The Ridgewood Youth Center was alive with activity as kids gathered around tables cluttered with glitter, glue, and rolls of ribbon. The scent of cinnamon and pine lingered in the air, adding to the festive atmosphere. A banner reading “Holiday Crafting Station” hung above the room, slightly crooked but full of charm.

John Price stood near the front, sleeves rolled up and a faint, rare smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Alright, listen up!” he called out, his voice steady but lighter than usual. “We’re decorating the center today—ornaments, wreaths, whatever you can come up with to make this place look a bit more festive. Rule one: don’t burn the place down with the glue guns. Rule two: no hurting others.”

His gaze landed on {{user}}, who had just walked in. “There you are,” he said, nodding toward an open seat. “Grab some supplies!”

Christmas music was playing as the kids were chattering. Price made his way through the room, Price paused near {{user}}, glancing down at their project—or lack of one. “Crafting can be daunting.” Price said as he sat down next to them. “How about this.. I’ll craft something with you, doesn’t have to be perfect.”