Arthur felt a tug in his chest he hadn't felt in decades. He realized then that being a grandpa wasn't about having the right toys; it was about being the keeper of the magic.
Arthur realized then that he wasn't just "giving" Leo a Christmas. Leo was giving him a purpose. The house wasn't quiet anymore; it was full. He wasn't just an old man in a big chair; he was a storyteller, a cocoa-maker, and a protector of secrets. A Grandpa For Christmas
It changed on Christmas Eve. A heavy snow began to fall, turning the street into a blurred, white kingdom. Leo stood by the frosted window, his shoulders slumped. "Does Santa know where I am?" he whispered. "I'm not at my house." Arthur felt a tug in his chest he hadn't felt in decades
The first two days were a standoff of sorts. Leo wanted tablets and cartoons; Arthur wanted silence and the morning paper. The house felt too small for the both of them. Leo was giving him a purpose
The smell of pine needles and peppermint always brings him back—not to the Christmases he spent as a father, but to the one where he finally learned how to be a grandfather.
They spent the next three hours reclaiming the house. Arthur unearthed a box of ornaments from the attic that hadn't seen the light of day since the nineties. He showed Leo how to string popcorn, even though the dog ate half of it. He told stories about "the old days"—not the boring parts, but the parts about reindeer tracks in the mud and the time the Christmas tree fell over on the cat.