But here I was.
“Alright, my little elves,” I said into my headset, waving at the gallery of tiny faces on my laptop. “Remember, your snowflake projects are due tomorrow, but only if youpromisenot to eat the glue this time.”
Half of them giggled, one solemnly saluted, and another yelled, “Merry Christmas, Ms. M!” before logging off.
I shut the laptop and leaned back in my chair, smiling. Teaching first grade online had been chaos and joy in equal measure but mostly joy. My students had no idea how much they’d stitched me into this new life.
“Class dismissed?”
Drew’s voice drifted from the kitchen, totally lazy, warm, and absolutely drenched in confidence.
He was standing at the counter, wearing plaid pajama pants and an apron that saidKiss the Cook (He Might Bite), with flour dusting his jaw and his hair doing its usual morning rebellion. The man looked like a Christmas commercial and a warning label all at once.
I grinned. “You’ve been listening, haven’t you?”
“Maybe,” he said, leaning against the counter. “I like hearing you threaten children with craft glue.”
“Iencouragethem,” I corrected. “Positively.”
“Sure you do,” he said, handing me a mug of coffee just the way I liked it with too much cream. “You know, I think I liked the old you too. The one who said she’d never move to a small town or teach kids who think snow tastes like magic.”
“Mm.” I took a sip and raised a brow. “And yet, here we are. Magic snow and all.”
He stepped closer, brushing a strand of hair from my face with his thumb.
“Yeah. Here we are.”
The fireplace crackled behind us. The tree lights blinked slow and lazy. Outside, snow dusted the porch like powdered sugar.
He glanced toward the living room. “You realize this is our first Christmas in this house.”
“I do,” I said, smiling. “Our firstrealone. No borrowed living rooms. No Lydia’s cookie explosions.”
“Speak for yourself,” he said, turning back to the counter. “I burned three batches trying to copy her recipe.”
I peeked over his shoulder. “Burned, or caramelized?”
“Charred,” he admitted. “The smoke alarm agrees.”
I laughed, leaning against him. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”
“Noted,” he said.
I shook my head, smiling as I sipped my coffee. The thing about Drew Benedict was that he could make an ordinary morning feel like something worth remembering. Every sarcastic comment, every stolen kiss…it all justfit.
He reached for the tray of not-quite-perfect cookies, set them on the table, and dropped into the chair next to me.
“You ever think about how different this year’s been?”
“All the time,” I said. “Sometimes I still feel like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.”
“It won’t,” he said. “Unless it’s mine, and I’ll just pretend it’s part of my charm.”
I smiled, tracing the handle of my mug. “You know what I was thinking earlier?”
“That we need more cookies?”
“That you’re the best bad decision I ever made.”
