Under His Christmas Spell

When you swear you’ll never fall for the older surgeon who barely speaks to anyone…
Until one snowy night,
He says your name like it matters—
And suddenly you’re the one breaking every rule to feel his hands again.

It started with a needle stick.
One stolen coffee.
One look from Dr. Xander Thomas—
Thirty-nine, quiet, devastating—
That made my heart forget he was the man every policy says is off-limits.

I should’ve kept my distance.
Instead, I let him pull me into shadowed hallways,
Steal my breath,
And touch me like Christmas itself was holding its breath for us.

I almost told him the truth.
About the baby growing inside me.
A baby that isn’t his.

But then came the crash.
The sirens.
The blinding flood of hospital lights.

I wake under the sharp glare of the OR,
And Xander is standing over my chart—
Staring at the ultrasound tucked inside it.
His face goes white.
His voice snaps like winter ice.

“Noelle,” he breathes,
“Whose child is this?”