fireplace. Laura had set a fresh pot of coffee on the kitchen counter, but neither she nor Neil had touched it yet.

They sat on the edge of the couch, pajamas rumpled, slippers barely on, just… waiting.

Lucy came bounding down the stairs in her robe, a wide grin stretching across her face. “Look what I found under my pillow!”

She held up a shiny silver coin, still warm from her tiny hand. A delicate snowflake shimmered on one side, the other etched with a toothy grin.

Laura smiled, setting her mug aside. “That’s wonderful, honey.”

Neil leaned in, examining it with exaggerated awe. “That is a Class-A molar token—Grade-A incisor craftsmanship. The Tooth Fairy must’ve been feeling extra generous last night.”

Lucy’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Did Uncle Scott help him?”

Laura hesitated, then exchanged a glance with Neil. “Uncle Scott had to leave early this morning,” she said gently. “Business emergency. You remember, his business partner came by yesterday?”

Lucy pouted. “But he promised he’d help with the cookies for Santa tonight.”

“I know,” Neil added softly. “But they really needed him. A… big problem came up, and he was the only one who could help.”

Lucy studied them with a seriousness far beyond her years. Then she nodded, seemingly satisfied—for now. “Okay. I’m gonna go check on Comet. I think he likes me.” She padded off toward the back door, coin clutched in her tiny hand.

Upstairs, Charlie sat in the dark, listening.

By all teenage-logic, he should have been sleeping in. But this was Christmas Eve, and something had kept him up most of the night—more than just the usual excitement of helping Santa with the Christmas rounds.

Guilt. Shame. Worry.

Would there even be any Christmas rounds this year?

He came down the stairs and stepped into the living room just as Neil and Laura sank back into the couch.

“Where’d he really go?” Charlie asked, arms folded tight.

Neil looked up, mouth twitching into a strange half-smile. “To save Christmas.”

Laura elbowed him lightly. “He flew out with Curtis and the Tooth Fairy. Back to the North Pole. The other Santa—”

“Toy Santa,” Neil clarified.

“—has locked down the Pole.”

“But he said he doesn’t have magic anymore,” Charlie muttered, settling on the edge of the ottoman, eyes fixed on the fire.

“He went anyway,” Laura said softly, worry clouding her tone.

Neil nodded. “Just as Scott.”

Charlie’s chest clenched. His dad was out there somewhere—no longer really Santa. No superpowers. No red coat. No magic cookies. Just Scott Calvin, walking straight into danger for the elves, for Christmas, for the whole world. And him? He’d spent days sulking, clinging to his anger over secrets, like that mattered more than the man who had given him everything.

“What happens if he stops the Toy Santa?” Charlie asked, not meeting their eyes.

There was a pause.

Laura answered carefully, “I don’t know.”

Charlie stood, resolve forming behind his eyes. “Well… I do.”

Neil tilted his head. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking we don’t let him do this alone.”

He turned toward the hallway, already shrugging on his jacket. He knew exactly who to visit—the one person who had once believed in his dad. The one who had looked at Scott like she could see the real man under all the magic.

If they were going to save Scott—and maybe save Christmas—he needed her.

Chapter Text

Monday, December 24th, 2002

Carol’s POV

The sun was still low in the sky, its golden light muted behind a wall of soft gray clouds. Overnight, snow had fallen again—quiet, heavy, perfect. The kind of snow that made it feel like the whole world had stopped just to listen.

Carol hadn’t slept.

She had curled up in bed, blinking up at the ceiling, still feeling the echo of his kiss. Still hearing his voice when he’d said, I’m Santa Claus. The way he had looked at her—so earnest, so sure. The way it had hurt when she’d pushed him away.

Her house no longer felt like hers. It remembered him too. Every corner hummed with memory—the half-decorated Christmas tree they’d never gotten around to do together, the couch where he’d tried to tell her the truth, the window where the snowball fight had erupted like laughter from another life. It all pulsed around her like phantom music—like a melody she couldn’t get out of her head.

So she packed a small overnight bag—warm clothes, a novel, her old leather journal. Nothing festive. No ornaments. No gifts. No traces of the season she was trying so hard to ignore.

Her parents would be surprised to see her, sure. Bud and Sylvia never made a big deal out of Christmas, not since she was grown. But maybe that was exactly what she needed—quiet, distraction, neutrality. A change of scenery to stop her mind from running in circles.

Carol pulled on her brown wool coat, a thick red turtleneck beneath it, and tucked her hair under a soft white knit hat with a snowflake stitched at the crown. Brown gloves, black pants, boots laced tight.

The driveway was blanketed in white. Her car looked like it had been dipped in icing sugar.

With a sigh, she stepped into the cold, her breath fogging the air as she began brushing the snow from her windshield with a hand broom.

She didn’t hear him approach.

“Principal Newman?”

Carol turned, heart skipping at the voice.

Charlie.

He looked serious, backpack slung over one shoulder, his shoes crunching in the snow.

She blinked, surprised to see him alone. “What is it, Charlie?”

He stood his ground, nerves twitching just under the surface. “You keep asking me if there’s something bothering me. Well… there is. I couldn’t talk about it before. But… I want to talk about it now.”

Her stomach tightened. But she never turned away a student—especially not one she’d spent months trying to get to open up to her.

She lowered the broom slowly, the bristles resting against her boot. “Okay,” she said softly, heart pounding in anticipation. “Go ahead.”

Charlie looked down at the snow, then back up at her, his voice firmer this time. “My dad is Santa.”

Carol’s mouth fell open slightly, then closed again. She blinked. “Oh, please, Charlie. Not you too.”

“No—hold on.” He stepped closer. “If you have no feelings for my dad, then fine. I get it. But if the only reason you’re not with him is because you don’t believe him—because you think he made it up—then you’re making a big mistake.”

His words hit harder than they should have. She did feel something. And two nights ago, she’d seen something in Scott’s eyes—something that wasn’t desperation, or charm, or madness.

It had been truth.

“Oh, Charlie…” she said, voice shaking slightly.

He stepped forward again, rummaging in his backpack. “Here. I want you to have this.”

He held out a snow globe. It was old, well-loved—the kind of thing a child would keep only if it meant more than decoration. Carol took it carefully, cupping it in her gloved hands.

“Look into this,” Charlie said gently. “And try to remember what it was like… when you were little. When you still believed in Christmas.”

The weight of it in her palms was heavier than it looked. She stared into the glass dome. At first, it was still—just a swirl of white drifting over a row of fir trees. But then… light shifted, colors deepened. A village began to glow into focus, as though it had been there all along, waiting for her to believe enough to see it. Lights strung over snow-covered rooftops. Elves bustling in joy. Sleigh tracks carved in the snow. Reindeer. Laughter. Magic.

