The film opens in a sleek Seattle recording studio where Maggie Winters, a sharp-witted podcast host in her early thirties, is recording an episode of her popular show "Debunked." With surgical precision and dark humor, she's dismantling a viral social media influencer's claims of miraculous healing powers, revealing the carefully staged videos and fake testimonials. Her apartment, shown briefly afterward, reflects her life: successful but sterile, barely a Christmas decoration in sight despite it being mid-December. When her producer and best friend Nicole Chen calls about their plateauing ratings, she pitches a perfect holiday special—the Christmas Wish Tree of Evergreen Falls, a small mountain town claiming every wish made on their century-old oak tree comes true. Maggie's response is immediate: "Perfect. Nothing says Christmas like crushing small-town delusions." Nicole laughs but suggests maybe Maggie will be wrong for once. "I'm never wrong," Maggie replies, but in a quiet moment alone, she pulls out an old family photo from a happier Christmas, studies it with something like longing, then quickly puts it away.
Two weeks before Christmas, Maggie drives into Evergreen Falls, determined not to be charmed by the postcard-perfect mountain town draped in lights and garlands. She checks into Rose's Bed & Breakfast, a Victorian house that smells like cinnamon and pine, where Rose Callahan—a woman in her late sixties with knowing eyes—welcomes her with unsettling warmth. When Rose learns Maggie is there for the Wish Tree, she simply says, "Mm-hmm. We'll see," as if she knows something Maggie doesn't. She directs Maggie to her son Owen at Callahan & Co. bookshop, mentioning he's the town historian and knows everything about the tree.
The bookshop is exactly the kind of place Maggie would normally love—floor-to-ceiling shelves, the scent of old paper, a fire crackling in the corner. Owen is helping eight-year-old Emma Grace and her mother, and Maggie observes him: mid-thirties, handsome in an unpolished way, warm laugh, clearly adored by the community. But when she introduces herself and he recognizes "Debunked," his expression shifts. "You're the one who exposed the Aurora Lights over Wyoming as a hotel marketing stunt," he says, not entirely friendly. The air crackles with tension and something else—an undeniable spark of attraction neither wants to acknowledge. When Maggie says she's there to find the truth about the Wish Tree, Owen's jaw tightens. "Some things are more important than truth," he says. Maggie leans forward. "Name one." He agrees to show her the historical records but warns her the town loves this tree. "Truth doesn't care about feelings," Maggie replies coolly. "No," Owen says quietly, "but people do."
Maggie establishes her base at the local café, laptop open, recording equipment ready. She interviews Henry Morrison, whose hardware store was saved ten years ago by a mysterious anonymous investor who appeared just days after he hung his desperate wish on the tree. She talks to a young couple who wished for a house and somehow qualified for an impossible loan. A teacher who wished for classroom supplies and found boxes of books on her doorstep. Every story has rational explanations—coincidence, anonymous donors, good luck—but the timing is always too perfect, the details too convenient. She notices Owen appearing repeatedly, lingering on the periphery, watching with protective intensity but never interfering. "Something's off," she tells Nicole on the phone. "These stories are too perfect."
At a town meeting about the centennial celebration, Mayor Patricia laments they're short on volunteers. Rose cheerfully suggests that Maggie, being in town anyway, could help—she'd get the "real inside story" for her podcast. Owen's immediate objection is overruled by enthusiastic agreement from the council. Forced into partnership, Maggie and Owen meet awkwardly to divide tasks for decorating and the historical display. "Just don't use what you learn to hurt people," Owen says quietly. Maggie bristles. "I expose lies. If that hurts, maybe people shouldn't be lying." Owen holds her gaze. "Or maybe they're protecting something precious."
Over the following days, they work together preparing for the celebration. Their initial bickering gradually transforms into playful banter as they string lights in the town square and organize displays of the tree's history. Owen shows her century-old ledgers documenting wishes and their outcomes, and Maggie's investigative mind catalogs patterns she can't quite connect. Late one night, working on a ladder stringing lights, they nearly fall. Owen catches her, his hands on her waist, their faces suddenly close. The moment stretches, electric, before they both pull away, rattled.
Owen begins showing Maggie his world beyond their investigation. His bookshop, where he recommends the perfect novel to each customer. The historical society, where his passion for the town's stories becomes evident. She watches him help Mrs. Chen with her groceries and read to children at the library story hour. At dinner at Rose's, surrounded by family photos and the warmth of home-cooked food, Maggie feels something she hasn't in years—like she belongs somewhere. Rose shares stories about Owen's father and how Owen stepped up after his death five years ago, becoming the heart of the community just as his father had been. Despite herself, despite every wall she's built, Maggie is softening.
