Merry Christmas, @magicmagnus!
Read on AO3
*****
this year, i'll give it to someone special.
The morning of December 16th is one of those mornings.
First of all, Magnus sleeps through his alarm. Then the hot water doesn’t work in the shower so his hair is absolutely not standing up to the best of its potential, and he cuts his finger chopping up fruit for breakfast, and the only band-aids he has are pink Barbie ones, and his car won’t start for five whole minutes because it’s so icy-cold outside. To top things all off, it’s a Saturday. Magnus finds the concept of having to get up and get anywhere early on a Saturday completely repugnant.
But having a five year old changes a lot of things. Bea has decided she wants to become a figure skater , this winter –– of course, in the spring she was going to be a gymnastics champion, and in the summer a soccer star, so he’s not putting all his eggs in that basket. But because he loves his daughter, Magnus will keep dutifully getting up early on his precious Saturdays, and ferrying her to the local ice rink for the weekly ‘Little Penguins’ under-7s skating class.
“And last week Adam said I fell over the least I ever have and he’ll let me go backwards this week if I can do my wiggly skating for twenty whole seconds,” Bea tells him, straining enthusiastically out of her booster seat to peer through the windshield as they approach the ice rink. One of her long black plaits swings with the motion of the car. “I’m the best in the whole group at that!”
“That’s very exciting, pumpkin,” Magnus tells her, trying to hide his amusement while he looks for a parking space. Magnus has all the faith in the world in his daughter, but it has to be said, she is not the best skater of the bunch. She’s probably settled comfortably at the very bottom of the list. Still, if Bea is happy and confident and enjoying herself, Magnus couldn’t care less that she falls down more often than she manages to let go of the sides of the rink. It’s not like he has any vested interest in skating.
The ice rink is busy this time of year, getting busier each week; in the depths of the festive season, it makes sense that more people are coming, Magnus figures. At the start of fall, the ice rink was always quiet, and only a handful of kids came to the club. Now that they’ve reached the clutches of mid-December, snow is falling outside as well as in the rink, and winter coats and woolen scarves have been brought out for casual use anyway, and everyone’s feeling magic of the season -- couples are cosied together everywhere you look, mistletoe hangs from doorways, sparkling lights illuminate everywhere you turn and the nights come so early that the city seems to be in a permanent state of glittering evening.
Magnus hates Christmas, but he’s trying not to think about that. This is only going to be his second Christmas alone with Bea, but he’s trying not to think about that, either.
Luckily, the rink is closed down for other customers while the kids’ group is going on, so Magnus doesn’t have to deal with any annoying couples or festive-minded tourists crowding the place up too much much. Bea is still chattering excitedly, her legs swinging back and forth against Magnus as he carries her in on his hip. One of her mittens is dangling haphazardly out of her sleeve. Magnus fixes it back onto her hand while he waits for the woman at the front desk to swipe their membership card, overly aware that they’re running a few minutes later than usual –– thanks to his morning, which still has a bad mood settling like freshly fallen snow on the landscape of his mind, and which he’s only pushing back for Bea’s sake.
“Enjoy the skate, Little Penguin!” the front desk lady says, leaning towards Bea with a voice a touch too high-pitched and patronising. Bea only ignores her and looks impatiently towards the doors of the rink. Just before Magnus can rush off, the woman adds, “Oh, and there’s a new refreshments stall inside for the holiday season, so be sure to get a themed hot chocolate while you’re here!”
She’s clearly been told to upsell that, but ooh, Magnus thinks. He does have a weak spot for hot chocolate.
It’s several more minutes of getting Bea inside and lacing her skates onto her feet and making sure her coat is buttoned up to her chin before he can unleash her onto the ice, where she immediately stumbles off towards the gaggle of little kids and their cheerful instructors in the middle of the rink. Magnus watches to make sure she reaches them without falling on her face, and then, once she does, finally lets out the huge sigh that’s been building in him all morning.
Okay. They’re here. He’s still groggy from waking up late and his hair still doesn’t look its best, and his finger is still smarting underneath the Barbie plaster Bea had so helpfully applied, but at least Bea’s not missing her club, and he now has at least one hour to get some writing done at one of the shaky picnic benches that the parents sit on while this club happens. He’s only mildly distracted by looking up every ten seconds to make sure Bea hasn’t crashed into anything and caused herself grievous bodily harm.
