“Kringle is a boy. He’s a Norwegian forest cat who wandered in one day from the snow.” As she crooned gently to the animal in question, he rolled onto his back, exposing four feet of belly floof.

“All tortoiseshells are girls,” Cole argued.

“Most tortoiseshells are girls,” Miriam corrected. “The ones who aren’t”—she pointed at Kringle—“are magic.”

“I hesitate to ask how much he weighs,” Cole said as he lifted Kringle up to get an estimate—and was engulfed by the monster.

“I’m going to take you home,” he whispered.

“Cole! Do not steal the cat!”

“Did I hear ‘Cole’? Miriam, have you finally brought us the Infamous Cole?”

Miriam’s cousin Hannah came down the stairs, darting in for a quick, hard hug. Her hair was the color of dark honey and looked sun-burnished even inside. It was braided down her back, reaching to her waist. Her eyebrows winged over dark eyes, olive skin, and soaring cheekbones. Miriam’s heart, which she’d thought was already as broken as it could be, shattered into tiny shards at the sight of her.

Hannah, her entire childhood in a person, one-third of the trifecta of trouble that made up every happy memory Miriam had from before she’d left her parents’ house. Her first real friend. Hannah, who she’d relegated to likes on social media posts and rare, stilted phone calls. She’d sacrificed so many relationships to be free of her father, and she’d pretended she didn’t miss Hannah like a hole in her heart, but she couldn’t now.

Hannah turned to Cole. “I’m so excited to finally meet you!” She threw her arms around him, and Cole, never a man to turn down a hug, picked her up.

“Mimi, your cousin Hannah looks like the Jewish Mae West? I’m very angry that you’ve withheld this vital information from me for seventeen years.” Cole grinned.

Miriam elbowed him. “I think Mae West was the Jewish Mae West.”

Hannah stepped back and scanned Cole. “You, however, look like Dick Casablancas got put through a Froyo machine.”

“I’d be offended if that wasn’t the exact vibe I’d been cultivating. Is there a room for me, or do I have to sleep on the floor in this miscreant’s room?” Cole asked. “Or in a manger?”

“I think there’s room for you at the Christmasland Inn,” Hannah said, already moving. “C’mon, Casablancas, I’ll put you in Miriam’s childhood room. It still has some of her old Baby-Sitter’s Club books tucked into the back of the closet.”

“Oooooooh.” Cole followed Hannah up the stairs. “I’ll see you in the morning, my love! Claudia Kishi awaits me!”