Against her better judgment, she had to wonder: how could a guy with a house like this be worried about money? Clark was, to put it mildly, a complete and total miser. A penny-pincher. The festival was just the visible tip of the iceberg. She’d even caught a glimpse into his car’s trunk during their trip to bring food to the families on the outskirts of town. He claimed he intended to spend one week in town, but only packed one backpack’s worth of clothes. Everything about him proclaimed his truth: money mattered, and he wasn’t going to waste a penny of it, even if those pennies might make an entire community happy.

He had everything. But more than everything, he had nothing. Nothing of any value. Kate didn’t have a lot—she worked for the festival because she loved it, not because the festival was paying her well—but even though she counted pennies and cut coupons so she could work in her dream job, richness filled her life. Emptiness filled Clark’s.

Her heart bled for him.

“No,” she muttered. “No more sitting around.”

Admittedly, she struggled to make her heavy limbs rip the covers away and expose her body to the cold air of the old house, but she couldn’t stay in bed any longer. Her eyes flickered to the clock above the mantel. 8 o’clock. 8 o’clock gave her… She counted on her fingers… Twenty-eight hours until the end of Christmas altogether. Twenty-eight hours to change a life, to fill it to the brim with magic.

Slipping out of bed, she marveled at the soft slouch of the pajama material against her skin. It served as a good distraction against the cold floor beneath her feet. It should figure Clark would have a massive, historical house with every modern luxury only to ignore the modern amenities like under-floor heating in favor of lighting a sooty fireplace.

As Kate crossed the room, she caught her own reflection in the mirror. Her makeup came off in the wash, her hair remained damp after her shower, and the pajamas Emily dug up from one of the wardrobes weren’t the traditional Christmas pajamas she always wore because those were tucked in her overnight bag, which was subsequently shoved into a random closet on the first floor as Emily was in a rush to get her into bed.

Emily. Kate paused at the door. Before slipping into the oblivion of a Seuss-themed dream, Emily gave her explicit instructions not to get out of bed until Christmas morning, citing Kate-cicle’s need to warm her bones and recover with some sleep. Kate cracked the oaken bedroom door slightly.

“Emily?” she called.

The house breathed in response, but no answer made its way through the halls. She cleared her throat, raising her voice lightly.

“Emily? Are you out there?”