To ease the conversation, I reached over to play some music. The first station had All I Want for Christmas is You by Mariah Carey. I looked over at Olive, and she gave me a death glare.

“Oh, come on, this is a classic.” I turned the volume even higher and saw her throw her head back.

I belted out the lyrics and they bounced off my car walls. Olive groaned. “You know you’re a much better skier than you are a singer,” she said.

As I sang the lyrics of the song we played frequently at the resort, I couldn’t tell if Olive was amused or annoyed. I was notoriously known for being the best at Christmas karaoke during our work holiday parties. Coop could testify.

I spent the entire ride to her house serenading Olive, and although she pretended to hate every second, I noticed her little foot tapping to the beat on the floorboard and a twitch of a smile on her face.

When we got to the house, she hesitated to get out of my car.

“You good, Olive?”

She nodded. “I just don’t know how this is going to go. I can’t be held responsible for whatever happens in there.”

I chuckled. If she knew how Christmases on my dad’s side of the family were, she would not be worried.

Being an only child was lonely until holidays with my dad’s family came around. With so many cousins, aunts, and uncles—all rambunctious and wild—it was like a zoo there on Christmas Eve.

I got out of the car and ran around to open the door for Olive. “What are you doing?” She asked with a frown.

“Opening…the door for you?”

“Oh…” She hesitated but eventually hopped down to the snow-covered driveway, and I thought I saw the corner of her mouth move up.

Matt, Logan, and I managed to get the tree off the top of my SUV and carry it inside. It wasn’t particularly heavy, mostly awkward to get through the narrow wooden door frame. Thirty minutes later we had the tree set up in water and needles covering the hardwood floors.

Olive brought me a water bottle and placed her tiny hand on my back. I whispered a quiet “thank you” in her ear.

It amazed me that Olive never expected help from anyone, that something as small as opening her door or brushing her back nearly had her malfunctioning. I could practically see her wires disconnecting one by one with every gesture, like she didn’t understand what my goal was. It seemed that Olive’s love language was acts of service, and I was here to deliver. When she blushed at my whispered gratitude in her ear, my lips brushing against the soft spot behind her lobe, I couldn’t hold back my grin.