Snow was falling softly outside as Emma pressed her nose against the cold window. "Is it Christmas yet?" she asked.
"Not quite, sweetie," Dad chuckled. "But it's Christmas Eve! And you know what that means."
Emma's eyes lit up. "Hot chocolate time!"
Her little brother Max jumped up from his toy trains. "With marshmallows?"
"With extra marshmallows," Mom promised.
The whole family gathered around the stove. Dad poured milk into the biggest pot while Emma carefully measured out the cocoa powder. Max's job was the most important—he got to add the chocolate chips, dropping them in one by one.
As Emma stirred, the kitchen filled with the sweetest smell—rich and chocolatey and warm. Soon, four mugs sat on the table, each topped with whipped cream and mini marshmallows.
They carried their mugs to the living room and snuggled together on the couch under Grandma's quilted blanket. The Christmas tree sparkled with lights as they sipped their hot chocolate.
Emma took a sip and sighed happily. The hot chocolate was perfect—not too hot, not too sweet, just right. A little mustache of whipped cream appeared on Max's upper lip, making everyone giggle.
"This is my favorite part of Christmas," Emma said quietly, looking around at her family.
"The presents?" Max guessed.
Emma shook her head. "This. All of us together."
Mom pulled her closer. "Mine too, sweetheart."
They sat like that for a long time, sipping their hot chocolate slowly, telling stories and singing carols softly. The clock ticked toward midnight, toward Christmas, but nobody was in a hurry.
Because they were already exactly where they wanted to be—warm and cozy and together.
The End