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“But this is your gift,” Cass countered.

“True. So maybe it’s a giant potato carved into the shape of . . . an apple?”

“Because teachers love apples?”

“Sure. Yeah, let’s go with that.” Smiling, Ash started unwrapping the paper, rolling his eyes at himself when he indeed tried to not rip it. “I actually have no idea what it is.”

“I know,” Cass said, amusement in his voice. “And it’s not much, but . . . yeah.”

Ash removed the paper to reveal a plain white box, the sides taped shut. He folded the paper up and placed it on the coffee table, then he peeled away the tape and lifted the top of the box. Inside was a green envelope with his name on it, sitting on top of several sheets of tissue paper, which covered whatever was underneath.

Something suddenly felt very real about the moment, and he stumbled over his words. “I-I’m opening the card now.”

Cass must have heard the waver in his voice, because he chuckled and said, “Did you rip the wrapping paper?”

“I most certainly did not,” Ash retorted, grinning through whatever emotions were happening in his chest.

The card was a simple Christmas card with a beautiful watercolor painting of a huge pine tree and falling snow on the outside. Inside was a short, handwritten message from Cass. Ash’s heart seemed to skip several beats as he read to himself.

Ash,

I hope this Christmas brings you as much joy, love, and happiness as you’ve brought to my life. You’ve made my whole world better, just giving me the chance to get to know you, and I’ve appreciated every single moment.

I’m looking forward to whatever the future holds and the many more Christmases we will get to spend together.

Merry Christmas!

- Cass

Ash inhaled a long, slow breath and read the note again before setting it down on the wrapping paper on top of the coffee table. He cleared his throat, very aware that Cass was waiting for him to say something. “Th-thank you,” he stuttered, “for the card. It’s, um . . .”

“I meant every word,” Cass said softly, the sincerity in his voice perfectly clear, even over the phone.

With a small nod, Ash said, “I know you do. And . . . and it’s the same for me. You’ve made my life better in ways I can’t even articulate. I-I’m so grateful to have you in my life.” He managed to hold back tears, which seemed like a miracle in that moment, especially considering all the emotions bubbling up inside him.

“Your giant potato is waiting,” Cass said, and Ash snorted a laugh, very glad for the obvious redirect.

“Right, right. Yeah. My otter-apple potato.” He sniffled, though he still wasn’t crying, and he gently unfolded the tissue paper. A huge smile broke out across his face, and he chuckled. “Oh wow, this is ten thousand times better than a potato. Really.”

Under the tissue paper were about half a dozen large Ziploc bags filled with rows of cookies. He lifted out one of the bags, shaking his head.

“Did you make all of these? Are they all chocolate chip? Oh my god, I love this.” He dug around the box, pulling out each bag.

“Yes, and no, there’s also—”

“Ohhhh, snickerdoodles?” Ash cut in as he took out the fourth bag. “This is so many cookies. I love this,” he repeated, in case Cass couldn’t tell. He stopped and put the bag back into the box. “Thank you so much. This had to take forever to bake. I actually didn’t know you baked.”

“I don’t, much,” Cass admitted. “My mom used to, though. And when I went off to college, she would send me these huge care packages with dozens and dozens of cookies, like this. I shared with my whole dorm freshman year and then with my roommates the years after that. It, um . . .” He hesitated, and his voice softened. “I dunno, it always felt really special, like I knew how much she was thinking about me, even when I was hours away. I . . . want you to feel that way, too.”

It was so sweet and so Cass, and Ash closed his eyes. “I . . . I do. I do. Thank you.” He groaned but also laughed and flopped back into the couch. “God, I can’t wait for April.”

“Me too,” Cass agreed immediately.

“We’ll have four days, yeah?”

“Yeah. Or, I mean, it’ll depend on when I fly in and out, but it should be three or four full days.”

That sounded like heaven, and Ash sighed contentedly as he curled up on the couch. “I wish you were here right now,” he murmured. “But at least in your absence, I can eat a cookie.”