And that terrifies me. Because what if this is temporary? What if we fall back into old patterns? What if—
A sudden knocking at the door makes my heart leap into my throat.
"Coming!" I call, then immediately cringe becausewho actually announces that?
I open the door and there's Caleb, snow dusting his shoulders, his parka unzipped just enough to reveal what has to be the most ridiculous Christmas sweater I've ever seen.
"Oh my god." The laugh bubbles out. "Is that—"
"SANTA! I KNOW HIM!" Caleb spreads his arms wide, showing off the bright red monstrosity emblazoned with Buddy the Elf's hat and the quote. "What? Too much Christmas spirit?"
"I can't believe you remembered." I shake my head, still laughing. "Though considering you're basically Buddy's spiritual twin . . ."
"Hey now." He chuckles. "I have never put syrup on spaghetti."
"No, you just put peanut butter on pizza."
"That was one time," he protests. "And I was high as balls, which you promised never to bring up again."
"Pretty sure watching Elf seventeen times in one holiday season qualifies you for honorary elf status anyway."
He produces something from behind his back. "This is for you."
The bouquet is pure, unapologetic Christmas chaos in the best possible way. Red carnations burst between sprigs of evergreen, with actual candy canes tucked among the blooms, doubling as edible flower stakes. Silver tinsel catches the porch light, transforming the whole thing into a disco-holiday hybrid that absolutely shouldn't work—and yet, somehow, it does.
"You remembered candy canes are my favorite."
"I mean, you only steal them off my hot chocolate every single time." His mouth twitches as he watches me inspect the arrangement. "Hazel said roses were traditional for first dates, but . . ." Hetrails off, and I catch how his eyes keep darting between my face and the bouquet, like he's trying to gauge if he massively screwed up. "I figured tradition's overrated. Plus, this seemed more you."
"It's ridiculous." I beam at him. "I love it."
Something in his expression softens, but his hands keep fidgeting with his coat zipper, pulling it up and down in tiny increments. It's unexpectedly endearing seeing confident, cocky Caleb Miller anxious about a date.
"So," I say, arranging the bouquet in my favorite crystal vase. "What's the master plan, Buddy?"
"Caroling."
The vase nearly slips from my hands. "Shut up."
"Dead serious."
"I've literally begged you for years!" I spin to face him. "You said, and I quote, 'Caroling is a crime against humanity and also my ears.'"
"What can I say?" He pulls a stack of papers from his coat pocket, folded like actual important documents instead of carol lyrics. "Turns out I'm willing to commit crimes if you're involved. Plus, if my timing's right," he checks his phone, "the town carolers should be here any minute."
"I need my coat." I scramble for my winter gear, realizing I'm still in only my sweater. "And my scarf, and—"
"Here." He grabs my coat from the hook, holding it open. I slip my arms in, trying to ignore how his knuckles brush against my neck as he adjusts the collar.
"Can't have you freezing," he murmurs, reaching for my scarf next. The soft wool wraps around my neck with surprising gentleness. "Mittens?"
"By the door." I manage to sound almost normal despite how my pulse skitters when his fingers brush my wrists, helpingme pull them on.
"You look like a little snow bunny." He grins. "All fluffy and ready for winter."
"A snow bunny?" I laugh, but warmth spreads through my chest at how carefully he's taking care of me. "That's a new one."
"An adorable snow bunny," he clarifies, tugging playfully at my scarf.
