The next Christmas Eve, I drove through Billings again.

The streets were lined with snow, and colored lights glowed in windows along the same neighborhood I’d visited the year before.

I passed the corner where I had nearly turned around because I couldn’t bear the thought of Lauren refusing to open her door.

I remembered the weight of the overnight bag at my feet and the sight of a little boy holding a broken star.

This time, Mason had invited me himself.