"Because it's always true." He pours me coffee and slides the mug across to me. "I'm making cinnamon rolls. The fancy kind from scratch that my mom used to make. They'll be ready in about ten minutes."
"Joel, you didn't have to go through the trouble."
"I wanted to." He's standing close now. "I told you I wanted to do this right. That starts with proper Christmas breakfast."
We stand there for a moment, just looking at each other, and the air between us feels charged with possibility.
"I have something for you," he says quietly. "Well, two things, actually. Can you wait here for a minute?"
I nod, not trusting my voice, and watch him disappear into what I assume is his home office. He returns carrying two wrapped boxes and sets them on the island between us.
"This one," he says, sliding the larger box toward me, "is technically from Alexis. But I need to be honest with you about something."
"Okay..." I look at the beautifully wrapped package, then back at him.
"Last month, she texted me from that boutique in LA she loves. Sent me pictures of about five different scarves, asked which one I thought you'd like." He runs a hand through his hair, looking almost embarrassed. "I picked this one. Spent about twenty minutes staring at the photos like an idiot, trying to imagine which color would look best against your skin."
I carefully unwrap the box and pull out the most beautiful scarf I've ever seen—soft cashmere in a deep burgundy that somehow seems to shimmer in the light. It's clearly expensive, the kind of thing I'd never buy for myself.
"It's gorgeous," I whisper, running my fingers over the fabric.
"Hold it up," Joel says, his voice low.
I drape it around my neck, and he steps closer, reaching out to adjust it. His fingers brush my throat and I shiver.
"Perfect," he murmurs, his eyes locked on mine. "I knew that color would be perfect on you."
"You picked this thinking of me," I say softly. "A month ago."
"I've been thinking about you for five years, Nina. A month ago is nothing."
The admission hangs between us, heavy with meaning. Then he reaches for the smaller box, and I notice his hands aren't quite steady.
"This one... this one I bought for you in September. Saw it in an antique shop in Boston and I couldn't leave without it." He slides it across to me. "I told myself I'd give it to Alexis to give toyou. But I kept it. In my desk drawer. Took it out sometimes just to look at it and imagine your face when you saw it."
My hands are shaking as I unwrap the small package. Inside is a vintage cookbook—Italian Grandmother's Kitchen—with the most beautiful illustrations on every page. The cover is worn leather, clearly old and well-loved, and when I open it, I see handwritten notes in the margins.
"Joel." My voice breaks.
"I remembered you telling me your grandmother was Italian. That she used to cook for you when you were little, but she passed away before she could teach you all her recipes." He's watching me carefully, anxiously. "I thought maybe... I don't know. It's probably silly—"
I'm crying before I can stop myself. Not sad tears—overwhelmed tears. Because this gift is so thoughtful, so personal, so perfectly chosen that it breaks my heart wide open.
"Hey, hey." Joel moves around the island, pulling me into his arms. "I didn't mean to make you cry."
"These are good tears," I manage, pressing my face against his chest. "This is the most thoughtful gift anyone's ever given me. You listened. You remembered something I said months ago and you—" I pull back to look at him. "How are you real?"
He cups my face in his hands, thumbs wiping away my tears. "I pay attention to you, Nina. I always have. Every word you say, every story you tell—I remember all of it."
"Why?" The question comes out as a whisper.
"Because you matter to me." His voice is rough with emotion. "You've mattered to me since the moment we met. I tried not to let it happen, tried to keep my distance, but Nina—you're impossible not to fall for."
"Joel."
"I need you to understand something." He's still holding my face, his blue eyes intense. "This isn't just attraction. This isn'tjust... wanting you, though God knows I do. I'm—" He takes a shaky breath. "I'm falling in love with you. Maybe I've been falling for five years. But being here with you these past two days, watching you exist in my space like you belong here—I can't pretend anymore."
My heart is pounding so hard I can barely breathe. "Say that again."