Warmth pressed against her ribs, joy and ache tangled in her throat.

“Seeing isn’t believing. Believing is seeing,” she heard Charlie say, and when she looked up, he smiled, eyes bright. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”

And for the first time in days, Carol laughed.

A real laugh. One that rose from someplace deep inside her. She clutched the globe to her chest, the corners of her mouth lifting as the impossible began to seem—maybe—just possible. And that’s when she knew she couldn’t just sit in this house anymore.

“Where is he?” she asked, breathless.

Charlie grinned. “Working on saving Christmas. But if we hurry, maybe we can save him too.”

She wasn’t sure if the rush in her chest was the thought of saving Christmas… or the thought of seeing Scott again.

***

The Millers’ House – Late Morning

Carol wasn’t entirely sure why she was following Charlie. She wasn’t even sure what “working on saving Christmas” actually meant. She had questions—quite a few of them—and deep down she knew the answers would lie wherever Charlie took her.

She was still clutching the snow globe as they walked through the neighborhood in the crisp December air. Her car sat half-scraped, windshield streaked with melting snow. She was relieved she’d at least thought to lock it before turning to follow him. It was like something inside her had gently nudged her forward. A pull she couldn’t define—except it felt a little like the way her heart had leapt when Scott had looked at her that fateful night.

The Millers’ house was just a few blocks away, modest and warmly decorated with a wreath on the front door. Carol had never been there before; her office was where parent-teacher meetings happened. That helped establish and maintain boundaries. But walking in now—following her troubled student as he held the door for her—it felt different. Stranger. Like stepping into someone else’s story… maybe one she’d been inching toward all along.

Inside, Laura and Neil were curled up on the couch with steaming mugs of coffee, soft holiday jazz playing in the background. The moment they saw Carol, they both sat upright.

“You brought her?” Neil asked without filter, blinking over the rim of his mug.

Charlie didn’t pause, just slung off his backpack and answered matter-of-factly, “Had to if we want to save Christmas.” And with that, he took his snow globe from Carol and bounded upstairs, leaving his principal standing awkwardly in the doorway.

“I…” She glanced after him, then back at them. “You know about all of this?”

Laura let out a short laugh. “Oh yeah.”

Neil smiled, gesturing to the chair across from them. “Please—sit. Coffee?”

Carol nodded slowly, lowering herself into the seat and shedding her coat and gloves. Laura handed her a mug, the warmth grounding her. “So… you believe him? About… all of this?” She gestured around their living room, the decorations almost dizzying in their cheer. She couldn’t help thinking Scott must love this room—cozy, lived-in, full of life. Not just because of all the Christmas sentiments, but also the pictures adorning the walls. Being here, she could understand why he choose to live with the Millers when he was in town. This felt oddly nice—welcoming in the best possible way under the circumstances.

Neil chuckled. “It took time. For both of us. I mean, I’m a psychiatrist. You can imagine how many theories I had before I accepted the one right in front of me.”

“We were shocked too,” Laura added warmly, giving her upper arm a friendly squeeze. “But then we saw him deliver presents in one breath. The sleigh. The reindeer. The elves…”

“The suit,” Neil added solemnly. “The moment a man starts growing a white beard at a cellular level—well, you stop looking for rational answers and start believing in miracles.”

Carol blinked at them, a small laugh escaping her despite the haze still clouding her thoughts. “This is insane.”

“Yeah,” Laura said, sipping. “It is.”

“But we’re all in it together now,” Neil added, his gaze kind and open. “And honestly, it’s a strange little club, but you get used to it. Quickly.”

She looked down at the coffee. Her reflection seemed unsure—a woman caught between two worlds—one of logic and the other of light. And somewhere in that reflection, she saw his grin, the warmth in his eyes, the unspoken plea that she see him.

She whispered, almost afraid the words might unravel her if she said them too loud, “I’m not sure what’s going on or what I’m supposed to do. I’m not a warrior. I’m not magic. I’m just… a school principal who may or may not have fallen for Santa Claus.” The last words came out in a rush, her cheeks warming.

Laura’s smile was gentle, like she’d suspected this all along. “Well, you wouldn’t be the first to fall for a man in a red suit. But don’t sell yourself short. Scott’s always been strongest when someone believes in him. Really believes.”

Carol’s fingers tightened around the mug, the ceramic almost too warm. Believes. The word curled in her chest like something alive. She didn’t want to admit it, but a part of her already did—believe in him. In the man who’d made her laugh when she’d forgotten how, who’d listened like her words mattered, who’d kissed her like she was the only person in the world.

Before she could speak, there was a sharp metallic clunk from upstairs. Followed by a thump and a loud, triumphant, “Yes!”

They all stood, startled, and rushed to the bottom of the stairs.

Charlie appeared at the landing, rubbing the side of his jaw, holding something small and white in his hand.

Laura gasped. “Charlie! What on earth—what did you do?!”

He winced but grinned. “I needed to get a tooth out. For the Tooth Fairy.”

Neil raised an eyebrow, stepping back in disbelief. “Let me guess—string and a doorknob?”

Charlie shook his head proudly. “Toaster and an extension cord.”

Carol’s eyes widened. “You what?”

“I had to get him here. The Tooth Fairy. We need him to take us to the North Pole so I can help my dad. He doesn’t have any magic left—he’s flying blind. I can’t let him go through this alone.”

Laura looked like she might faint. “You pulled out a healthy tooth for this?”

“I didn’t need it that badly,” Charlie said, trying to brush it off with humor. “And he’ll come, right? He has to.”

“Do you think he even comes during the day?” Neil muttered, checking his watch. “It’s almost noon.”

“Not sure,” Charlie said, looking over the stair rail to Carol. “But I hope he comes early evening. The clock’s ticking. Midnight’s the deadline. If we are not there by then…”

Carol swallowed. She didn’t need to ask what happened then. His voice said enough. It couldn’t be good. And as Neil looked at her quietly from the corner of his eye, she could feel the weight of his thoughts. She could guess what he was thinking.

That somehow, in the middle of all this—she was the answer.

Carol sat back down slowly, the mug still warm in her hands. The coffee’s steam curled against her face, but her mind was far away—north, maybe, with him. And for the first time in a long time, she was afraid to ask: the answer to what question? And more importantly, she was afraid of what believing would make her do next.

Chapter Text

Monday, December 24th, 2002

The North Pole – Service Tunnels – Midday

It was colder than Scott remembered. Not in temperature—he didn’t think the North Pole ever got any colder, per se—but in feeling. The magic that usually pulsed through the air like a heartbeat had dulled. He’d felt it the moment he touched down a couple hours ago, and the deeper they went into the Pole’s heart, the worse it got.

