The Christmas Haus sat mid-block, windows crowded with glass ornaments and carved angels, a nutcracker the size of a child standing guard by the door. Next door, past a narrow lane, a bakery breathed warm yeast into the cold. Warm light spilled onto the sidewalk. Nell pushed open the door beneath the little OPEN sign, grateful to escape the snow for a few minutes.

A bell chimed. Heat rolled over her. The shop smelled of cedar, beeswax, and cinnamon, so strong it almost had a texture. Shelves climbed the walls, packed with color. A small train circled a village on a table near the register.

The man behind the counter was enormous.

That was the first fact her brain supplied, unhelpful and exact. Then he looked up, and Nell forgot, for one stupid second, why she had come in.