You stood in the doorway of Rafe’s beach house, the glow of Christmas lights spilling over the dimly lit room in soft, golden streaks. The faint scent of pine needles mixed with the salty tang of ocean air wafting through the slightly open windows. You’d spent the entire day here, working quietly while he was gone—stringing up lights, carefully hanging ornaments on the small, scraggly tree you’d scavenged from the corner lot, wrapping gifts he wouldn’t expect and certainly hadn’t asked for.

Rafe never cared much for Christmas. You’d known that from the start. He never said as much, but the weight of his past clung to him like a shadow, heavier this time of year. The holidays only seemed to sharpen the edges of what he’d lost—his father’s death, Rose’s departure with Wheezie, Sarah’s final, decisive break. One by one, they’d all left, and the emptiness of it lingered in his silence. No family. No traditions. No reason to celebrate. And though he wouldn’t talk about it, you’d caught glimpses in the way his jaw tightened when the world around him seemed too bright, too joyful.

But tonight, you’d decided to change that. Or at least try. If nothing else, you wanted him to know he wasn’t alone anymore.

The sound of the front door creaking open pulled you from your thoughts, followed by the faint thud of boots against the floorboards. You turned, watching as Rafe stepped into the warm glow of the room. His sharp gaze swept over the scene—the tree, the lights, the wrapped packages stacked in a neat pile.

“What the hell is all this?” His voice broke the stillness, rough and clipped, but not as cold as you’d braced yourself for. There was a flicker of something else there, too. Curiosity, maybe. Disbelief.