It felt sterile. Controlled. And he hated it.

Bernard led the way through the maintenance tunnels beneath the workshop—back hallways and narrow crawlspaces that hadn’t been touched in decades. Curtis followed close behind, panting as he adjusted the oversized utility belt around his waist. Scott, bringing up the rear, moved quietly, carefully, every step echoing slightly against the frost-hardened stone.

It was strange to be back and not feel… welcome. Like he’d failed not just himself, but this place. He stopped briefly at a wall panel, running his fingers across the frosted bricks. “This place used to hum with joy,” he murmured.

“Toy Santa shut down all non-essential magic output,” Curtis muttered. “And he reclassified joy as non-essential.”

Bernard scoffed under his breath. “Typical plastic dictator.”

Somehow, that knowledge lifted Scott’s spirits—just slightly. If the lack of magic was Toy Santa’s doing and not the result of his unfulfilled Mrs. Claus clause… then maybe there was still hope.

They rounded a corner and stepped over a rusted vent pipe. Curtis glanced up at him. “Wouldn’t it be easier just to go through the workshop?”

Scott gave him a look. “That’s the first place Toy-Me would expect us to go.”

“Sound military strategy involves taking your enemy by surprise,” Bernard added, his clipped tone unshaken. “We avoid the main corridors, we avoid patrols, and we stay out of sight.”

“It’s good strategy. Trust me,” Scott muttered. “We need the upper hand.”

But even as he said it, the weight of the last few days pressed heavy in his chest—wet snow on his shoulders. Carol. Charlie. The fight. The disappointment in her eyes when she pushed him away. He didn’t even have the red suit anymore—just a worn jacket, a tired body, and a title slipping through his fingers with every passing minute.

Still… when he closed his eyes, just for a heartbeat, he could see her—standing in the snow, hair tucked behind her ear, eyes full of something she was too careful to name. That spark in her gaze was enough to keep him moving. He wasn’t going to lose this place. He wasn’t going to lose her. Not without a fight.

They reached an old maintenance door Bernard swore was no longer on the blueprints. “Storage Room 3B,” he whispered, fiddling with the lock. “We can cut through and bypass the guard station. Should be empty.”

Scott nodded. “Finally, some good luck.”

The door creaked open.

And that’s when they saw the black, unblinking eyes.

Three Toy Soldiers turned toward them in eerie unison, rifles already raised. One let out a shrill alarm call, muffled slightly by his plastic mouth.

Curtis yelped. “Oh no.”

“So much for the element of surprise,” Scott muttered.

The tallest soldier pointed directly at Scott. “INTRUDERS DETECTED. REINFORCEMENTS INBOUND.”

Bernard slammed the door shut, throwing the metal latch. “Time to move!”

They tore back through the corridor, the sound of mechanical boots pounding behind them. Alarms blared overhead, red lights flashing against the frost-dulled walls.

Curtis wheezed as he ran. “Do we have a Plan B?”

“Yeah—don’t get caught!” Scott huffed.

Bernard skidded to a side door and threw it open. “Down here—old elf quarters!”

They dove into the narrow hallway, the door slamming shut just as snowballs exploded against the spot they’d been seconds before.

Scott braced his hands on his knees, catching his breath. “We need a better plan.”

Bernard, already moving again, called over his shoulder, “Then we’d better come up with one fast. Because Toy Santa knows you’re here now.”

Scott looked at the frost-covered ceiling. He could feel it—some strange tension in the air, like static. The clock was ticking. Christmas was coming. And he didn’t have time to feel sorry for himself anymore.

If he wanted to save the Pole—and the people he loved—he had to be Santa. With or without the suit.

***

The Millers’ House – Early Evening

Charlie had fallen asleep with almost no resistance, the exhaustion of the last twenty-four hours finally catching up with him. They had spent the last few hours spent keeping things as normal as possible—dinner, a stroll in the snow, quiet conversation.

Apparently, Lucy didn’t know about her uncle being Santa—though Carol suspected the clever girl had her suspicions. Especially after Lucy let her into the garden to pet Comet, the reindeer her “uncle” had brought along when he visited. Who even had a reindeer? And one named Comet? He couldn’t be any more obvious.

But no one wanted to frighten the child with whatever was going on at the North Pole, so they all did their best to make Christmas Eve feel like it always did. And Lucy liked Carol enough not to question her presence—though she’d pointed out that her uncle wasn’t here, as if that would be the woman’s reason to be at their house.

Carol had peeked in on Charlie once, expecting to see him tossing and turning. But no—he was already curled up, mouth slightly open, arm flung across his pillow. A pillow that now carefully cradled a single upper canine tooth beneath it.

She still didn’t understand half of what was going on. But the fact she wasn’t running away from it anymore… said something.

Laura, Neil, and Carol stationed themselves just outside Charlie’s door, pacing in silence while Lucy sat in the living room, engrossed in a cartoon. Laura perched at the top of the stairs with a mug of chamomile tea, Neil fidgeted with a stress ball, and Carol stood with her arms crossed, trying to keep her disbelief in check.

This was the most absurd stakeout of her life—and yet her heart was thudding with something dangerously close to hope. It was the kind of hope she hadn’t let herself feel since… well, since she’d last thought she might have a place in someone’s life.

Then they heard it—the faint creak of a window opening. A gust of cool winter air swept into the room, followed by a fluttering sound. Wings. Not bird wings. Not fairy wings in the storybook sense. Tiny wings… attached to a grown man.

Carol’s mouth parted slightly as the figure floated into Charlie’s room.

He wore a worn leather trench coat, aviator goggles pushed up over his forehead, and had salt-and-pepper stubble on his jaw. And—yes—two absurdly small wings, flapping just fast enough to keep him airborne.

This was the Tooth Fairy? He wasn’t what she expected.

The man touched down gently near Charlie’s bed, reached beneath the pillow with a gloved hand—and froze as Neil grabbed the edge of his wing, just as Scott had done the night before.

“Not again,” he muttered in a world-weary tone, turning to face them. “Hey. I know this place… This is Santa’s house.”

“Well technically it’s our house,” Laura said diplomatically, setting down her mug, “but we let him stay in the guest room whenever he’s in town.”

The Tooth Fairy blinked at each of them in turn. There was no hostility in his expression—only long-suffering tolerance. And maybe the faintest spark of curiosity when his gaze landed on Carol.

“Why am I here?” he asked at last. “I already brought Santa to the North Pole.”

Charlie’s voice came groggy but determined from behind them. “Now we need you to take us.” He rubbed his eyes, pushed through the group, his hair sticking up wildly, face still soft from sleep but lit with resolve.

