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“How’s my favorite teacher?” A handsome older man greeted her from the front seat of his car.

“You’re not supposed to say that.” Arden couldn’t help the flush that crept into her cheeks. “You’re not driving, are you?”

“No, I just parked in front of Chelsea’s.”

“Colsie’s,” Arden corrected automatically, naming the quaint coffee house in High Springs.

“Right. Listen, so sorry to bother you, but I wanted to check in about the gift bags. Thank you again for helping me put those together.”

“Of course! They’re all finished,” Arden squeaked. Tiny white lie. “See, here they are!” She showed him the pile of gifts, one for every teacher and staff member at the elementary school where they both worked. She was proud of her handiwork and couldn’t wait for her colleagues to receive them. Even if she wouldn’t get the credit.

“Wonderful. What would I do without you?” Principal Blake—Peter—grinned at her. Arden glowed. Then he added, “Do you think you could bring them here to Colsie’s?”

“What? Now?” Arden had assumed she would just bring them to the staff holiday party tonight.

“Yes.” After a beat, he added, “If that’s convenient for you? I’m sure you have plans for the day.”

As she hesitated, looking down at her pajamas, he waved over his shoulder to someone walking by his car window. That’s how it was living in a town as small as High Springs: You saw someone you knew every time you went anywhere.

“I can definitely do that,” Arden found herself saying. So she still had a few gift bags to make, and she wasn’t even dressed yet. For him, she could make the impossible happen.

Plus, it had been ages since they’d done anything like this—anything that could possibly be construed as a date. Sharing a cup of festive coffee at Colsie’s, with the café all decorated for Christmas? Sign her up.

Just over thirty minutes later, Arden rushed into the café balancing a box overflowing with gift bags. She was mortified at having left Peter waiting for half an hour, but he was engaged in a lively conversation with three men she recognized from around town.

“So sorry,” she said breathlessly, setting the box on the table in front of Peter. “Here they are!”

“And here you are.” Peter smiled up at her. The anxiety left her body, replaced by a feeling of liquid warmth. He waved goodbye to the men and gestured for Arden to sit down.

“These look lovely, Arden!” There was real pleasure in his voice as he poked around in the nearest gift bag. “Is this your homemade jam?”

Arden nodded, feeling her cheeks flush with delight.

“Well done! What a thoughtful touch.”

The way he said it made her so happy that she felt like she might float away from the table. His words of affirmation meant everything to her. She had made an extra bag for him, knowing how much he loved her jam. Recalling that she’d signed his card with a heart next to her name, she scooted the box toward herself. She didn’t want him to find it now.

“Excited for the party?” she asked, just for something to say. He sipped his cappuccino without asking if she wanted something to drink. She glanced back at the chalkboard menu by the cash register. Try our gingerbread latte!

“Mm.” The noncommittal tone of his voice made Arden’s heart sink. “Actually, I wanted to ask you about that. Would you happen to have time to hang up the staff appreciation wall we talked about?”

Talked about? Arden recalled that he’d mentioned the idea, and then she had strung together photos of teachers and staff along with appreciative quotes from students and parents. She’d even glued on little pictures of snowmen, menorahs, and Christmas trees.

“Didn’t you say you were planning to install it before the party tonight? I left it in your office.”

“Yes, and I really wanted to get to it, but some things came up.”

Arden waited for him to elaborate, but he just gazed out the window for a moment, lost in thought. Then he turned to her.

“You know that restaurant in Gainesville, the Italian place with white tablecloths? Could you give them a call for me? Reserve a table for two tonight?”

It took Arden a moment to articulate a response. For starters, she was not his assistant. So she had made him a dentist appointment once. And taken his car in for an oil change. Since when did she make dinner reservations for him? And also… tonight?

“What about the holiday party?”

“Of course I’ll be there. We’ll make it a late dinner. Say, eight o’clock.”

Did he say we? Arden felt a swell of hope. Her imagination fluttered away, painting a gorgeous scene of the two of them seated at a candlelit table, holding hands as a waiter presented them with a bottle of wine and another played the violin…