A gleam strikes Grandpa’s clever eye, and I realize: he knows we’ve been pretending. Grandfathers are very good at knowing secrets, especially the heavy-of-heart ones. Maybe it’s my lack of wedding talk, or the way Hall and I are with each other. He doesn’t ask what my motives are, likely guessing that I did it (as I do most things) for attention.

“You see?” he whispers. “He’s carrying the whole moon over there. It shines out of his eyes when he looks at you.”

This is the last thing I need to hear. “I suppose,” I mumble uncomfortably.

“You suppose? I hope you see what’s in front of you, and that you appreciate who you have.” Grandpa is rarely stern with me and can’t keep it up for long. “I worry about you.”

“I know I’m lucky. I appreciate Hall very much.” I’m going to cry if I don’t get out of here. “Night, Grandpa.”

“Merry almost-Christmas, sweetheart.” He pats my back fondly, letting me go. I walk on wobbly legs upstairs, dodging children hiding from their parents. I close my bedroom door behind myself, gulp down a sharp and shaky breath, and have to sit down. Except the bunk bed is gone.

Hall enters with two steaming cups of hot chocolate, expression turning sheepish when his gaze travels from me to the bed. Bed, singular. “Sorry about this. My magic is, ah, blinking out a bit. Happens sometimes.”

“Your magic spontaneously turned the bunk bed into . . . what is this, a queen?”

He nods slowly, eyebrows high. “I’m as surprised as you are. I’ll do a maintenance check on my magic in the morning, but I’m so exhausted right now from a very long day of Christmas Eve magic-making that I can’t possibly set it right tonight.” He looks convincing, but I eye one of the romance novels he bought at Gold Rush with suspicion, lying on his nightstand with half its pages dog-eared to mark favorite passages.

“All right.” I slide into bed on the left side; he climbs in on the right and then passes me a hot chocolate. I’m incredibly full; if I consume one sip or bite of anything more, I might explode, and also I just brushed my teeth. But I accept it, of course.

“Nice bedspread.” I tug the covers up to my middle. It features a giant red pickup truck with pine trees sticking out of the bed. hall’s christmas tree haul.

“Thank— Oh? I hadn’t noticed. Would you look at that! Yes, so it is. I’m glad my subconscious magic picked it.”

“Your subconscious magic has good taste.” I glance at him, then away, then back at him. He’s in an old-fashioned stocking cap, the end of it drooping onto his shoulder, with a fuzzy white pom-pom. “Never mind.”

“What, this?” He reaches up to touch it. “It’s traditional Christmas Eve garb. You want one?”

“No.”

“Your loss.” Under the bedspread, he crosses his ankles. Sighs dreamily. “My first Christmas Eve night in a human body.”