Carol stared at him. "Us?"

Charlie nodded at her, then turned back to the Tooth Fairy. “We need you to take her to the Pole.”

The Tooth Fairy raised a brow. “Her?”

“My dad needs her,” Charlie said, like it was the simplest truth in the world. “Christmas needs her.”

Carol blinked. Her stomach flipped—an involuntary, unsteady flutter she didn’t want to name. “Wait… me?”

The Tooth Fairy looked at her—really looked. And though his eyes were partly hidden by the goggles, she saw something shift in his expression. Not recognition of who she was, but of what she might mean.

He didn’t say anything. Just gave a small, knowing smile. Carol—still unsure of how or why she was here—smiled back. Nervous. Uncertain. But curious despite herself.

Neil and Laura exchanged a look behind her. Laura whispered, “Guess we’re trusting the magic now.”

Carol gave them both a slightly helpless shrug.

“C’mon,” the Tooth Fairy said, motioning toward the stairs. “Let’s not waste moonlight.”

They headed down together, grabbing coats. Lucy stayed absorbed in her cartoon, blissfully unaware.

The snow crunched beneath Carol’s boots. The sky had turned velvet blue, stars twinkling faintly as the last of the afternoon light vanished behind houses. She shivered in the chill air, pulling her brown coat tighter and tugging her white snowflake-knit hat further down over her ears.

The Tooth Fairy—still hovering just slightly above the snow—turned to face her. “You warm enough?” he asked, his voice surprisingly gentle beneath the gravel.

“I think so,” Carol said, glancing back at Neil and Laura, who stood framed in the doorway. Laura gave her an encouraging nod. Neil offered a slightly awkward thumbs-up.

Charlie was already out in the yard, pulling on gloves, adjusting the strap of his backpack. He looked more excited than nervous, and Carol envied that certainty—that belief. It radiated from him so naturally—like it never left him, not even when he was angry, not even when he hurt.

She exhaled and stepped closer. For some reason, the cold air carried with it a scent she knew—evergreens and faint cinnamon—so much like the coat Scott had worn the night of the sleigh ride. The memory brushed warm against the edges of her mind before she could stop it. A reminder of how unexpectedly safe she’d felt beside him.

“All right,” the Tooth Fairy said. “This’ll be a bit of a jolt. First time always is.”

Carol arched a brow. “You mean we’re actually flying?”

“Is that a dealbreaker?”

“…No,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. And it came out with the same treacherous softness she’d once used when saying yes to a date night.

“Good.” He extended his hand. “Then hold on tight, Principal Newman.”

She hesitated only a moment before gripping the rough leather of his coat with both gloved hands. Charlie grinned and latched onto the Tooth Fairy’s other side like a pro. “You get used to it,” he assured her.

The Tooth Fairy let out a low breath, flexed his fingers—and then, with a sharp swoosh of those tiny wings, they were lifted off the ground.

Carol gasped. The backyard fell away, cold wind whipping at her cheeks, tugging at her coat. Houses became rooftops, rooftops became dots, until the world below was a patchwork of snow-covered quiet and sleepy warmth.

The wind roared in her ears, but for some reason… she wasn’t afraid.

She looked down at the earth disappearing beneath her, then up at the stars—brighter than she’d ever seen them. Something stirred deep in her chest.

Wonder. Awe. Magic.

And somewhere beneath that, the unmistakable pull toward the one place she hadn’t realized she’d been missing—until now.

Her fingers tightened on the Tooth Fairy’s coat, and as she closed her eyes she imagined—just for a heartbeat—that if she turned her head, Scott might be there beside her, his voice in her ear, telling her she was safe.

She laughed softly—half in disbelief, half in joy—as they soared higher into the night. She didn’t know what she’d find when they got there. But something inside her knew this was the right path.

And somehow, she knew he would be there. Waiting.

For her.

And for the first time in longer than she could remember, the thought of seeing someone felt like coming home.

Chapter Text

Monday, December 24th, 2002

North Pole – Toy Command Center

The corridors here were narrower, the cheerful glow of the North Pole dimmed to a sterile, muted light. Bernard, Curtis, and Scott moved swiftly, weaving through unused hallways that echoed with the sharp click-clack of patrolling toy boots. The warmth and magic of the Pole felt distant—replaced by cold, mechanical order.

Scott glanced at the oversized peppermint-striped clock hanging on the wall.

33:00 minutes ‘til Christmas...

“This way,” Curtis whispered, pointing toward a passage tucked between the glittering tinsel tunnels.

“Isn’t there an easier way?” Scott asked as they ducked around another corner.

Bernard’s voice was quick—no room for doubt. “No. They’re expecting us now. Basic military strategy: flank your enemy.”

Scott shot Bernard a flat look. “This isn’t military. It’s a candy cane dictatorship.”

But there was no time for debate. He fell in step behind Bernard, suppressing the irritation tightening in his chest.

They slipped through a narrow doorway into what looked like an auxiliary gift-wrapping room—dark and deserted.

Curtis scanned ahead. “Clear.”

Scott nodded. “Good. Let’s—”

A metallic click cut through the silence behind them.

The overhead lights snapped on. Toy soldiers lined the walls, their plastic smiles frozen in sneers. Two more stepped forward, rifles raised—holiday-themed or not—Scott couldn’t tell.

Bernard groaned softly. “So much for the element of surprise.”

Scott muttered under his breath, bitterness tightening his throat. “We’re busted.”

He felt like the biggest failure in North Pole history. He hadn’t read the fine print on his Santa Clause contract, didn’t double-check the Naughty-and-Nice List like he should have—and now he was outmatched by a toy version of himself. A version that only existed because he and Curtis thought it was a clever way to keep the elves motivated in his absence. Now it felt like he’d built his own coal mine instead.

Bernard was dragged away without ceremony—two toy soldiers gripping him by the elbows and pulling him back toward the holding cell like a misbehaving elf.

“I’ll be fine!” he called out, though doubt lingered in his voice. “Just don’t let him put a bow on you—!”

But that was exactly what happened.

Scott and Curtis were marched into the Command Center. In the middle of the room, a tall stool wrapped in colorful paper awaited them. A massive red bow was looped tightly around Scott and Curtis, binding them back-to-back. The toy soldiers flanked them, standing like plastic gargoyles.

Above them, the central screen counted down the final minutes before Christmas.

19:00 minutes ‘til Christmas... 18:59 minutes ‘til Christmas...

Scott shifted against the ribbon, frustration spilling over. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Then came the steady click of polished boots.