There are several loud screams from the kids in the middle of the ice, but they’re screams of excitement, so Magnus doesn’t stress too much about it. He sits down on the first bench he finds, takes out his notebook, and begins to write.
It’s only ten minutes later that he admits it: the writing isn’t coming. It’s one of those disjointed days in his mind, when none of the words flow together and none of the ideas are coming in order –– actually, he's irritatingly been feeling like this for weeks now, the new draft of this novel stopping more than it starts. None of it is helped by the grouchy, groggy mood he’s still trying to fight. He can feel his hair deflating more by the second, and Magnus’s hair is always the best indication of his mental state that day. His jeans crash horribly with the turquoise shirt he’d grabbed in a rush this morning, and he’s only just realising it. There’s a stain on the lapel of his coat that he can only attribute to a five year old being set loose with a banana. He just doesn’t feel his best, and the writing knows it.
He decides to take a break. He’s not giving up, he tells himself adamantly, although it probably will end up with him not writing anything else today. But Bea’s amused for an hour, at least, and getting a break that long outside of school hours is rare for a single dad.
Then he remembers: they’re serving special hot chocolate today.
Magnus loves hot chocolate. That, he’s sure, will brighten up his mood.
He hadn’t even bothered to glance around the edge of the rink when they arrived, since it never usually changes week to week, but now that he’s remembered that all of a sudden, he looks up. Sure enough, on the other side of the oval-shaped ice rink, he spots a little booth -- set up to look like a log cabin with Christmas lights draped across the top, although it’s quite clearly fake wood and the illuminated reindeer next to it just makes the whole thing look hideously tacky. But if they have hot chocolate, he doesn’t care.
Magnus stands up and bundles his things back into his bag, heading around the edge of the rink, his eyes set on that booth. He glances onto the ice for just a moment, in time to see Bea attempt to skate backwards and immediately take a spectacular tumble onto her bum, but she leaps back up with a bright grin the next second.
“Well done, pumpkin!” he calls across to her, and she waves before throwing herself back into the fray of kids. As soon as it’s clear that she’s okay, Magnus heads right towards his hot chocolate. He makes it around the tacky novelty reindeer, leans right up against the counter with an eager tap of his fingers, and the employee turns around, and ––
And. Oh.
Here’s the thing about the man behind the counter: Magnus has seen him before. Magnus has seen him, actually, so many times in the last month that it nearly feels like fate, if Magnus were still optimistic enough to believe in such things.
The first time was just at the bodega on the corner of Magnus’s street, at the start of November, when Bea had a stomach bug and Magnus had to run down there in his pyjamas, utterly un-made-up and smelling slightly of vomit, to buy chewable ibuprofen and the only plain crackers that she wanted to eat, and he’d been so harried that he’d bumped right into this guy on his way out of the store, dropping all his groceries -- which had stressed him out, until the guy just said woah, there, in a friendly if slightly breathless voice, and helped him pick it all us. That day, Magnus had been too stressed to notice how gorgeous he was, but two days later when he saw the same man crossing the street, carrying a bag of groceries for an older woman who might have been his grandmother, his biceps curling pleasingly as he did it, Magnus had been able to think nothing but tall glass of water. It really had been too long since he got laid, if he was lusting after random strangers on the street.
The guy hadn’t noticed him that time, but it was only another two days until they’d seen each other again, while Magnus was walking Bea to school, and she’d been swinging off his hand and chattering at a mile a minute, before stopping when she realised her dad’s attention had been lost to the guy jogging down the street -- he’d been in unseasonably short shorts, and Magnus did not make a habit of commenting on people’s appearances while his five year old was there, but damn. The guy’s eyes had lit up with recognition as he jogged past, and he’d given the littlest wave, a gesture of familiarity Magnus wouldn’t have expected from someone he’d just bumped into one time while looking an absolute mess. Bea had immediately bombarded Magnus with questions about who he was and not been satisfied with Magnus’s dismissals, and that had only increased when they saw him again at the park the same week; he was stretching out his long legs, in running clothes again, while Magnus pushed Bea on the swings. Magnus got so distracted looking at him that Bea had to call his name five whole times before he remembered to push her again.
