She's wearing black leggings that hug her curves and an oversized cream sweater that slides off one shoulder. Her dark hair is piled on top of her head in a messy bun with tendrils escaping around her face. She's barefoot, humming along to something playing from her phone, and she looks so perfectly at home in my kitchen that it makes my chest ache.
"Good morning," I manage, my voice rougher than I intended.
She spins around, one hand going to her heart. "God, you scared me. I'm sorry, I hope it's okay that I—"
"Nina." I move closer, unable to help myself. "You don't have to apologize for making coffee in my kitchen.Mi casa es su casa, remember?"
Her smile is shy, uncertain. "I woke up early and couldn't get back to sleep. Thought I'd make myself useful."
"You're a guest, not staff." I reach around her for a mug and pour myself coffee. "How did you sleep?"
"Better than I expected, actually. That guest bed is amazing." She takes a sip from her own mug, and I watch her full lips touch the rim. "How about you?"
Terribly. I lay awake thinking about you.
"Fine," I lie. "Want some breakfast? I make a mean omelet."
"I'd love that."
We fall into an easy rhythm—me cooking while she sits at the island keeping me company, just like last night. She tells me about some drama at work, making me laugh with her commentary, and I find myself relaxing despite the charged undercurrent between us.
Outside, the snow is falling steadily, already piling up against the windows.
"Wow," Nina breathes, moving to the window. "It's really coming down."
I join her, and we stand side by side watching the world turn white. The trees are already heavy with it, the driveway disappearing under pristine drifts.
"Think we'll be able to dig out?" she asks.
I check my phone, pulling up the weather app. "They're calling for two feet by tonight, with high winds creating drifts up to four feet in some areas. The governor just declared a state of emergency—travel ban until at least December 26th." I scroll through my texts. "Alexis just sent a message. She's stuck at her friend's place in LA until the airports reopen. Earliest flight they can get her on is the twenty-sixth in the evening."
"So we're really snowed in. Just us. Through Christmas." Nina's voice is quiet, and I can't tell if she's nervous or pleased.
"Just us," I confirm. "I hope that's okay."
She turns to look at me, and there's something in her eyes that makes my heart skip. "It's more than okay."
After breakfast, Nina insists on helping me clean up, and then we're faced with the question of how to spend Christmas Eve snowed in together.
"I usually go to the hospital on Christmas Eve," I admit. "Check on my post-op patients, bring gifts for the kids in pediatrics. But obviously that's not happening today."
"What would you do at home? If you were just... spending Christmas Eve at home?"
I consider this. "I haven't done that in years. Even after the divorce, I'd find somewhere to be. Always had to be useful."
"Maybe that's not a bad thing," Nina says gently. "But today you have to sit still. We both do. So what do you want to do?"
What I want to do is pull her onto my lap and kiss her until neither of us can think straight. But that's not an option.
"Actually," I say, remembering the closet full of gifts in my study. "I have about twenty presents I bought for the kids in the pediatric ward. Usually I'd bring them to the hospital today, but with the storm..." I trail off. "They're not wrapped yet. Think you could help me?"
Nina's face lights up. "Of course. Show me."
We head to my study, and I pull out boxes of toys—action figures, dolls, books, art supplies. Things that might make a kid's hospital stay a little brighter.
"You do this every year?" Nina asks, her voice soft.
"Since I started at the hospital. Some of these kids will be there through Christmas. Seemed like the least I could do."
