I had never really seen my town like this before. It’s possible that was what Merry Street of Christmas, Oklahoma, always looked like when it snowed, but not that I could recall. It was like something out of a postcard or a snow globe.

Or a stolen photo on a website.

It was magical.

At that same moment, the first strings of “Happy Xmas (War Is Over)” began to play and Steve bravely decided to join in with John Lennon. Let’s just say Yoko did it better. But then to my surprise, Esha joined in as well. Arthur laughed. Then his eyes met mine and we both began to sing along, too. And, despite everything that got us here, for all its random weirdness and near-death experience, it was as close to a perfect Christmas moment as I’d ever had. I would remember it forever.

The final voices of the Harlem Community Choir were fading as I pulled the Hummer into the lone empty spot at the front of the inn and parked.

Safely.

“Well done, Finley,” Esha said in warm approval.

“Woot-woot!” came from Steve.

Arthur smiled and held my gaze. “Perfect,” he said so only I could hear.

The four of us exited the Hummer into the snowfall and Steve gave a salute.

“Thank ya for the adventure, folks. Merry Christmas!”

“Hold up, Steve,” I told him. “You’re not leaving.”

“Absolutely not,” Arthur affirmed.

I saw Steve start to blush. “There’s a party going on,” he said, pointing to the windows where loads of people were visible.

“You’re staying here tonight,” I told him. “At the inn.” Even if it meant he took my tiny room and I slept on a lobby sofa (once we got it out of storage).

“It’s snowing,” Arthur said to him. “Besides, we have to get your car back.”

“Y’all sure?” he asked, hesitant.

I took his hand and affected a moderately decent British accent. “Absolutely.” After all, I owed him. Big time.

He smiled. “Well, okay!”

The four of us went up the steps and through the front doors and we entered the party.

The entire town wasn’t there, obviously. But the important people were, the ones who had known our family for years, and the ones who got things done.

As we stood at the threshold between the entry and the lobby lounge, Ayisha appeared by my side. “Took you long enough,” she stage-whispered, nodding hi to Arthur, who stood behind me. He waved back.

“I drove a Hummer H2!” I stage-whispered back, then squeezed her hand to convey my thanks. She shook her head at me, and smiled. An indulgent smile, sure, but it wasn’t a smirk. I would update her later about Sonya Martinez.

Because right then it was as if the crowd sensed our arrival and there was a subconscious parting. And though it wasn’t quite a record-scratch moment, it was darned close.