The smell of pine needles and peppermint always brings him back—not to the Christmases he spent as a father, but to the one where he finally learned how to be a grandfather.
As they sat by the fire, drinking cocoa that was mostly marshmallows, Leo looked up at him. "You’re pretty good at this, Grandpa." A Grandpa For Christmas
It changed on Christmas Eve. A heavy snow began to fall, turning the street into a blurred, white kingdom. Leo stood by the frosted window, his shoulders slumped. "Does Santa know where I am?" he whispered. "I'm not at my house." The smell of pine needles and peppermint always
For Arthur, the holidays had become a quiet routine of televised carols and store-bought fruitcake. That was until his daughter, frantic and overworked, dropped off seven-year-old Leo for a week. Arthur looked at the boy—all untied shoelaces and missing front teeth—and felt a sudden, sharp panic. He knew how to fix a leaky faucet or balance a checkbook, but he had forgotten how to see the world through the lens of wonder. A heavy snow began to fall, turning the
Arthur felt a tug in his chest he hadn't felt in decades. He realized then that being a grandpa wasn't about having the right toys; it was about being the keeper of the magic.