One minute I'm a divorce lawyer avoiding Christmas like it's a contested prenup clause, while my family's decking halls and whispering about mistletoe matchmaking. The next? There’s a twelve-year-old girl on my doorstep claiming I’m her dad. And Sophie’s standing in my living room, looking like every bad decision I’ve made once and I’m desperate to make again, talking about decorating for the holidays.
Grace says she’s my daughter.
Sophie’s my little sister’s best friend — smart, funny, way too sweet (and stubborn, apparently) — and the only person who knows how to stop me from totally screwing this up.
This wasn’t in any of my briefs. Not Grace. Not Sophie moving in to "help." Definitely not catching feelings for the one woman I should keep at arm’s length.
Meanwhile, Grace has been secretly posting her hopes under #ChristmasWishlist, like love and family are things you can order online with free two-day shipping. She’s dreaming of Christmas miracles. And if I’m not careful... I might give her exactly what she's wishing for.
Starting with Sophie, and the future I never thought I wanted.
This Christmas, some wishes come true.
Even for guys like me.

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