He’s wearing a camel turtleneck. “Oh, so you get to look normal, but I have to wear this?” I grumble when I sidle close enough.

Hall smiles down at me. It’s such a genuine, warm smile, the skin around his eyes crinkling, that suddenly I can’t remember why I was annoyed.

“You look amazing,” he tells me, voice low.

He would think that, since he picked it.

“If I have to wear jingle bells,” I insist, “then so do—”

His sweater is infested with them before I can finish my sentence.

“Why didn’t you make me say the magic words?” My eyes narrow.

“You really only need them when I’m not in total agreement with your wishes. It doesn’t cost me anything to just grant wishes, if I feel like it. But sometimes I make you say the magic words because Mariah Carey is a legend and every time you recite her lyrics, the world becomes a sparklier place.”

I stare at him. He holds my gaze, still beaming.

“You are unreal,” I say.

We’re not the only ones stumbling around in an unfamiliar environment. The local news is all in a tizzy over the unexpected overnight snowfall. It’s the strangest phenomenon: snow has been falling nonstop, but the accumulation never exceeds twelve inches.

“What we’ve got here is a cold front,” Hall informs everyone, turning down the volume of the weatherman on TV. “A level two nor’easter producing heavy preliminary snowfall across parts of northeastern Colorado and southwest Wyoming. There is wind movement, hail, ice pellets, and evaporation in inches. We’re talking full coverage of I-22. Climate impact, et cetera.”

“Interested in meteorology, are we?” Grandma observes dryly, taking his measure.

“Yes, I’ve been teaching myself. I think the weather is fascinating.” Her sarcasm misses its target, and I recognize the exact second that his genuine smile hits: Grandma doesn’t know how to react. Her eyes grow three sizes. His straightforward geniality has taken a whisk to her brain.

“Bettie!” Hall sings, steering me into the kitchen toward a buffet of sugar cookies. There’s got to be over a hundred cookies here. He picks up a frosted poinsettia and shoves it in my mouth. “You need to eat something to get your energy up before we start the gingerbread house competition. I’m not going to tell you how you should construct yours, but I strongly recommend the use of Jolly Ranchers as bricks. Total game changer.”

“It’s too early for me to be any good at construction, Hall.”

“What are you talking about? How are you still tired? I’ve been awake since four.”

I skirt a glance around the room. “Yeah, I can see that.”

“Doesn’t it look so much better? Your mom walked in on me making candles, and my hands were covered in red wax. She screamed. I can’t believe it didn’t wake you up. Then I made cinnamon rolls for everyone and invited your dad to use one of my earbuds so that we could listen to Celtic Christmas Podcast together.” His eyes darken. “He declined. Your father is in dreadful need of holiday spirit. He’s a four point one.”