“Now you know I can’t just fly down there every time I want to see you. Those plane seats kill my back.”

I laughed at his stubbornness. “Okay, Grandpa. Maybe we can meet halfway.” A tear hit my cheek, surprising me. Why did it feel like I was saying goodbye to more than Finn and Aspen?

“Seriously, Olive. We know this was a hard trip, but don’t let it make you feel like you can’t come back. I think Mom was the happiest she has been in years. Seeing you here? Man, she lit up.” He paused. “Even though I’m still the favorite.”

I laughed through my tears. “Well, I’m boarding now, so I have to go, but I’ll talk to you later, right?” I sniffled and hoped it was quiet enough for him to not notice.

“Text us when you land. We love you, kid.”

I nodded and said a quiet, “love you,” trying to hold it together enough to board. I walked down the bridge, my ticket clutched in one hand, and my bag on my shoulder. I prayed I could get back home without second-guessing my last-minute flight.

Even if I hopped off this plane right now and ran into Finn’s arms screaming that I loved him and I was so sorry for deceiving him, would he care? Would he want me back? Would he eventually grow to love me the way I loved him?

I knew the answers. And they weren’t the ones I wanted. So I boarded my flight, shuffling along the narrow aisle until I reached my row. When I did, I shoved my bag in the overhead compartment. An overwhelming sense of déjà vu hit me, and I pictured the last flight I was on—pushing too-big luggage into a too-small compartment. The memory almost made me laugh. Almost.

I took my seat and looked out the window at the snow that fell. It was a picture-perfect Christmas in Aspen, like a snow globe came to life, full of lights and cheer. I knew one thing was true: Finn taught me to love Christmas again. And although I may be leaving almost as broken as I’d arrived, I would cherish the fact that he helped this Grinch’s heart grow three sizes.