Toy Santa strode in with a swagger, chest puffed proudly, plastic face gleaming under the harsh fluorescent lights. His voice dripped with mock surprise. “Why, it’s Scott, isn’t it?”

Scott arched a brow. “Yeah? And what are you supposed to be?”

Toy Santa beamed, tilting his chin like he expected applause. “A better, stronger version of what you used to be—with a flawless complexion, I might add. Look—” He turned his face dramatically toward the light, striking a pose. “It glistens.”

Curtis groaned under his breath. “Oh boy.”

Scott kept his tone calm, steady. “Listen to me. I'm back now. So untie us. Let the elves go. And give me back the coat.”

The grin slid off Toy Santa’s face, replaced by a firmer, colder stare, but his voice stayed mocking. “No can do! It's Christmas Eve. I have coal to deliver. And I won’t let those naughty kids escape their consequences!” He spun on his heel, barking orders to his toy soldiers like a pageant general. “Boys! One, two, three! And—one, two! Try to keep up! Let’s go. Move it on!”

The troops stiffened to attention and began their mechanical march out of the room, the crimson coat draped over one stiff plastic arm like a trophy.

Scott twisted his wrists against the ribbon—no give. Panic gnawed at the edges of his composure. This wasn’t just bad—it was catastrophic.

Behind him, Curtis sagged in defeat. “This is all my fault. I thought I could create another Santa. My elfin pride blinded me to all reason.” He glanced down, voice softening. “There’s only one Santa.”

Scott let out a dry laugh, resting his head lightly against the top of Curtis’s. “Well, I’ve done a pretty rotten job at it. I didn’t check the list twice. My kid thinks I betrayed him. I hurt the woman I love. And now I’ve ruined Christmas.”

The room fell into a heavy silence, broken only by the relentless countdown.

17:29 minutes ‘til Christmas... 17:28 minutes ‘til Christmas...

Tied in ribbon, out of ideas, running out of time—hope felt like the thinnest thing in the world.

But somewhere in Scott’s gut, a quiet voice pushed back against the despair.

She’s coming.

And maybe—just maybe—they weren’t out of miracles yet.

***

The room was tense. Cold—a chill in the air that had nothing to do with snow.

Carol gripped the Tooth Fairy’s arm as they floated down, the world swirling like a magical snow globe coming to life, only this time, she was falling through the wonder, becoming part of it.

Her eyes traced the scene below from the dome’s ceiling—Scott and the younger elf, Curtis she learned his name was, bound together like tangled ribbons in a holiday display, surrounded by blinking lights that seemed almost mocking in their cheer.

As a window slid open, soft snowflakes drifted inside, dusting the air with delicate silver sparkles that seemed to hush the chaos beneath.

Scott’s head jerked up. His breath hitched. “Charlie?” he gasped, blinking against the impossible sight of his son descending from the ceiling, grin wide, the gap from his self-extracted tooth showing proudly.

“Surprise,” Charlie said, already tugging at the oversized red bow that bound Scott and Curtis back to back.

Curtis let out a relieved groan. “Thank the sugarplums.”

The Tooth Fairy floated down with tired grace, his wings beating a slow rhythm. Carol’s boots touched the crunchy floor, and she stood there for a breath too long, blinking, mouth slightly parted as she took it all in—the candy-cane columns, shimmering ice-crystal walls, the warm gingerbread scent swirling in the chilly air, golden lights glowing brighter than any she’d ever seen at home in Illinois.

The North Pole.

It was real.

And somewhere in the middle of it, her gaze locked onto him.

“Scott!”

He turned, as if the whole world suddenly ignited inside him. His steps were slow, stunned, purposeful.

Without hesitation, she threw her arms around his neck, her coat brushing against his, the chill in her hair mixing with the warmth of his breath. They clung to each other as if letting go might make the other vanish. His arms wrapped around her instantly, strong and sure, grounding them both in the impossible truth of the moment. How was she here?

“I got to fly in with the Tooth Fairy,” she whispered as if reading his mind, laughing in disbelief.

His hands slid up to cradle her waist, steadying himself on the feel of her close. “Are you okay?”

Carol nodded. “Yeah.” Her breath frosted in the chilled air, but her cheeks burned warm. Her fingers curled to cup his face, gloved hands brushing against the rough warmth of his skin. She needed to touch him, to anchor herself in reality. His eyes, wide and shimmering, searched hers, and in that frozen breath of time, everything else faded.

And despite the magic, the pain, the impossibility—they smiled. Like fools. Like two souls who’d forgotten the world and remembered only each other instead.

16:06 minutes ‘til Christmas... 16:05 minutes ‘til Christmas...

Behind them, the Tooth Fairy cleared his throat. “If anybody cares… I’m exhausted.” He patted Charlie on the back and turned to Scott. “And she… has a beautiful smile.”

Scott didn’t look away from Carol as he nodded softly. “Thank you. For everything, my friend.”

The Tooth Fairy looked between the two of them—one human, one Santa—and a knowing smile crossed his face. “No. Thank you.”

Carol frowned slightly, sensing a weight behind his words. This ancient, weary guardian understood the stakes none of them could fully grasp.

Adjusting his glasses, he announced with a grin, “I am… the Molarnator!” He shot them one last hopeful glance—and vanished into the snowy night.

Carol chuckled, nestling into Scott’s side. Everything—the Tooth Fairy, the North Pole, Santa—felt utterly surreal, but none of it compared to what she saw when she looked at him. It was as if he couldn’t quite believe she was real. That she was here with him, smiling just as wide.

Scott’s hands tightened around her—not ready to let go—not with the clock ticking and everything still on the line.

He pressed a kiss to her forehead, a gentle anchor in the storm. He exhaled, as if he hadn’t taken a full breath in days. “I didn’t think I’d see you again,” he admitted quietly.

“You almost didn’t,” she whispered, voice trembling, still unsure what force had pulled her here except one undeniable truth: him.

But the moment couldn’t last. It was fleeting. The countdown blinked again:

14:02 minutes ‘til Christmas... 14:01 minutes ‘til Christmas...

Scott looked up, eyes narrowing.

“Come on, guys,” he said, urgency rising again. “We’re not done yet.”

With her by his side, Scott felt more like Santa than he had in a long time. He felt like the leader he was supposed to be—and he led them.

They moved fast. Carol’s hand was tight in his as they freed the elves from the adjoining room. The air filled with sudden noise—cheers, shouts, tools being grabbed. They’d barely had a second to regroup.

Scott gave her one look—one soft, impossible look—and she squeezed his hand.

She didn’t know what she was doing here, or what help she could be. But she knew one thing: she believed in him.

That had to be enough.

