Operation: Christmas Miracle

Claire stared at the blueprints splayed across the worn oak table in Arthur’s office. The air in Pineville, thick with the scent of pine needles and something vaguely like gingerbread, felt suffocatingly whimsical. It was a stark contrast to the sterile, ozone-scented efficiency of her Manhattan existence, a world where ‘magic’ was a poorly executed marketing slogan.

“The ‘Evergreen Dream Machine’,” she repeated, the words tasting like glitter on her tongue. “You’re serious.”

Ben, his sleeves rolled up, a smudge of something colorful on his cheek, beamed. “As serious as a snowman with a top hat, Claire. It’s perfect!”