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LAWSON AND I WENT INTO the storage room in the house and brought out a couple of banquet tables to set up on the front porch. We draped them in white tablecloths and set out all the snow-themed treats we’d made along with the Crock-Pot of hot cocoa and all the toppings.
“Are you sure they are even going to want more cocoa?” I asked, second-guessing the plan, and I crawled around trying to find the outdoor electrical outlet so I could plug in the pot to keep the cocoa warm. “It seems like we’ve given it to them with all the special add-ins and everything a lot over the last couple of weeks.”
“Not all of these guests were here for those,” Lawson said. “And even if they were, it’s Christmas. That means hot cocoa. It’s not like it’s a limited-edition beverage. People drink cocoa all through the winter.”
We’d just gone back inside for all the serving utensils and come out to arrange it all when Vint’s family and another set of guests pulled into the parking area one right after the other. They parked, and I drew in a breath. It was the moment of truth.
I didn’t know why I felt so nervous waiting for them to come into the yard and discover the surprise. It wasn’t like the cookies or the eggnog or the singalong when they had expectations about it. And yet, somehow, that made me more anxious. It was as if those expectations meant they’d given me guidelines. They knew what they wanted, and it was just up to me to take that information and actually make it happen. If I didn’t do it well, at least it was just that I’d failed in that particular way.
With this, I felt strangely vulnerable. It wasn’t a classic Christmas tradition. It wasn’t something they’d asked for. I couldn’t rely totally on Lawson to give me insight into what they wanted so I could try to make it happen. This was something he and I came up with to give them a surprise, and part of me worried they would think it was ridiculous.
Lawson and I walked down the steps and waited at the bottom for them. The families were chatting among themselves as they walked along the narrow path from the parking area to the front of the house and at first it seemed like they hadn’t even noticed the giant snowman. I found that difficult to believe considering they would have had to have seen it while driving up toward the house.
Suddenly, Vint broke through his parents and rushed forward. He stopped a few feet in front of them and stared up at the snowman, drawing in a long, awe-filled breath.
“It’s amazing,” he said. He looked over his shoulder at his parents. “Look! Look at the snowman.”
“It’s a good snowman,” his father said, coming up to wrap his arm around his son’s shoulders.
“Maybe it will bring real snow,” the little boy said.
“I wouldn’t get your hopes up too much,” his mother said. “He’s very cute, but I don’t know if he can change the weather.”
“He might,” Vint said. “He could be a magic snowman.”
“Well, I don’t know how well his magic is working yet this season because he’s brand-new, but we do have something close to snow for you,” Lawson said. He gestured toward the snow play area we set up. “You can go play in it.” He looked at the little boy’s parents. “If it’s okay with your parents, of course.”
He looked up at them with bright, hopeful eyes, and they nodded. The instant he got their approval, he ran forward and jumped over the inflatable snowbank onto the tarp. His foot hit the slippery surface, and he immediately fell down hard. I clutched Lawson’s shirt, waiting for the inevitable scream. This was just perfect. I tried to make holiday magic, and I broke a child.
But there was no scream. Instead, he let out a delighted laugh and reached forward to fill his hands with the fake snow. Everybody let out a sigh of relief, and I noticed another of the families had appeared behind them. The teenage girl who had spent so much of her visit sitting sullenly and wondering when anything was going to happen was peering around her father standing in front of her, looking at the snow. There was a hint of something in her eyes, like she was remembering what it was like to be a child.
“I’m sure he would like someone to play with,” I said. The girl looked up at me like she’d been caught, and I nodded toward the snow and the giggling little boy. “Go ahead. It’s just fake snow.” I lowered my voice and leaned toward her a little. “You can even call it a science experiment.”
A grin broke across her face, and she ran for the snow. Vint offered her a handful of the mush, and she took it happily, molding it and squishing it between her hands. Slowly, the other guests made their way across the grass, and soon nearly all of them had handfuls of the fake snow. The pool inflatables didn’t stand up to the expectation of being a barrier and were soon shed of their sheets and deconstructed from their snowbank piles, but it didn’t matter. Even with some being used as seats and some scattered on the grass, it looked perfect.
As they played, Lawson and I brought their attention over to the treats on the porch. A couple of the adults came up and perused the offerings, filling up napkins and snowflake-decorated paper plates to bring back down to the snow area to share with their families. And just like Lawson said, the hot cocoa was a big hit.