They dashed through the workshop halls toward the sleigh port, flanked by elves and Charlie on their heels. Everything was in chaos. Bells rang out in warning. The reindeer shifted restlessly in front of the sleigh, sensing something was wrong.

Just as they reached the edge of the loading dock, they saw it.

Toy Santa. Coat donned. Sleigh loaded to the brim—with coal.

He stood proud in the sleigh, the reins in both his hands as the reindeer took off.

“Not this time,” Scott muttered, already lunging forward, boots pounding the dock as the sleigh lifted from the rails.

And he ran—into the night, after the sleigh.

***

North Pole – Sleigh Port and Sky Above – 11:45 PM

The sleigh’s shadow vanished into the swirling snow, its path illuminated by flickering holiday lights and the orange glow of moonlight behind the clouds.

“What are you doing?” Bernard shouted, shoving past a knot of elves to stand beside Scott. “You gotta save Christmas!”

Scott stared after the departing sleigh. “How am I supposed to save—?”

A sharp whistle cut through the wind. Then the sound of hooves followed—light, clumsy, a little too fast.

Thud. Clop. Clop.

“Chet?” Scott turned just as the baby reindeer skidded to a stop in front of him, harness jangling loosely behind him.

Bernard ran up, panting. “Yeah. He’s still in training.”

Scott raised an eyebrow. “Has he had much flight time?”

Bernard hesitated. “About a minute and a half.”

“Perfect,” Scott muttered sarcastically. But he had no choice. It was now or never. He glanced towards Carol—standing above the crowd of elves, eyes locked on him, her gaze fierce and steady.

He grabbed the reins and swung onto Chet’s back. “Okay, Chet. This is it. You ready to rock and roll?”

Chet made a warbly sort of sound that Scott chose to interpret as a yes. Then they took off—jolting skyward with a rush of wind and an uneven wobble.

“Whoa! Whoa whoa—balance, buddy!” Scott called, tightening his grip.

***

As soon as Scott chased after Toy Santa into the night sky, chaos erupted across Santa’s Village. Toy Soldiers marched clumsily in formation, their mechanical joints stiff but forceful. Elves scattered, regrouped, and armed themselves with whatever they could find—snowballs, ribbon, giant peppermint sticks. A full-blown rebellion was underway.

Carol stood near the center of it all, dazed for only a heartbeat before instinct took over.

A squad of Toy Soldiers closed in on a cluster of young girl-elves, their plastic faces lit from beneath by the flicker of torches. The girls backed up until they hit the candy-cane wall.

Carol stepped forward.

“Hey!” she shouted, grabbing a wooden toy bat from a nearby display stand. She gripped it like a bat, eyes narrowed and feet planted like she was up to bat in the ninth inning.

The soldiers paused.

“Back off,” she warned.

For a moment they hesitated—just long enough for her to swing—cracking one across the head with a clean, satisfying clunk. He spun, arms flailing, before collapsing into the snow.

The other soldiers shuffled back.

“Go!” she urged the young elves. “Get out of here!”

They scattered, giggling and cheering as Carol turned back, poised for the next attacker.

Charlie joined her, launching a snowball directly into one of the soldier’s eyes.

“Nice arm,” Carol muttered, impressed.

“I used to play baseball,” Charlie shrugged. “Travel team.”

Together, they took their stance side by side, holding the line.

***

High above, Scott leaned low against Chet’s neck, urging him faster. “Come on! We got to get them before they get out of the hole!” Chet grunted and flapped harder. The freezing wind tore at Scott’s ears, snow stinging his face as they rose higher and closed in on the original sleigh—now sputtering slightly under the sheer weight of coal.

Toy Santa glanced over his shoulder and did a double take. “You again?!”

Scott launched himself off Chet, landing hard on the sleigh’s platform. The boards shook under his boots.

Toy Santa dropped the reins and lunged. The two Santas collided—one plastic and grinning, the other flesh-and-blood and furious. The sleigh lurched wildly under them.

They grappled for control of the reins, knocking over a sack of coal overboard. Scott grabbed Toy Santa’s beard and yanked hard—only to reveal the molded plastic underneath. “You’re not even a good fake!” he growled.

Toy Santa grinned, even while struggling. “I am perfection!”

Scott didn’t dignify it with an answer. He flipped the sleigh hard, banking left, and dove down—straight toward the town square, where Carol had just knocked out another soldier when she looked up and saw it.

“Move!” she shouted, grabbing Charlie and dragging him behind a gingerbread structure.

The sleigh—Scott’s sleigh—came barreling down from the sky like a comet.

With a mighty crash, it slammed into the Toy Soldiers still standing in formation. Coal exploded across the square like shrapnel, scattering the enemy in a dark spray of black grit.

Scott hopped down, brushing snow from his coat as the elves erupted in cheer.

Bernard and Curtis rushed forward with a small crew. Together, they dragged the stunned Toy Santa from the wreckage. He flailed comically, repeating “Ho ho ho!” in a broken recording loop.

They threw open the transformation chamber—the same machine that had turned the plastic doll into a nightmare version of Santa—and forced him inside.

Curtis yanked the lever.

There was a mechanical whirl, a burst of steam, and when the door opened again, only a smiling, vacant toy Santa sat inside. Lifeless. Harmless.

It was over.

10:02 minutes ‘til Christmas...

Chapter Text

Monday, December 24th, 2002

North Pole – Santa’s Workshop

Once Toy Santa was reduced to nothing more than plastic and stuffing, Scott retrieved the red coat from what remained of the imposter. It was still warm, oddly enough. He slid it on over his shoulders and exhaled. The weight of it—the symbolism, the memory, the magic—settled into him like a second skin.

He felt like Santa again.

Then Charlie’s voice rang out: “We’ve got ten minutes!”

Scott snapped back to reality. “Where’s Carol?”

“Scott,” came her voice—steady, a little breathless—from the side.

He turned.

Everything—the sleigh chase, the battle, the mission—faded. She was here. She was safe. And she was looking at him with that same steady, searching gaze she’d given him in the gym one week ago—like she was trying to see the man beneath the magic. Only now, she might have found him.

He reached her in a few quick strides, pulling her in like he needed to feel her heartbeat just to believe this was real. “Are you all right?”

“I think so,” she said, dazed but smiling. Her eyes sparkled beneath her frost-dusted lashes, her cheeks flushed from the cold and adrenaline. She’d flown with the Tooth Fairy, stared down Toy Soldiers, and somehow still found her way back to him.

He didn’t let go right away. She didn’t either.

They stayed like that for a beat too long, pressed together in the middle of the workshop while elves bustled around them to prepare the sleigh.

Then Bernard hurried toward them.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

Scott gestured toward the town square. “You should know this, Number One. It’s Christmas time. I’ve got to deliver gifts.”

