— I’m not doing this to be polite, — he said one evening, after helping her carry a heavy basket of laundry up the stairs. — I’m doing this because I want to.
Their conversations grew longer and easier. Sometimes they talked while Lily was busy building magnificent towers from empty cereal boxes. Other times, Jake would sit on the floor helping Lily with a puzzle while Claire cooked, and the three of them would eat together as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
One evening, as a heavy snow began to fall, blanketing the city once again, Jake arrived at their door with a small bag and a familiar glint of purpose in his eyes.
— You’ll catch your death out in this weather, — Claire said as she opened the door.
Jake just smiled. — It was worth it.
He stepped inside and carefully pulled a tissue-wrapped object from the bag, handing it to her.
— What’s this? — she asked, her fingers slowly unwrapping the soft fabric.
It was a scarf. Knitted from thick, cream-colored wool with a delicate cable stitch, it was elegant, warm, and clearly chosen with care. She froze, her breath catching.
— This looks… — she trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.
— You mentioned it once, — Jake said, his voice low. — You said you lost one just like it on the subway a few years ago. You looked sad for a moment, and then you laughed and said it was a silly thing to miss.
Claire stared down at the scarf, then back up at him, her throat tight with unspoken emotion.
— You remembered that?
His gaze held hers, steady and sincere. — I don’t remember much these days. Most conversations feel like noise. But I remembered that. — He took a small step closer, his voice softening even more. — You’re the first person I’ve wanted to listen to in a very long time.
Claire blinked rapidly, her hands clutching the soft wool. It was not a grand declaration, but something far more potent: a quiet acknowledgment, a simple scarf that represented a memory heard and honored.
From that day on, the unspoken bond between them solidified. He never said he was falling for her, and she never said it either, but it was there in the way she’d look up expectantly whenever she heard footsteps in the hall, in the way he lingered a little longer each evening, reluctant to return to his empty high-rise. It was in the way Lily had started referring to him as «our Jake.» And it was there in the cream-colored scarf, which now lay folded neatly by the door, worn every time she stepped outside. They were building something together, not with grand gestures, but with small, quiet choices: a fixed lightbulb, an extra plate at the table, a remembered story.
A few days after Christmas, as the little plastic tree in the corner continued to blink defiantly, Jake and Claire sat at the table long after Lily had fallen asleep.
— Christmas never really felt like it was for me, — Claire said quietly, tracing the rim of her mug. — When I was a kid, we didn’t have much. My mom would cut a picture of a tree out of a magazine and tape it to the wall. — She gave a small, sad laugh. — After I had Lily, we spent her first Christmas in a tiny rented room with no heat. I just held her all night, trying to hum carols. I didn’t have a single gift for her. I’ve done my best each year. I found that little tree at a thrift store. To her, it’s magical. But I know what’s missing.
— She’s never had a real one? — Jake asked softly.
Claire shook her head. — Not once.
That night, Jake slipped out of the apartment. The next morning, Lily was the first to wake. She padded to the door and let out a delighted shriek.
— Mommy, come quick! Santa came back!
There, standing just outside their door, was a perfect, small pine tree, its branches dusted with fresh snow and strung with twinkling white lights and tiny silver bells. A red ribbon was tied around its base, and at the very top sat a handmade golden paper star. Beneath it were three neatly wrapped gifts. Claire knelt, her eyes filling with tears as she saw a small envelope. In Jake’s familiar, neat handwriting, it said: For Lily. From your Secret Santa. For years, she had tried to conjure magic from nothing. Now, someone had opened the door and let the magic in.
By March, the city was beginning to thaw. In the small apartment, now decorated with paper butterflies, Lily was counting down the days to her fourth birthday party. It was the first year Claire could afford a real cake, and the first year Lily had friends from daycare to invite. But the biggest source of excitement was one thing: Jake had pinky-sworn that he would be there.