He touches my cheek with his hand and guides me toward him. His lips are so soft against mine, sweetened with peppermint. I lean farther in and get lost kissing him. I slide off him to the mat and then he rolls himself on top of me. I wrap my arms around him and we kiss with more intensity. We pull back to catch our breaths and look into each other’s eyes.

There are so many things prickling in the back of my mind, threatening to take me out of this moment. But instead of worrying about anything, I close my eyes, lean forward, and allow myself to believe in us.

The drive back to the lot is mostly quiet. I find myself nearly hypnotized by Caleb’s keychain, swaying with our picture on Santa’s lap. If only this week would never end.

When he pulls into the lot and parks, he takes my hand. I look to the trailer, and a curtain in Mom and Dad’s room swings shut.

Caleb holds my hand tighter. “Thank you, Sierra.”

“For what?”

He smiles. “For bouncing on the trampoline with me.”

“Oh, my pleasure,” I say.

“And for making these past few weeks the best I’ve ever had.”

He leans over to kiss me, and once again I lose myself in his kiss. I trace my lips from his jaw to his ear and whisper, “Mine too.”

Pressing our cheeks together, listening to each other breathe, we don’t move. After next week, it will never be like this again. I want to hold this moment and imprint it on my heart so it never fades.

When I finally get out of the truck, I watch the taillights of his truck until they have long disappeared.

Dad walks up behind me. “That has to be the end, Sierra. I don’t want you seeing him anymore.”

I spin toward him.

He shakes his head. “It’s not the thing with his sister. Not just that. It’s everything.”

The warm and beautiful feeling I’ve experienced all evening bleeds out of me, replaced by a heavy dread. “I thought you were letting it go.”

“We’re leaving soon,” he says, “you know that. And you must know that you’ve been growing way too attached.”

I can’t find my voice or even the words to shout at him. Things were finally going right and he has to ruin that? No. I will not let him do this.

“What does Mom say?” I ask.

He turns slightly toward the trailer. “She doesn’t want you to get hurt, either.” When I don’t respond, he turns the rest of the way and begins to walk back to the cramped trailer that used to feel like home.

I turn toward the Christmas trees. Behind me, I can hear Dad’s boots shuffle up the metal steps and the door closing behind him. I can’t go in there. Not yet. So I walk into the trees, the needles scratching against my sleeves and pants. I sit down in the cool dirt where the outside lights can’t reach me.

I try to imagine myself back home, where these trees around me once grew, looking up at these same stars.

Back in the trailer, I barely sleep all night. When I first pulled open my curtains, the sun still hadn’t risen. I lay on my bed, looking out, watching the stars slowly begin to fade. The more they disappeared, the more lost I felt.

I decide to reach out to Rachel. We haven’t spoken since I missed her performance, but she knows me better than anyone, and I just need to tell her how I feel. I send her an apology text. I tell her I miss her. I tell her she would love Caleb but that my parents think I’m getting too close to him.

Eventually, she responds: Can I help?

I let out a deep breath and close my eyes, just so grateful to have Rachel in my life.

I tell her: I need a Christmas miracle.

In the long pause that follows, I watch the sun start to rise.

She answers: Give me two days.

Caleb shows up the next day with a big grin, carrying a package wrapped in Sunday comics and way too much tape. Behind him I can see Mom watching us. While visibly not thrilled, she stays with her customer.

“What’s that?” I ask, swallowing my fear of Dad returning from his lunch run. “I mean, besides an invitation to teach you how to wrap.”

He hands it to me. “There’s only one way to find out.”

The gift is somewhat floppy, and when I tear into the package I see why. It’s that silly knitted Christmas tree hat he wore the other day. “No, I think this belongs to you.”

“I know, but I saw how envious you were,” he says, unable to hide his smile. “I figured, your winters get much colder than ours.”

I bet he doesn’t think I’ll wear it, which is why I put it on immediately.

He pulls the sides down over my ears, and then leaves his hands there as he bends forward to kiss me. I let the kiss happen, but I keep my lips tight. When he doesn’t pull back, I have to.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I shouldn’t do that here.”

A throat clears behind him and I look over his shoulder.

“I need you to get back to work, Sierra,” Mom says.

Caleb, clearly embarrassed, looks out at the trees. “Am I about to get outhouse duty?”

Nobody laughs.

He looks at me. “What’s going on?”

I look down and see Mom’s shoes move closer.

“Caleb,” she says, “Sierra has told us wonderful things about you.”

I look up at her, my eyes begging her to be gentle.

“And I know how she feels about you,” Mom says. She looks at me but doesn’t even attempt to smile. “But we’re leaving in a week and, more than likely, we won’t be back next year.”

I don’t take my eyes away from hers, but I can see Caleb turn to me, and my heart breaks. That was for me to tell him if necessary, and because nothing is certain it was not necessary yet.

“Her father and I aren’t comfortable seeing this relationship progress without everyone knowing where we stand.” She looks at me. “Your dad will be back in a minute. Let’s wrap this up.”

She leaves and I’m left alone with Caleb, his face a mix of betrayal and surrender.

“Is your dad not supposed to see me?” he asks.

“He thinks we’re getting too serious,” I say. “You don’t have to be afraid, he’s just feeling overprotective.”

“Overprotective because you’re not coming back?”

“That’s still not for sure,” I say. I can’t look him in the eyes anymore. “I should have told you.”

“Well, now’s your chance,” he says. “What else aren’t you telling me?”

A tear falls from my cheek. I didn’t even know I was crying, but I don’t care if I am. “Andrew talked to him,” I say, “but it’s okay.”

His voice is rigid. “How is that okay?”

“Because then I talked to them and I told them—”

“Told them what? Because we’re talking right now and everything is definitely not okay.”

I look at him and wipe the tears from my cheeks. “Caleb…”

“This is not going to change, Sierra. Not in whatever time your family has left. So why are you bothering with me?”

I reach for his hand. “Caleb…”

He steps back, forcing distance between us.

“Don’t,” I whisper.

“I said you were worth it, Sierra, and you are. But I don’t know if the rest of this is. And I know I’m not.”

“Yes,” I say, “Caleb, you—”

He turns and leaves the Bigtop, then walks straight to his truck and drives away.

The next day, Dad returns from the post office and drops a thick express envelope next to me at the register. Twenty-four hours have passed without Dad and me speaking. We’ve never been like this, but I can’t forgive him. At the top of the envelope is a red heart drawn around Elizabeth Campbell in the return address. After getting through two more customers I tear open the package.

Inside are a letter-size envelope and a glittery red box the size of a hockey puck. I take the top off the box, remove a square of cotton, and there’s the inch-thick cutting from my first tree. Around the edge it retains a thin layer of rough bark. In the center is the Christmas tree I painted on it when I was eleven years old. Two days ago, looking at this would have made me nervous about how Caleb would react if I gave it to him. Now, I don’t feel anything.

A customer steps up to the counter and I put the lid back on the box. When she leaves, I open the letter. While Elizabeth sent me the tree cutting, the note is in Rachel’s handwriting: I hope this helps with that Christmas miracle you asked for.