Bernard’s brow lifted. “But Santa, aren’t you forgetting something?”

He blinked. “No.”

Bernard crossed his arms. “You gotta get married.”

Scott froze. And Carol, beside him, drew back a fraction.

“Excuse me?” she said, loud enough that every elf in earshot stopped what they were doing.

He looked down at himself. Red coat. No beard. No belly. No Christmas magic.

Damn.

The clause didn’t just demand belief—it demanded a bond. It wanted more.

“Carol…” he turned to her, his voice softer now. “I—I can’t continue being Santa… unless I find a Mrs. Claus.”

Her mouth parted slightly. “Oh.” The puzzle pieces clicked into place in her mind—the odd urgency from Charlie, Laura’s strange goodbye, Neil’s awkward thumbs-up, the knowing look from the Tooth Fairy.

“So that’s what the whole noodles and pie thing…” she muttered, arms folding across her chest. “You just needed to find a wife.”

He winced. “No.”

She gave him a look. “No?”

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes, I was looking for a wife,” he admitted, his voice low. “No, I didn’t figure on falling—” His throat tightened, the words sticking. Until now, he hadn’t said them to her out loud. “...in love.”

Her lips parted, her eyes softening instantly. “You love me?” Her voice cracked.

He gave her a small, almost sheepish nod—like he was both terrified and relieved to have finally said it.

“This is all happening so fast,” she murmured, glancing around—the snow, the elves, the sleigh, the workshop lit up like a snow globe. This morning she’d been in her own house. This morning he’d been a mortal man with an unbelievable confession.

Scott chuckled gently. “Well, there’s no pressure.”

“Good,” she exhaled, relieved.

“I mean,” he added with mock seriousness, “if I won’t get married I just won't deliver the gifts and children everywhere will stop believing, the elves will lose their jobs, the North Pole will disappear and Christmas will be gone.”

Carol looked at him sideways. That sounds exactly like pressure.

They stood in that stillness for a beat. Everyone else held their breath.

Then—

“Get down on one knee,” Abby whispered behind him.

Scott blinked. “Hm?”

“Do it. Now.”

He glanced down at the tiny elf, then back at Carol—and dropped to one knee.

“Carol,” he said, taking her hand in his. She didn’t pull away.

“Uh-huh?” Her lips curled upward despite herself.

Abby fed him the next lines like a tiny Cyrano. “You say this is happening all so fast.”

Scott repeated, eyes never leaving Carol’s. “You say this is happening all so fast.”

Abby: “But you’ve known me your whole life.”

Scott: “But you’ve known me your whole life.”

Abby: “When you were little and alone—”

Scott: “When you were little and alone...” He laughed under his breath, this was ridiculous—but somehow perfect.

Abby: “Santa—”

Scott turned, smiling gently. “I can take it from here.”

He rose to his feet, still holding both her hands. “Santa was always there for you. And I will be there for you, as long as you continue to believe in me.”

He took a breath. She was watching him—wide-eyed, full of questions, but open.

“I know I’m asking to leave everything at home, but I can guarantee you that this is worth it. This place... This place is all about magic and love... and wonder. And occasionally a thin-crust pizza and a movie on a long winter night.”

Her face broke into a smile—soft, reluctant, but unmistakable. “Is there a school here?”

“We have one,” he said quickly. “The elves need a new principal. Cause as of late some of the elves have been acting a bit… impish.” He looked over at Abby, who rolled her eyes.

Carol laughed. She knew full well he didn’t have all the answers yet. But he was willing —willing to try, willing to make a place for her.

He leaned in, his voice low. “Carol... I love you.”

She searched his eyes, heart thudding. “You do?” she asked, breathless.

He nodded. “Would you be my wife?”

Her heart stopped. Then started again. And this time—it soared.

From somewhere below, Abby whispered, “I will.”

Carol smiled at the girl and shook her head gently. “Thank you. I’ve got it from here.”

And then, looking back at Scott, she whispered— “I will.”

For a heartbeat, they didn’t hear the applause or see the snow swirling in celebration. It was just her arms around his neck, his breath mingling with hers in the cold air, the steady thrum of their hearts between them.

Scott pressed his forehead gently to hers, closing his eyes. “Best Christmas ever,” he murmured.

Carol’s lips curved into a smile she couldn’t hold back. “It’s about to be.”

Cheers erupted across the square. Snow fell in soft, celebratory flurries. Elves clapped and hugged, and Chet let out a triumphant bleat that echoed through the frosty air.

Scott pulled her into his arms again, tighter this time. There was no more pretending, no more doubt.

Just the two of them—and a future more magical than either of them had imagined.

***

Carol’s POV – North Pole

She stayed in Scott’s arms a moment longer, heart racing, the world around them reduced to muffled snow and the sound of their breathing. But then a different kind of chaos erupted.

“Five minutes!” someone shouted.

Elves darted like confetti in every direction. Reindeer were refastened, gifts reloaded, sleigh rails checked and double-checked. It was as if the entire North Pole had snapped into action around them. And Scott—still lacking his belly, beard, and full magic—watched with wide eyes as a familiar hum filled the air.

The wind shifted. Lights flickered.

A swirl of glitter and frost signaled the magical arrival of the Council of Legendary Figures.

Carol turned as the Tooth Fairy appeared first, his grin wide. He must have called them—Cupid, Father Time, Mother Nature, Sandman—all arriving within seconds to assist. Within moments, they’d cleared the remaining coal from the square and conjured something that could almost pass as a wedding venue. Garlands. Lanterns. Snowflake banners strung like tinsel through the air. A shimmering arch near the center of the plaza.

This is really happening.

Then three elf girls approached. Carol didn’t know their names, but they reached for her hands like old friends, faces warm and full of knowing.

“Come on, Mrs. Claus,” one of them whispered.

Mrs. Claus. Her?

“Welcome to the Pole,” she said kindly, the same way—Carol would later learn—that she had welcomed Scott Calvin eight years ago. “I’m Judy.”

They led her into one of the nearby rooms. It smelled like peppermint and pine. Inside, the three elves moved quickly, efficiently.

Two worked together to tie a bouquet—red and white roses appearing out of thin air, ribboned together with thin strands of silver tinsel. In the center, two candy canes formed a delicate heart. She stared at it in her hands.

A cloak—white as fresh snow—was handed to her. She shed her brown coat and practical layers, replacing them with something lighter, softer. No wedding gown. No veil. But this… felt like enough.

A flurry of hands touched up her makeup, smoothing her cheeks, brushing her hair behind her ears. She hadn’t even looked in a mirror. She barely had time to breathe.