When we were first planning the play area for the guests, I assumed we would just set it up and then I’d leave them to their own devices, but it didn’t work out that way. I ended up standing out on the porch watching them, going in and out of the kitchen to replenish the cocoa and other treats, and even getting in on the playing myself a bit.
The guests were obviously having a blast, and it felt really good to see that. There was a genuine sense of joy in them, something that just came from having fun and making memories together. These were people who didn’t know each other until they came to the bed-and-breakfast, and yet they weren’t just sticking to their families and only interacting with them. They were talking, laughing, and playing together. Something about the thought of these families showing up in the vacation pictures constantly being snapped on phones throughout the group made my heart warm.
As I was filling the plate of snowball cakes back up, Lawson came over and rested his hand on my lower back.
“I’ll be right back,” he said and kissed my cheek before rushing off.
I was worried as I watched him leave. He hadn’t said where he was going and seemed to be in a rush. I hoped his mother or the facility hadn’t called with something wrong. But I tried not to show my worry and kept having fun with the guests. They stayed out playing even as the sun started going down, stopping only when the temperature had dropped considerably and all of them were getting tired.
They thanked me for the surprise, and I noticed Vint run over and hug the inflatable snowman as his parents tried to herd him inside. He whispered something to the inflatable before bounding up onto the porch.
“That was great,” he said.
He was covered head to toe in the foamy mixture, and I was sure the washer was going to be getting a workout the next day, but I wasn’t too worried about it. Baking soda and body care products were by far not the worst things that the machine had dealt with, I was sure.
Lawson still wasn’t back, but I went to work cleaning up by the glow of the snowman’s internal lights and the porch light. I brought the dishes into the kitchen, and when I came out, Lawson was walking through the yard.
“Be right back,” he said again and went inside.
This time, he actually came back moments later. He helped me get the last of the dishes inside and pack away the few leftover treats, then stripped off the tablecloths and brought them to the laundry. We folded the tables and put them back in storage, then stepped out and looked out over the yard. It was covered in fake snow and pool floats, a couple of pieces of dropped treats, and a balled-up tarp.
“I’ll start deflating the toys,” I said with a sigh.
He laughed. “Just open them up and bring them up to put under the porch so the wind doesn’t take them away. Tomorrow we’ll drag them back out and take a hose to them all and the grass.”
“Sounds good to me.”
We finished getting everything put away and went inside to clean up. I came downstairs and went into the kitchen to pour drinks for our usual evening together on the porch, thinking he might tell me what was going on then. Lawson was already in the kitchen, and when I walked up to the counter, I noticed he had a big glass bowl in front of him and was filling it with a mound of freshly made whipped cream.
“What’s that for?” I asked.
He opened up a cabinet and pulled out a bag from the candy shop. Grinning, he reached in and pulled out a cellophane sack of Christmas-colored chocolate chips.
“It took forever for me to get them,” he said. “The line was all the way out the door and down the sidewalk. Most of their stock was gone. I bought all the chocolate chips they had left.”
He opened up the bag and sprinkled the chips over the whipped cream, then reached in the drawer for two spoons.
“You did that for me?” I asked.
“Of course,” he said. “You are doing so much to make sure everyone else gets their traditions and happy memories. You can go without your own.”
An unexpected surge of nostalgia and emotion came over me, and I kissed him.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
We gathered up blankets and our drinks and carried them along with the whipped cream and chocolate chips out onto the porch. Cuddling up together on the porch swing, we each took a bite of the simple but meaningful treat. Lawson made an approving sound.
“See?” I said. “It’s delicious.”
I leaned my head over to rest on his shoulder and let out a sigh. He kissed the top of my head and rested his on it. I was settling into deep relaxation when his head suddenly popped up and his body went tense.
“Holly, look,” he said.
“What? What is it?”
“Look at the snowman,” he said.
At first, I worried it had broken free of its stakes and was starting to drift away. I didn’t want to try to tackle a ten-foot-tall inflatable snowman in the dark. But then I saw what he was pointing out. Not the snowman itself, but in the light coming off it.
Snowflakes.
They were light and delicate, but they were there.
“It’s snowing,” I said.
Lawson let out a shocked laugh. “It’s snowing.”
As we watched, the flakes got denser, and soon we could see them falling heavily right beside us. I couldn’t believe it. Maybe the snowman was magical after all.