Since then, it’s been a barrage of other coincidences. At the library, while Magnus was picking up some easy reader storybooks for Bea and the man was carrying some sort of thick hardback; standing a couple of people apart in the queue at the same coffee shop; the busy steps of city hall when Magnus had just got done paying a parking ticket and the tall drink of water man had been wearing a smart black suit that made him look even taller and even more drinkable. Every time, they’ve exchanged familiar smiles or polite waves, but they’ve never actually spoken.
And now, they’re in an ice rink, and it’s definitely not fate, but at least Magnus will be able to talk to him this time.
“Hey,” the guy says, his voice warm and drawling, as he leans curiously across the counter. They are, at this point, less than a foot apart. His eyes are hypnotisingly multicoloured close up. “You again.”
“Me again!” Magnus confirms, in a trilling, confident tone that in no way reflects how much of a nervous mess he actually feels in that moment. “Fancy bumping into you here, of all places. So, this is where you work?”
‘Hot chocolate vendor at an ice rink’ isn’t the most glamorous job in the world, nor does Magnus imagine it pays more than minimum wage or comes with many perks, but he’s hardly one to judge. This man manages to pull off the reindeer-themed apron without looking absolutely ridiculous, which is a miracle in itself.
“I guess so. I mean, just for the winter break. I’m in law school,” he explains, which makes a lot of sense, and which is also pretty hot. Magnus has a bit of a thing for academic achievement.
“Oh, really?” He tries to sound only casually interested, the way anyone might politely ask, but he’s aware that he’s still leaning awfully close across the counter. “I've heard that's stressful. What year?”
“Final year." His voice is wry as he adds, “Stressful doesn’t begin to cover it. I was actually just researching for a torts paper while there was a break in the customers, but don’t tell my boss.”
Magnus glances around him and notices a thick textbook cracked open on a back counter of the little booth. He can’t help but laugh a little, remembering when he used to do the same while he was working in a Starbucks to put himself through his English degree.
“Well, I won’t keep you for long, then. I just wanted a hot chocolate.”
“Peppermint candycane, gingerbread, or holiday snickerdoodle with chocolate whip cream?” the man rattles off, sounding like he’s repeated this list so much it’s burned into his very muscle memory to say it. Magnus blinks.
“Er. I’m a big fan of all hot chocolate, so I suppose just whichever one you’d recommend.”
“One holiday snickerdoodle with chocolate whipped cream coming up,” he says, punching something into the cash register, and glancing at Magnus’s hand a beat too long as he accepts the money. As he’s grabbing a tall red cup from the stack beside the drinks machine, he glances back over his shoulder and adds, “Er, I’m Alec, by the way. Just, you know, since we’ve been bumping into each other so often.”
“Magnus,” Magnus replies, trying not to sound quite as breathless as he feels. Alec is a very nice name, which very much suits this tall, handsome law student in a reindeer apron who is looking at Magnus a touch too intensely from underneath his thick eyelashes. Magnus really wishes his hair looked better today. He realises suddenly that his hand with the Barbie band-aid is the one he used to pass over the money, and hates himself the smallest bit. “Nice to formally meet you.”
He wants to say something else, something wittier or maybe just the tiniest bit flirty, just to make sure he still has a touch of his old game, but then –
“ Daaad!” Bea’s piercing voice appears out of nowhere, and she clatters into the boards of the ice rink behind where Magnus is stood, startling him so much he jumps as her little hands reach across the top. “You gotta get me a hot chocolate too! You promised!” “Beatrice, pumpkin, there’s still forty minutes left of your club. You can get one at the end,” Magnus promises her.
But Bea has already been distracted. Staring curiously over the top of the ice rink wall, which she’s only just tall enough to see across, she points right at Alec and says, “ Hey. Are you that man Daddy was looking at in the park?”
His cheeks aren’t flushing, Magnus tells himself. He also thinks he should get Bea a hot chocolate just to stop her from talking, before she can bring up any of the other times. Hoping that maybe Alec didn't hear that, Magnus just hurries towards her, and realises that one of her mittens is hanging off her hand again, and all her hair is escaping from her plaits, and her nose is running. He fixes her mitten, and wipes her nose on an old tissue he finds in his pocket. Parenthood really isn’t that glamorous. A little more firmly, he then spins her around on the ice and adds, “No hot chocolate until the end. Go enjoy the rest of your club.”
