I've spent six years running Hartwell's holiday operations like a well-oiled machine—all protocols, no sentiment.

It's easier that way, especially when every twinkling light reminds me of everything I'm trying to forget.

But when my best friend Nick walks into my office with that familiar grin and announces he wants to be my department store Santa, my carefully constructed walls begin to crack.

And from the way he looks at me like I'm magic waiting to happen, I'm starting to wonder if some gifts are worth the risk of unwrapping—even if they come dressed in a Santa suit and wrapped in a decade of unspoken feelings.