“Careful, careful!” Mary-Beth gasped, tugging your hands away from the piping-hot batch of oatmeal cookies she had just pulled from the oven. You pouted, watching as she fussed over the sweet treats.

“These are for Santa Claus. Not {{user}}.” Your wife teased lightly, and you let out an breathy chuckle.

Mary-Beth went all out for Christmas. This being the third year you have spent with her in this warm little cabin, you were used to her silly routines.