It’s not until Bea has stumbled her way back across the ice that Magnus finally turns around. Alec is looking at him, amusement curling his lips, as he adds a final dusting of chocolate powder to Magnus’s drink and slides it across the kiosk.
“Your daughter?” he asks. Magnus thinks the fact that she’d repeatedly called him dad makes that rather obvious, but nods. “Yeah, I remember seeing her at the park with you that one time. I didn’t know if she was a niece or a goddaughter or something, though.”
Magnus is a little flattered that Alec had put in enough thought about him to even wonder at who Bea was. After he’s done feeling flattered over that, he spends a moment feeling a little sad -- he doesn’t know if Alec even likes men, but if he does, clarifying that is probably him taking Magnus off the table as a prospective dating option. Not that Magnus is thinking about dating. But if he was going to start thinking about it, he’d start with a cute man like this, except no budding law student is going to want to bog themselves down dating an overwhelmed single dad.
So no, romance isn’t on the table here. But that’s fine. That’s fine, Magnus tells himself. And it feels almost close to true, that it’s fine, when he takes his hot chocolate and could walk right away, but Alec keeps smiling at him, doesn’t turn immediately back to his textbook and dismiss Magnus as just another customer gone.
Somehow, Magnus ends up staying right where he is, lingering at the counter of the cheesy little fake log cabin as he sips his hot chocolate -- it really is delicious, he tells Alec, thanks him for the recommendation, and Alec smiles like he’s pleased with himself -- and as much as he knows he should be using this one free hour to be productive, he just can’t bring himself to leave. No other customers come to get a drink, since it’s just a few other parents waiting outside the rink now, and Alec never tries to go back to his book. So Magnus asks Alec about law school, and his torts research, and what exactly torts is, anyway, and Alec explains it all in wry, exasperated terms, and then asks Magnus about his own job and looks far too impressed when Magnus talks about the historical novels he writes, says I can’t write at all but I nearly majored in history at undergrad, I’m so interested in that –– and they manage to talk about 14th century French kings for so long that Magnus doesn’t even notice the time passing, doesn’t notice that his and Alec’s elbows are inching closer and closer to each other across the counter of the hot chocolate stall, doesn’t even notice that the hour is ending and the kids are dispersing on the ice behind them until ––
“HELLO,” says Bea, so loudly it might even be called screaming, as she thumps into the edge of the ice rink. Her long plaits swing across her shoulders as she climbs through the exit, and does the slow bambi-walk involved with wearing ice skates on a regular floor right the way over to them. Then, she sticks her hand towards Alec, barely reaching over the counter but still all intense eyebrows and serious posture. “I’m Beatrice Bane but you can call me Bea if you’re going to be Daddy’s friend. Who are you and can I have a hot chocolate?”
“Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Bea,” Alec says, shaking her tiny hand. Somehow, his voice has just the right tone for speaking to a five year old -- not patronising or babyish, but still sweet enough to please her. Magnus’s heart flutters and he furiously stamps it down. “I’m Alexander, but I have a nickname too, so you can call me Alec. You can absolutely have a hot chocolate, so long as your dad says it’s okay.”
They both look to Magnus in unison, twin pairs of enchanting puppy dog eyes. As if he can say no to that.
“Just a small one,” he says, voice warning, but Bea beams anyway. She reaches her arms into the air with a silent demand, so Magnus scoops her up, ignoring how she immediately comes to fiddle with his hair once she’s perched on his hip. Bea’s small for her age at five, skinny and short the way Magnus was most of his childhood ( the way her mom always was, he doesn’t think ) , and still so easy to hold like this. He’s slightly dreading the day that she’s too big for him to carry.
Alec smiles at them both one last time before he sets about making Bea’s drink; Bea then restlessly makes Magnus put her down again, far sooner than he’d have liked, and spends the whole minute standing on her tip-toes and peering across the counter to watch her hot chocolate being made. When Alec’s done, he passes the child-sized cup across the counter, and Magnus hands it down to Bea.
When he then scoops a couple bucks out of his pocket, Alec says, “Oh, don’t worry about it, on the house.”
