Dear Santa, was the one-bed blizzard trap strictly necessary? Because now I’m stuck with my ex, my dead sister’s kid, and a fireplace we both pretend we don’t want to share. Eight years ago, I walked in on my boyfriend Ethan and my sister. End of story, end of us, end of every dream we had. Now with my estranged sister gone, a freak snowstorm traps me and Ethan in her crumbling house with one bed, no heat, and a traumatized seven-year-old who thinks he doesn’t deserve Christmas. Ethan’s richer, sharper, and infuriatingly hot. I’m determined, exhausted, and pretending I’m not watching him teach a little boy how to build a fire. As we create Christmas magic from forgotten decorations and midnight confessions, the truth about that devastating Christmas eight years ago begins to surface. But with a little boy's future hanging in the balance and our hearts on the line, can we rebuild what was destroyed? Or will the snow melt before we find our way back to each other? A snowed-in second chance romance that proves sometimes the greatest gifts are the ones you thought you'd lost forever. I wake to the sound of muffled crying. For a moment, I'm disoriented. Then I remember where I am, and why, and the crying registers as coming from across the room. Axel. I lie still for a moment, hoping it would stop, but the crying continues. I sit up, running my hands through my hair. The house is freezing. The fire has died down to almost nothing, and I can see my breath in the dim light. Outside, the wind is still howling, making the old house creak and groan. I stand, and my joints protest, but I pad over to where Axel's mattress is. The floorboards are ice cold and creak under my weight. Axel is curled up in a ball under the covers, his small shoulders shaking. I hesitate. This isn't my job. This isn't my kid. This isn't my responsibility. "Hey," I whisper. "You okay?" He goes completely still and slowly turns toward me. His face is tear-streaked and blotchy. "Sorry," he whispers immediately, wiping at his nose with the back of his hand. "I didn't mean to be loud." "You didn't wake me," I lie. "I was already up. Couldn't sleep." He watches me carefully as I squat beside his mattress. "Bad dream?" He nods, still watching me like he's waiting for me to leave. Or yell. Or both. "Want to talk about it?" He's quiet for so long I think he's not going to answer. Then, in a small voice says, "I dreamed about Mama. She was really mad, and she slapped me. She hit me again and again when I cried. Like before." The rage flooding through me takes my breath away. Not at him, but at her. At Britney, who's dead and beyond my reach but who left this little boy behind. "When I go to my new family," Axel continues, his voice trembling, "will they hit me when I cry too?" And just like that, the last wall around my heart crumbles. "No." The word snaps out, and I clear my throat. "No, buddy. Good families don't hit kids. Ever." "But what if I'm bad? What if I spill my milk... or wet the bed?" "Even if you mess up. Even if you cry. Even if you're scared. They won't hurt you." "How do you know?" "Because there are people who want to take care of kids. People who are kind." He's quiet again, but I can see him thinking about this. "Are you really my dad?" he asks suddenly, and the question is like a knife between my ribs. I look at this little boy who shares my DNA but not my choice, who's innocent of the circumstances that created him, and who's been hurt by the same woman who hurt me. Before I can figure out how to answer, Axel's eyes shift to something behind me, and his body goes rigid. "Sorry," he whispers urgently. "I'm sorry, I was being quiet, I'm sorry—" I turn to see Cassidy standing near the entrance of the living room, her satin bonnet askew, and wearing an oversized T-shirt hanging to her thighs. "You have nothing to apologize for, sweetheart," she says, moving closer and kneeling right beside where I'm squatting. Axel studies her face, noticing the tears. "Were you sad, too?" Cassidy nods. "Sometimes grown-ups have bad dreams too." "I can share my blanket," he offers, tugging a corner loose. "It's warm." "Oh, honey, that's sweet, but keep your blanket," Cassidy says. "If it's okay with you, I'd like to sit right here. We'll both feel safer that way." "Will you both stay?" he asks quietly.