Which Mistletoe?

Ten: It's For The Kids

Andrei’s POV

I knocked firmly on the Reyes’ door.

Mrs. Reyes opened it with a warm, if hesitant, smile.

“Andrei,” she said gently. “Elara’s not here.”

“I know,” I replied. “I was… hoping to speak with you and Mr. Reyes.”

Her brows pulled together, confusion flickering, but she opened the door wider. “Come in.”

We settled at the dining table. A cup of hot tea sat in front of me, steam warming my hands while they sat across, quiet… guarded.

I inhaled once, steadying myself.

“Let me start by apologizing to the both of you first,” I said, voice low. “Hurting your daughter was never something I even imagined doing, and yet I did exactly that.”

Mrs. Reyes’ expression didn’t soften. Mr. Reyes simply watched me, jaw set, unreadable.

“Hating me is understandable,” I continued. “But I’m trying to make things right. Even if all I can earn is forgiveness—not a second chance.”

Silence. A heavy one.

“Elara was the greatest thing that ever happened to me,” I forced out. “And I… took her for granted. I thought I was building our future, not realizing I was destroying our present.”

My throat tightened.

“I didn’t come here to push my way back into her life. And I’m not asking either of you to convince her for me. I just wanted you to know I see what I did, and I’m trying to be better than the man who hurt her.”

Mrs. Reyes finally reached across and touched my hand.

“Andrei… you made her happy for many years. We saw that. We cared for you like family.” Her smile was faint—sad. “But we also saw her break. I can’t speak for her, and I won’t. You do what you think is right, but please… whatever you do, don’t hurt her again.”

I swallowed. “I won’t.”

Mr. Reyes leaned forward, hands clasped on the table. His voice was quiet, firm, and cut straight through me:

"If you want to prove you’ve changed… do it without asking anything from her.”

A simple sentence.

But it hit harder than any lecture could.

I nodded, throat tight. “I understand.”

I stood, thanked them both, and made my way to the porch.

Before stepping off, I turned back to Mrs. Reyes.

“Can you… not tell her I came by? I don’t want her to think I’m doing this to score points.”

She gave me a small, sad smile. “Take care, Andrei.”

I exhaled and walked toward my car.

Just as I reached the pathway, a familiar white truck pulled up.

Noah stepped out with a scowl like he’d been wearing it for hours. I didn’t bother nodding; I just clicked my key fob and opened my car door.

“…from Elara’s place,” I heard him say to her father.

I froze a half-second.

Elara’s place.

Her own place.

She wasn’t staying with her parents.

She had moved out. Built something new.

Built a life here.

Which could only mean one thing:

She might be staying for good.

And for the first time in months, the hope in my chest didn’t feel like denial—

it felt like a second chance I didn’t deserve… but still wanted to fight for.

I wasn’t expecting to end up at the fire station today. I was just driving around town, trying to understand the place Elara had chosen to disappear to—until I saw the posters taped to lamp posts and pinned to bulletin boards. Toy and gift caravan. Donation drive. Holiday outreach.

Her handwriting was on some of them. I’d recognize it anywhere.

Before I could think twice, I was already pulling into the station parking lot.

Inside, a firefighter looked up from sorting boxes. He scrubbed his palms on his pants as he approached. I remembered him vaguely—he was at the diner with Noah the other day.

“Can I help you?”

“Yeah,” I said, offering a polite smile. “I’d like to donate and, uh… help with your toy and gift caravan. Where do I sign up?”

His eyebrows lifted, pleasantly surprised. “Cool. You can fill out one of the forms over there.”

I grabbed a clipboard and started writing. Name, number, availability. Then—

How much/What would you like to donate?

Without hesitation, I wrote: $500,000

And because I knew it would be easier for them to process, I pulled out my checkbook and filled one out on the spot.

I also ticked the box asking if I wanted to volunteer.

Once done, I handed him the clipboard. “Thanks.”

He scanned the paper… then froze.

“Hold on,” he said, eyebrows climbing his forehead. “Is this a typo or are you joking?”

“What?”

“Five. Hundred. Thousand?” he repeated slowly.

It took me a beat. “Why? Is it… too small?”

“Too—?!” He choked on a laugh. “No! No, man. You’re serious?”

“Well, yeah.” I shrugged. “It’s for the kids, right?”

He let out a loud laugh as he walked backward toward the office, waving the form in the air. “Chief, you are NOT going to believe this!”

I shook my head, amused, and stepped back outside—only to see a familiar white truck pulling up again.

Noah climbed out, expression tightening the second his gaze landed on me.

“I might think you’re following me,” I called out with a smirk.

“You’re in my town,” he shot back, wiping his hands on his pants. “My territory.”

I raised both hands in mock surrender. “Relax. I’m just helping.”

He didn’t respond—just stared, like he was trying to figure out my angle.

I got into my car still smirking… but it faded fast.

The truth hit me in the chest like a punch:

The idea of Elara coming back here because of him terrifies me.

I know I was the reason they stopped talking years ago—but it wasn’t like I forced her. She agreed. She told me it was about boundaries. Protecting our relationship. Making things clear.

And I believed her.

All I ever asked was that if she wanted to share something, she’d share it with me first. With us. With the life we were building.

But sitting alone in my car now, I felt something ugly and honest settle in my stomach.

Realization.

I never really paid attention to what excites her.

Not the way she lights up. Not the things that matter to her.

I was too busy… being busy.

“God, you’re an asshole,” I muttered to myself, gripping the steering wheel.

Maybe Noah wasn’t the threat.

Maybe I was.