Scarlett listened quietly as Xander talked, her fingers threaded with his, her steps slow as they walked deeper into the softly lit living room. She smiled at the right moments, laughed when he scoffed dramatically and called himself anything but a menace. But as he described his family filling a mountain house with fifty people, generations blending, memories stacked on memories, she could feel her chest constricting tighter and tighter. It sounded beautiful, truly. Chaotic, warm, and full. The kind of excitement she used to imagine existed in other people's lives, but not hers. It never did. A place where people stayed, a place where people chose each other. And for a moment, she felt that familiar ache — the ghost of her sisters' faces, the echo of doors closing, the weight of being only fifteen years old and alone, and having to survive the rest of her life on her own because her sisters abandoned her after their parents died. She swallowed it down gently, without letting it touch the surface. He didn't need that right now. They didn't need that right now. So, instead, Scarlett squeezed his hand, grounding herself in the warmth of his palm instead of the bitter cold of old memories. "That... Sounds really nice," Scarlett said softly. She offered him a small smile — a real one, even despite it being a little fragile at the edges. "I can see why the place means so much to you." Before the mood could drop too far, she inhaled, then brightened just a little, nudging him forward with a gentle tug of their joined hands. "Okay," she said, her tone shifting into something a little lighter, warmer, and intentionally playful. "Before I start crying and ruin my mascara, I need to show you the star of the show." She guided Xander toward the Christmas tree, blue eyes glancing to it proudly as they stepped in front of it. The lights shimmered off the ornaments she and his sisters carefully placed — some new, some borrowed from his sisters, some handmade in a panic thirty minutes before he got home. "Ta-da," Scarlett said softly, releasing his hand so she could gesture at it with a little flourish. "The official Kinsley-Approved Christmas Tree. I think this might be my favorite part."