A knock.

Charlie poked his head in. “Principal Newman.”

She turned toward him, startled—and smiled. “Charlie, under these circumstances… you can call me Carol.”

He grinned. “Dad’s checking in on the sleigh. I volunteered to check on you.” He glanced at the candy cane clock. “You’ve got about two and a half minutes.”

Carol stared down at the bouquet in her hands, her voice quieter. “This is why you brought me here, isn’t it?”

Charlie gave her a sheepish shrug.

“You know… you could’ve given me a little more warning,” she teased.

“Couldn’t risk you running away,” he said, offering his arm. “Now come on—they’re waiting.”

She stepped through the shimmering archway of lights, her arm looped through Charlie’s, nerves tangled in her stomach like garland. The air here felt different—crisper, tinged with the faint scent of cinnamon and pine, each breath a little sharper, a little sweeter than it should be. Lanterns glowed overhead, casting a soft golden path across the snow. The aisle stretched ahead, lined with legendary figures and elves, their faces alight with quiet anticipation.

This is insane, Carol thought. She was a woman who liked lists, order, structure. A woman who signed permission slips, not marriage certificates. And now… she was about to be married to a man she was still learning —at the North Pole, in front of Santa’s oldest friends, with barely two minutes to spare.

For one tiny, terrifying second, the world tilted. Her heart hammered, a wild drumbeat echoing the sudden flutter in her chest. Can I really do this? she wondered.

But at the end of the aisle—Scott. He turned from the Tooth Fairy mid-sentence, and when his eyes found hers, it was like the world fell away. No garlands, no banners, no audience. Just him.

Their gazes locked, steady and unblinking, and a quiet magic filled the space between them—like the North Pole itself was holding its breath.

And just like that, every doubt melted.

The warmth in his eyes reached her first, pulling at something deep inside: awe, relief, and that impossible mix of joy and vulnerability reserved only for the rarest moments—when you find something you never dared hope for, and suddenly can’t imagine living without.

Wonder. Love. Magic.

Her knees threatened to give out, her heartbeat roared in her ears, breath caught in her chest. But still she moved—one step, then another—drawn toward him like the moon pulls the tide.

By the time she reached him, her fingers trembled. Scott took one of her hands without hesitation, his palms warm even in the winter air, grounding her. A faint scent of pine and peppermint drifted up, making her chest flutter in a way words never could.

“You okay?” he murmured, his voice low, just for her.

She nodded, throat tight with emotion. His thumb brushed over her knuckles, a small, steadying gesture that made her want to laugh and cry all at once. He was slightly trembling too. That helped somehow.

The ceremony began, but she only half-heard Mother Nature’s words—something about love, the magic of belief, and the binding of souls on Christmas Eve. It all blurred into one beautiful haze as she refused to look away from him. The way he stood—like he wasn’t just hearing vows but making silent promises of his own—the kind you felt in your bones.

Father Time stepped forward and presented them with two rings—gold, elegant, swirling with a shimmer only magic could explain. Her hand shook when Scott slid the ring onto her finger, his touch lingered, a barely-there caress that felt more binding than gold and Carol almost gasped.

She returned the favor, sliding the ring onto his finger, the moment stretching beyond time.

Then, finally, Mother Nature’s voice rang clear, poised and radiant like moonlight on ice: “By the powers vested in me… by me… I now pronounce you Santa and Mrs. Claus.”

Cheers swelled, but Carol barely heard them. She and Scott stood locked in place, breathless and overwhelmed.

“Well, go on now,” Mother Nature said with a mischievous smile. “Kiss her!”

Scott stepped closer, both hands finding her waist, pulling her gently against him. His palms were steady; his breath warm against her cheek. His eyes—warm, tired, earnest—found hers.

Unable to hold back, Carol reached up, her fingers tracing the curve of his jaw, memorizing the faint roughness beneath her touch; the warmth of him. She felt him exhale through his nose—one of those half-laughs, half-sighs that made her love him more than she’d thought possible after such a short time.

His eyes closed under her fingertips, just for a moment—a flicker that sent an electric thrill through her. And then he kissed her.

Not rushed. Not shy. Slow and certain. Long and warm, like he wanted her to feel every word they hadn’t spoken. The world narrowed to the press of his mouth against hers, the faint taste of peppermint, the subtle heat of his hand at her back urging her just a fraction closer.

Snowflakes drifted down like delicate confetti, catching the light like tiny promises whispered on the wind.

In that moment, Carol didn’t care if there were a hundred eyes on them or none. She didn’t care that the clock was ticking. She had him. And that was everything.

“Awwwwww!” the elves cooed just as the clock struck midnight.

When they finally parted, the air between them was warm despite the frost. His forehead rested against hers, and she could feel the quiet laugh in his chest.

But then, Carol’s heart leapt as right before her eyes, Scott Calvin began to change. His coat seemed to cinch tighter around a now-round belly. A thick white beard grew, curling like a cloud. His cheeks pinkened, and his hair turned silver at the temples.

He looked completely different. But the eyes? They were still his. The same eyes that had walked into her office asking about Charlie. The same eyes that nervously asked her out for noodles and pie. The same eyes that now looked at her with full, absolute love.

She couldn’t speak.

Because somehow—impossibly—this was real.

True love had brought the magic back.

Charlie stepped forward, all teeth present and accounted for. “Dad—we gotta go.”

Scott turned reluctantly. “Walk me to my sleigh?”

Carol nodded and took his arm, laughter and tears mingling in her chest. Elves parted for them with giggles and waves.

Scott’s voice came soft and low from besides her, a whisper meant only for her: “I never thought I’d find this… with anyone.”

Her heart swelled, warmth blooming through her chest as she closed her eyes for a moment, savoring the truth behind his words. “Neither did I,” she breathed back.

A quiet laugh rumbled from his chest, a sound full of relief and hope.

The world might still be rushing around them, the clock ticking down to Christmas—but in this moment, beneath the falling snow and glittering lights, time had stopped just for them.

But the sleigh—gleaming and ready—waited nearby. Scott climbed in after Charlie and looked back down at her.

“All right. Well, Mrs. Claus, you might want to get some rest. Tomorrow marks the beginning of vacation season for me, which means a three-month honeymoon for us. Nothing tropical. You do not want to see this in a Speedo.”

Carol laughed, genuinely laughed, bouquet still in hand, heart full to bursting. “Don’t be home too late,” she called up to him.

Scott winked. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

The sleigh lifted. Reindeer surged forward. A blur of red and gold soared into the night sky.

Carol stood in the square, still clutching the bouquet. Still wearing the cloak. Still reeling.

Married.

To Santa Claus.

And so it begins.