Before I can answer, she’s shuffling across the floor in the cutest Rudolph slippers, her hand cupped under the spoon to catch drips. I sip without asking how hot it is.
“That’s amazing.” Hints of cinnamon and something warm and spicy bloom on my tongue. “What is that?”
“Mexican hot chocolate. First time?”
“First,” I admit, and when I blink, she’s already back at the pots. “That’ll be a hit for sure.”
Her smile widens, lighting her whole face. “We drink it a lot down south. Consider this my little stamp on opening day.”
Something in me shifts to the first spark of real excitement I’ve felt about work in a long time. I’ve been so focused on stretching dollars and patching holes that I forgot the joy of helping people find their tree.
Two years of holidays as a knot of stress and grief.
Having Chloe and Phoebe here is helping to nudge my lens back into focus. And waking up to Chloe jump-starting the day is the best view I’ve had in years—one I could get used to.
I probably shouldn’t, since we only agreed to a year. But my heart doesn’t seem on board with that plan.
I head for the coffee maker. “Did you sleep at all?”
“Not really. I was lying there thinking,They need hot chocolate. Also, I hope you don’t mind, but I also have miniapple-cider donuts in the oven. Kids get hangry fast, so I figured grab-and-go couldn’t hurt.”
Hot cocoa and cider donuts, nostalgia that can soften even the grinchiest holiday holdout.
She’s definitely softening me.
“Chloe, you don’t need to do anything for Opening Day. Even though I appreciate it. More than you know.”
“It’s okay. I feel better knowing I’m contributing,” she says with a shrug. “Good thing I packed my donut pans. First day here and they’re already earning their keep.”
I push off the wall and cross to her. “Stop it.”
“Stop what?”
“Deflecting.”
“Deflecting?” One eyebrow goes up.
“We might be out of practice, but old habits die hard. You’re keeping busy, so you’re not thinking about our kiss last night.”
“Or I’m keeping busy to be helpful. This is a huge day for you,” she says, blush creeping up her neck.
“You can tell yourself that,” I murmur, “but I know you.”
“I have a lot on my mind.” Her movements quicken. “You’re awfully presumptuous to think I lost sleep over you kissing me. It’s not like you haven’t done it before.”
“I’m no expert, but I think it’s mixed,” I say, stepping behind her and easing my hand over hers on the spoon.
“I don’t want it to scorch.”
I reach around and click off the burner. “Solved. I’m sorry you didn’t sleep, but I appreciate how this morning is going. It’s already better than most.”
She’s already right here, so I wrap my arms around her waist and nuzzle her neck. Maybe it’s the lack of caffeine, so it’s harder to remind myself why this is a bad idea, but she leans into me as if she belongs here.
Sweet almond and caramel rise off her skin, and I wish I could bottle it up and carry it around the farm with me all day.
“Me too,” she whispers. Like she’s testing a theory, she covers my forearms, then lets her fingertips trace slow lines. It’s soothing, and for a breath, I can see a different life—early mornings with my wife, teaching Phoebe the things Dad taught me, dinner around an actual table.
“Why do you always smell like Christmas cookies?” I murmur, brushing a kiss where shoulder meets neck.