Magnus’s cheeks go pink, and he’s not sure why. It’s not like Alec really knows him, and Magnus had paid for his own drink; why’s he now trying to give a gift? Is he attempting to get on Magnus’s good side, or Bea’s? It’s not like Bea cares whether her dad pays for something or not, so presumably it’s some gesture towards Magnus, and truthfully, any kind act that relates to his daughter is the best way to get Magnus absolutely fluttering inside, but considering he barely knows this man and is sure he’s not interesting in dating him, anyway ––
It’s confusing, that’s all. But Magnus is spared from replying, from unravelling the confusing emotion in his out-of-practice-with-flirting mind, when Bea suddenly screeches.
“ Daddy,” she says, and flings herself at his side, holding up one tiny index finger with a pout. “I put my finger in my drink and it was too hot and it burned me.”
“Why did you put your grubby finger in your drink?” Magnus asks, first of all, as he peers down at her hand. It’s just a little pink and when he touches the edge of her cup he can tell the milk isn’t really hot enough to scald, so he knows not to be too worried. Sensing that she’s not getting the sympathy she wants, Bea turns to her newest friend, instead.
“ Aleeeec,” she complains across the counter.
“Oh, no,” says Alec, putting on a very serious face with furrowed eyebrows, and he comes out from the edge of his hot chocolate stand just so he can crouch down beside her, his absurdly long legs folding in a very pleasing way. “Do you need a band-aid? I have some extra special ones in my bag.”
Bea absolutely does not need a band-aid, and Magnus goes to say that, but her face has lit up and she’s enthusiastically nodding before he can get a word in. And, well, part of him wants to see how this goes. So he hangs back, drinking the dregs of his chocolate, and watches as Alec digs out a sparkly blue band-aid, which he applies to the non-existent burn on Bea’s finger. He pats it down extra carefully and with all the care of a serious wound, and then says something to Bea, low enough for Magnus to miss, that sends Bea into a fit of giggles. Alec glances around her, a smile on his own face, and meets Magnus’s eyes.
Magnus’s heart thump, thump, thumps. Tall drink of water who helps old women carry their groceries and jogs in tiny shorts and is an intelligent law student who likes to discuss obscure history is also incredibly sweet with kids. Because of course he is. Because the universe wants Magnus to be torn up inside, and want things he can’t have.
“You can come to my birthday party!” Bea says then, out of the blue, and so loud it startles both Magnus and Alec out of their little staring contest. “I’m allowed to invite whoever I want. You can bring hot chocolate for me as a present! Give my daddy your phone number so he can tell you when it is.”
Bea’s birthday isn’t until weeks after Christmas, still almost a month from now, and Magnus has barely thought about her party beyond promising her it could be a tea party with, indeed, any of her friends that she liked. When he said friends, though, he meant other five year olds from her kindergarten class, not cute strangers in reindeer aprons who her dad is confusingly lusting after.
“Um.” Alec looks amused, from where he’s still crouched down beside Bea, as he turns his gaze up to Magnus. He’s clearly wondering how to say it would be very weird if I came to your birthday party but thanks in a language five year olds can speak. “You know, I might be busy that day, but I’ll give your dad my number just in case, and we can see.”
Bea shrugs one of her skinny shoulders, unbothered. “Alright. It’s not for ages anyway.”
But she keeps watching, so Alec clearly feels obligated to take Magnus’s phone and key his number into it. “ Sorry, ” Magnus mouths, feeling rather embarrassed that Alec’s having to humour his daughter so much, but Alec somehow doesn't look like he really minds. He shakes his head, still smiling, and hands Magnus’s phone back over; Magnus reflexively glances down and sees Alec Lightwood as a new contact, a little smiley emoji keyed in afterwards.
It’s probably a fake number, Magnus thinks, just to get Bea off their backs. But it’s cute he’s humouring her anyway.
He thinks this is probably when they should leave, stop intruding on Alec, but then, just as Bea is sat on the bench taking her skates off and Magnus is still lingering by the hot chocolate stall’s counter, she suddenly, loudly, unmissably announces, “Daddy, Alec, look! Isn’t that that plant which makes you have to kiss! Mister toes!”
Mistletoe. Oh God. Magnus looks up, and sure enough, some bright soul far more festive than him has tacked a strand of mistletoe onto the fake log-cabin roof above the counter. Alec is stood just on one side of it. Magnus is stood just on the other.
Bea’s face is absolutely delighted.
“Oh, no,” Magnus tries to deflect, taking a step back. “It’s fine, honey, that rule is only for people who want to kiss. You don’t ever have to kiss somebody just because you’re under mistletoe.”
