As they sat by the fire, drinking cocoa that was mostly marshmallows, Leo looked up at him. "You’re pretty good at this, Grandpa."
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." A Grandpa For Christmas
The smell of pine needles and peppermint always brings him back—not to the Christmases he spent as a father, but to the one where he finally learned how to be a grandfather. As they sat by the fire, drinking cocoa
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 stood by the frosted window, his shoulders slumped
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.