One evening, Owen takes her to see the Wish Tree lit up in the darkness. The ancient oak is magnificent, its bare winter branches covered in hundreds of handwritten wishes on cream-colored paper, glowing in the lamplight like captured stars. "My great-grandfather started this tradition," Owen tells her. "The tree was already here, over a hundred years old, but he made it mean something." When Maggie asks why he cares so much, his voice catches. "After my dad died, this town held me together. The tree represents hope, and I won't let anyone take that away." Maggie finds herself sharing more than she intended: "Hope can be dangerous. When it's false, it's cruel." Owen turns to her. "What made you stop believing?" She deflects, but he sees the wound beneath her armor.
Maggie's investigation intensifies. She discovers anonymous donations flowing from shell companies, patterns in the timing of "miracles," coincidences that align perfectly with Owen's schedule. She's conflicted now, gathering evidence but dreading what it might do to him. When she encounters Emma Grace at the café, the girl asks if Maggie has made her wish yet. "You should," Emma says with complete faith. "The tree knows what you really need." Maggie, who would have scoffed at this a week ago, finds herself touched by the child's belief.
Unable to sleep one night, Maggie sees a figure moving through the town square. She follows Owen through the quiet streets, watches him leave a carefully wrapped package at a front door—the address she recognizes as the family who wished for help with medical bills. She steps from the shadows. "It's you." Owen freezes, caught. "You're the one making wishes come true." After a long moment, he simply says, "Come with me."
In Owen's study, Maggie finds herself surrounded by four generations of carefully kept journals. Owen reveals the truth: the Callahans have been the "Keepers" of the Wish Tree since his great-grandfather started the tradition. They listen to wishes, then work quietly to fulfill them—making anonymous donations, creating opportunities, connecting people with resources, never taking credit. His great-grandfather began it after the town rallied to help him during hard times, and each generation since has carried the responsibility. Owen shows her his current projects, including his plan to help Emma's shy single mother, who doesn't know her daughter wished for her to find love. "The magic is real," he says, meeting her eyes. "It's just not supernatural. It's people taking care of people. What's more magical than strangers becoming family?" Maggie is moved, genuinely awed by the beautiful deception. But Owen sees her expression shift as she realizes: "This is exactly the kind of story my audience wants." His face falls. "Please don't."
Maggie spends days wrestling with her dilemma. This could be her biggest episode ever—a heartwarming twist on her usual debunking. But it would shatter Owen's family legacy and destroy the town's sense of magic. During a call with Nicole, who is initially thrilled by the discovery, her friend notices Maggie's unusual hesitation. "Wait. What's going on? You sound different." Maggie admits she doesn't know if she can do this. Nicole's voice softens. "Is this about the story, or is this about him?"
Despite the tension humming between them, Maggie and Owen continue working on the celebration. During a quiet moment, Owen shares the burden he's carried alone since his father's death—the overwhelming weight of trying to fulfill wishes by himself, the ones he can't manage, the failures that haunt him. When Maggie helps him connect a struggling artist with a gallery owner, and they watch the woman's face light up with possibility, Owen turns to her. "See? You're good at this." The shared triumph, the joy of giving without recognition, leads to a kiss. They break apart, both scared of what this means.
A complication arrives in Daniel Reeves, a friendly journalist from Northwest Living magazine covering the centennial. He asks pointed questions about the wish fulfillment rate, and Maggie realizes he's investigating too. Owen is visibly worried. "If someone exposes it the wrong way..." Maggie challenges him: "Would it be so bad if people knew the truth?" Owen's response is passionate. "The beauty is in the mystery. If people know it's human effort, they'll expect it, demand it, judge who deserves help and who doesn't. It becomes transactional instead of magical. It ruins everything."
That night, in a moment of raw vulnerability, Maggie finally tells Owen why she built her career on skepticism. She was twelve when her parents divorced, right before Christmas. Her father had promised they'd always be a family, that nothing would ever change. She made a wish that year on their family's Christmas tree for him to come back. He never did. "I built my whole career on protecting people from false promises," she says, voice cracking. "So no one else would believe in something that wasn't real." Owen takes her hand. "I'm sorry that happened to you. But not all promises are broken. I've seen what happens when people have something to hope for. Even if I'm the one making it happen behind the scenes, their hope is still real. Their joy is real." They kiss again, deeper, surrendering to feelings they've both been fighting.
