I lift my brows. I don’t think this man could ever give a meaningless gift even if he tried. Somehow, I know that about him. He’s the type of person who would handpick the perfect item for every single person around him, taking hours to do it if he had to.

And I guess he considers me one of these people now.

“I swear,” he says with a laugh.

Heartbeat accelerating, I slowly open the envelope, the sound of paper tearing clashing against the silence in the room, then slide my hand inside the envelope.

It feels like a piece of paper.

“Come on, you’re making me nervous now,” he says.

I look up to find his amused eyes on me. Quickly, I pull the sheet out of the envelope.

My world blurs, heart beating in slow motion.

On the thick cream paper is the most realistic drawing I have ever seen, a scene with my two dogs playing in the snow, a horde of coniferous trees in the background. Maybelle looks like a tiny ball of cotton, her frizz perfectly depicted, her dark eyes popping against the light background. And Molly. Oh, Molly. Her colors are so vibrant, each strand of hair looking realer than life. As if I’m truly witnessing my girls romping through snowdrifts.

“Aaron,” I start, voice wobbly.

He clears his throat. “You like it?”

I don’t have words. There’s no way I could find the right thing to say. It’s too beautiful, and more importantly, it means more to me than any other piece of art ever could’ve, which Aaron must’ve known somehow. He’s just ruined all the future presents I might one day receive with a single one of his. So, instead of talking, I take a step forward and wrap my arms around his torso, so tight I’m probably crushing his lungs.

After a moment of stiffness, he relaxes against me and puts his arms over my shoulders, squeezing my head against his chest. He smells so good, like snow and cold air and him, his warmth enveloping me, and for a second, I find myself thinking I never want to step away. I could stay like this forever. His muscles are hard under me, flexing as he pulls me even closer against him.

I swallow.

“Merry Christmas,” he whispers over my hair.

“Merry Christmas, Aaron,” I say, keeping him against me just a second longer. I need one more.

There have been a lot of occasions when I’ve wished I could have a normal brain and get a normal future. When I’ve had to refuse coffee dates with Selina or any of my colleagues. When I made the decision to never have children. When I lost the will to travel, knowing it might make me heartbroken to create memories only to lose them.