But this backfires on him. Bea frowns, looks at Alec, and says, “Don’t you want to kiss my daddy?” Magnus, mortified, doesn't dare glance around at Alec –– it can’t get much worse than his five year old trying to pressure a guy into kissing him, like it’s not clear enough already that Magnus has zero game. “Alec, why don’t you want to kiss him? Don’t you like daddy? We can’t be friends if you don’t.”
Groaning, Magnus resists the urge to drop his head into his hands and spins around to look at Alec again. By some miracle, he realises that Alec isn’t looking like he wants to sink into the floor, or run away screaming -– if anything, he seems rather amused.
“No, your dad seems lovely,” he tells Bea, and then beckons towards Magnus. “You’re right, we should follow the rules.” And then, in a lower and far more humorous voice, where only Magnus can hear, “Don’t worry, I’ve kissed guys for far worse reasons than this.”
Magnus is sure he’s blushing to the point of ridiculousness and wishes he’d thought to wear foundation that day instead of just his usual eye makeup, but there’s nothing to be done about it now, except freeze on the spot and feel restless and tingly all over and hold his breath as Alec leans in, in, in ––
And plants a tiny, chaste kiss on Magnus’s cheek.
“There,” Alec says, pulling back and immediately raising an eyebrow across at Bea. “Are we still friends, now?”
“Yep,” Bea decides. She’s kicked both her skates off and pulled her shoes most of the way on, and for once, her meddling little mind does seem to be satisfied with their actions. Thank god.
With that, though, Magnus decides it’s definitely time to go, before she can make Alec do anything else he doesn't want to. And quite apart from that, the Little Penguins hour is definitely up, and crowds of regular patrons are starting to file into the ice rink -- exactly what Magnus wanted to avoid today -- and there’s suddenly other people queuing up at the hot chocolate stall, too. His cheek is still tingling in the spot where Alec’s lips had touched, but Magnus is choosing not to think about that so that he can maintain his sanity, and he scoops Bea up onto his hip without another moment’s thought.
“Well,” he says, just as the customer waiting for Alec to serve them begins looking impatient, and Alec ducks back into his little hot chocolate stall. “It was nice to properly meet you, Alexander.”
“You, too,” Alec says, smiling in a way that reaches his eyes, just as warm and lovely as the hot chocolate he's making, but twice as satisfying. Magnus finally steps back, dodges the tacky neon reindeer, and lets his legs carry him and Bea away. They have a rest of their day to be getting on with, and Alec has a job to do; they’ve distracted him far long enough.
Still, as Magnus walks away, he can’t help glancing back just once or twice. And when he’s strapped Bea into the car outside and thrown their bags in the back, just before he slides into his own seat, he lets his fingers drift up to his cheek, pressing the warm spot where Alec’s lips had touched. Chaste as it was, that was the closest Magnus has come to a proper kiss, one not from Bea or Catarina, since Bea’s mom –– over two years past. It’s a boundary he’s been nearly terrified to cross.
Now that he's crossed it, he’s finding that it wasn’t, actually, so bad. He’s actually finding that, now it’s happened, he can’t stop thinking about it.
Later that night, when Bea is engrossed in a colouring book and Magnus has a quiet minute while dinner cooks, he finds himself getting out his phone. It’s just to see, he tells himself –– he’s not hanging any hopes on this, not at all. With his experience of romance in general he can definitely say his expectations are through the floor.
But, to Alec’s number, he sends, Hi :) This is Magnus, from the ice rink! Sorry about Bea, today, she’s a cutie but we’re still working on the social skills. I’ll definitely let you off the hook of coming to her birthday party, but it was nice to properly meet you, anyway!
There, he thinks, that’s pleasant enough. It’s not quite flirty, but it’s not quite distant, either. And it won’t matter in the end, because he's sure Alec gave him a fake number. Magnus goes back to chopping up vegetables for the pasta sauce, writing the whole thing out of his mind.
Except, in the end, it isn’t a fake number at all. It’s only two minutes until his phone lights up with a reply that sets Magnus’s cheeks flushing, his heart thumping –– and, maybe, just a little bit of the festive spirit encroaching on his fractured heart.
He just can't quite believe that he has hot chocolate, his meddling daughter, and a man in a ridiculous reindeer apron to thank.