The next afternoon, Maggie witnesses Emma hanging a new wish on the tree, the girl's face scrunched in concentration. Later, Owen tells her what it said: "I wish Ms. Maggie finds what she's looking for." The simple kindness of it breaks something open in Maggie. She realizes she came to Evergreen Falls looking for fraud, for validation of her cynicism, but what she's really been searching for is a reason to believe again. The question becomes: is she protecting people by exposing the truth, or just protecting herself from vulnerability?
Alone in her room at the B&B, Maggie records a podcast episode draft: "The Truth About the Christmas Wish Tree." It's good—compelling, honest, everything her show stands for. But listening to the playback, she hears what's missing: heart. She's been so focused on protecting people from false hope that she forgot about real hope, about the magic of choosing to believe in goodness. She deletes the file.
The morning of December 22nd, with the centennial celebration tomorrow, Maggie finds Owen at the historical society, exhausted and stressed, surrounded by papers and wrapped packages—last-minute wishes he's trying to fulfill before the big event. "Let me help," she says. Owen looks up, wary. "Why? So you can get more material?" She crouches beside him. "No. Because I was wrong. About hope, about magic, about this place. About you." She shows him her phone, the deleted episode file. "I'm not going to expose you." Owen's expression flickers with cautious hope. "What are you going to do?" She smiles. "I don't know yet. But I know what I won't do."
They spend the day working together, fulfilling wishes as a team. It's hard work—logistics and phone calls and careful planning—but deeply satisfying. Maggie witnesses the quiet joy on people's faces, understands now the gift Owen has been giving this town. "I've been doing this alone for five years," Owen tells her as they work. "I forgot what it's like to share it with someone." Maggie meets his eyes. "You don't have to be alone anymore." The possibility hangs between them—that maybe she could stay, that maybe they could do this together—but she's still afraid to fully believe in that future.
The centennial celebration on December 23rd brings the entire town to the square. The Wish Tree is spectacular, hundreds of lights making the paper wishes glow against the winter sky. After Mayor Patricia's speech and the historical presentations, Owen takes the microphone to talk about 100 years of tradition, thanking the volunteers—including Maggie. Then Maggie does something unexpected. She records a live podcast episode called "What I Found in Evergreen Falls."
She talks about coming to debunk a small-town legend and finding instead a community built on belief and kindness. She speaks about mystery and magic, about the ways people take care of each other when they think no one is watching. "I came here to debunk magic," she tells her audience and the assembled town. "But maybe magic isn't about explanation. Maybe it's about connection, about kindness, about choosing to believe in something bigger than ourselves. Maybe the most powerful magic is community." She doesn't expose the Keepers' secret. Instead, she protects it, celebrates it without revealing it. The town erupts in applause, and Owen watches her with unguarded love.
After the celebration, as the crowd disperses, Owen finds Maggie standing before the tree. "You haven't made a wish yet," he says softly. She wraps her arms around herself. "I'm afraid." "Of what?" "That it won't come true. Or worse, that it will, and I'll have to decide if I'm brave enough to accept it." Owen steps closer. "What would you wish for?" She meets his eyes. "To stop being afraid. To stay here. To believe that this is real." Owen smiles. "That's three wishes." She laughs, the sound bright in the cold air. "I'm greedy."
She writes her wish and hangs it on the tree. When Owen reminds her she's supposed to keep it secret, she shakes her head. "Not this time." She turns the ornament so he can read it: "I wish to stay." Owen's smile is everything—relief and joy and love. "I think the Keeper can help arrange that." He pulls her close, and they kiss as snow begins to fall, the tree's lights creating a halo of magic around them.
Six months later, in early summer, Evergreen Falls is green and vibrant. Maggie still hosts "Debunked," but the tone has evolved—she still seeks truth, but now she also celebrates mystery and the things that can't be easily explained. She lives in a small house near the bookshop and works alongside Owen as co-Keeper of the Wish Tree. When Nicole visits and marvels at her transformed friend, Maggie laughs. "I'm happy. Turns out I was debunking the wrong things all along."
In Owen's study, they sit together reviewing new wishes, planning how to help. Maggie's podcast voiceover plays: "I spent years exposing what's fake. Now I spend my time protecting what's real. And the realest magic? It's not in wishes that mysteriously come true. It's in two people choosing to make them come true. It's in a town that takes care of its own. It's in finding where you belong." The final image shows Maggie and Owen at the tree, even in summer, hanging fresh wishes that people have left, the town alive around them. Text appears: "The Christmas Wish Tree celebrated its 100th year. The tradition continues."