It’s single digits out there.
“I’m not putting you back to work, so wipe that horrified look off your face,” he says, laughing.
“Give me just a minute.”
I dig out an extra pair of wool socks, grab a beanie, tug on snow boots, and shrug into my coat from the overstuffed chair.
When I meet him in the hall, there’s something different about him. Almost as if he’s excited about something.
Which, honestly, makesmea little excited.
“Phoebe was an eager beaver outside earlier,” he says as he leads the way. “Like the Energizer Bunny.”
I laugh at the surprise in his voice. “Not around kids much, are you?”
“Only on field trips. I always assumed it was the excitement of being somewhere new. Dad did the kid stuff, and I handled the land.”
He holds open the back door for me, and cold air bites my cheeks as I step through.
“You should give yourself more credit,” I say, stepping out. “You’re a natural with Phoebe.”
I don’t miss the way she is with him. With any of the Wheelers—even Evelyn. But there’s an especially tender relationship between Aiden and Phoebe that I keep trying to tone down in my brain.
But I’m losing the battle to pretend this isn’t getting realfast.
“She makes it easy. She’s a great kid.” He offers a reassuring smile that’s more charming than anything.
He takes my hand and guides me through the snow to a small space strung with big bulbs above precut trees and wreaths. The dim glow is ridiculously romantic.
He pulls out his phone and a little Bluetooth speaker. “I was going to bring the record player, but for this, I changed my mind.”
“For what?”
I love records. Any kind of analog media, really. I’ve always wanted a record player, but I’ve never been able to justify the cost when there are so many other “needs” on the list.
“Preference?” He tips the screen toward me—Bing, Andy, Dean—my favorites.
Remembering things like this is dangerous. It’s the type of thing someone who cares, really cares, does for you. And no one has gone out of their way for me before.
No one since him.
“‘I’ll Be Home for Christmas.’ Or ‘Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.’”
“That’s tough.” He drums his thumbs on the sides of his phone, then nods. “Let’s go with the first one.”
Bing floats into the cold night as snow sifts down. It’s an ordinary winter, and ordinary for Colorado, but still somehow magic.
“Dance with me?”
“Dance… with you?” The soft glow of the lights and Bing Crosby crooning through a speaker in the snow has my heart stumbling.
“Yes. A welcome-home first dance.”
He grins, and I’ve never loved the visual more.
Welcome home.First dance.
My brain misfires.
