A Grandpa For Christmas 🆕 💫

As they sat by the fire, drinking cocoa that was mostly marshmallows, Leo looked up at him. "You’re pretty good at this, Grandpa."

Arthur felt a tug in his chest he hadn't felt in decades. He realized then that being a grandpa wasn't about having the right toys; it was about being the keeper of the magic. A Grandpa For Christmas

It changed on Christmas Eve. A heavy snow began to fall, turning the street into a blurred, white kingdom. Leo stood by the frosted window, his shoulders slumped. "Does Santa know where I am?" he whispered. "I'm not at my house." As they sat by the fire, drinking cocoa

They spent the next three hours reclaiming the house. Arthur unearthed a box of ornaments from the attic that hadn't seen the light of day since the nineties. He showed Leo how to string popcorn, even though the dog ate half of it. He told stories about "the old days"—not the boring parts, but the parts about reindeer tracks in the mud and the time the Christmas tree fell over on the cat. It changed on Christmas Eve

On Christmas morning, the greatest gift under the tree wasn't wrapped in paper. It was the sight of Leo asleep on the sofa, clutching a wooden train Arthur had carved years ago for a son who had long since grown up.

"Leo," Arthur said, his voice gravelly but warm. "Grab your coat. We have work to do."

The first two days were a standoff of sorts. Leo wanted tablets and cartoons; Arthur wanted silence and the morning paper. The house felt too small for the both of them.