Chapter 1
McKenna
Nothing screams holiday cheer like a classroom full of sugared-up four-year-olds in Christmas pajamas recitingHow the Grinch Stole Christmasverbatim while the movie plays for the third time today.
Personally, I’d prefer to haveRudolphon repeat, but the little ones vetoed that. Because of course they did, and honestly, I love that about them. Have you ever tried to win an argument with twenty toddlers? I would not recommend it. Zero out of ten.
Green and red paper garland loops around the whiteboard and our makeshift Christmas tree. The purple paper star on top has yellow fireworks glued to it, because “a plain yellow star is boring.” Who knew?
“Miss Monroe!”
“Miss Monroe!”
“Charlie has a snowflake in his mouth!”
A collective, giggly, “eww, Charlie,” breaks through the room. I turn my head to hide a laugh and school my face enough to address the class.
“Charlie, honey. You shouldn’t put paper in your mouth.”
The little girl who started the tattletale situation wrinkles her nose as Charlie spits a piece of construction paper into his hand and carries it to the trash can. That’s better than on the table or floor, I guess.
These are the moments that make the job worth it—the pure, unfiltered imagination of a preschooler who just wants to catch snowflakes like the kids in the movie. Even if it means eating construction paper.
“I just wanted to catch snowflakes on my tongue, Miss M.” He pouts as he returns to his chair.
“Ah, I understand. I love the imagination, but what if we pretend to catch snowflakes instead? We really shouldn’t put the paper ones in our mouths.”
“I guess so.” The little boy nods, but his shoulders drop and the little frown on his face is the cutest thing I’ve seen all day. The great thing about little ones is it only takes a few seconds for them to find something else to occupy their time.
The feminine snort that sounds over my shoulder draws my attention, and I nearly fall into another fit of giggles at the sight of my co-teacher in her full-body Grinch onesie.
“Hey, now,” Lauren says with a laugh as she tosses her blonde hair over her shoulder. “This is the most comfortable holiday thing I own. Don’t knock it ’til you try it.”
“I think I’ll pass, thanks,” I say before making a show of adjusting the ribbon in my auburn hair. “I’ll stick with sweatshirts and Christmas bows.”
I smooth down my favorite oversized Christmas sweatshirt. It’s soft and worn from being washed so many times, the green wreathes fading into something softer on the cream-colored sleeves. It’s practical and comfortable and doesn’t require a full undress to visit the restroom. Lauren can have her chaos; I’ll take cozy any day.
“Suit yourself,” she whispers before snagging the children’s attention. “Hi, friends! Santa’s elf dropped off something special for you guys.”
My gut drops as the kids squeal in excitement. The flinch is reflexive, and I do my best to keep the panicked expression off my face as I try to piece together what I’m seeing. We work for a small daycare and preschool. It’s a good facility, but the board doesn’t put much financial effort into providing extra perks for the children. Rent, groceries, gas—every dollar already had a job. While I live semi-comfortably with two incomes, I didn’t have the funds to spoil my kiddos this year.
Except, Lauren has an oversize gift bag filled to the brim with wrapped boxes.
“What is all of this?” I ask in wonderment and mostly to myself.
Confusion colors Lauren’s face as her head tilts to the side. “What do you mean? They are from you.”
I shake my head slowly. “No,” I say, drawing out the word. “I made them all little goody bags, but that’s it. I couldn’t swing the funds for more this year.”
“Well, yeah. Same here, but your friend’s brother—oh, shoot. What’s his name?”
My stomach cramps as realization dawns. No, he wouldn’t have.
Except Reece Taylor absolutely would. The man who barely tolerates me face-to-face somehow always knows exactly what I need before I do. It’s infuriatingly thoughtful and completely him. He’s always fixing problems I haven’t asked him to fix, stepping in where he doesn’t belong, and making it impossible to maintain the careful distance I’ve built between us.
I sigh heavily, dropping my head to my crayon-covered desk. Of course, he would.
“Reece,” I whisper as a multitude of emotions rush through me.
