I watch her sleep for a few minutes until I'm unable to resist pressing my lips to hers. Alex's hair looks like black rays of sunshine, if there was such a thing, fanned out against the white pillowcase. Her eyes flutter open, and she twists her head as I grin down at her.

"Morning." She rolls onto her back. "I like waking up like this much more than an alarm clock."

"Or roosters."

That earns me a hearty chuckle. "Or roosters." She tucks an errant strand of hair behind my ear. "Why are you up so early?"

"I have to meet the committee at seven." I hold Alex's hand over her stomach. "Including your aunt, who is literally across the hall."

She smirks as if she finds our situation amusing. "Does that make you nervous?"

"I feel like a teenager who snuck into her girlfriend's room last night," I confess. "I haven't had a sleepover in a very long time, especially not one that felt so clandestine."

She smirks. "Girlfriend, huh?"

I blush at my insinuation that we've defined ourselves as girlfriends. "You know what I mean."

"Aunt Dottie wants you here, babe." Alex kisses the back of my hand. "So do I…obviously."

I smile. "Babe?"

"Babe," she states confidently with a raised brow.

I lean down, kissing her again. Her lips are warm and pillowy, and I don't want to leave this bed, though I know I must. She tugs my shoulder, presumably wanting things to go horizontal, but I summon all my strength to resist.

"As much as I'd like to stay under the covers with you all day, I really have to go." I swing my legs over the edge and put my feet on the floor.

It's interesting that this is the second time I've expressed such sentiment, and it's clear that it has been too long since I've stayed in bed with another person for no other reason than to snuggle and kiss.

"One day, promise me we'll do that," she suggests. "Stay in bed all day."

"Promise." I bend down once more, giving her a peck on the cheek. "Hopefully, I can sneak out before your aunt wakes up and be able to go to the inn to change clothes."

"Good luck."

My brows shoot up. "Am I going to need it?"

"No," she laughs lightly. "She sleeps as late as she can, which typically means close to seven."

"Well, she's meeting me at seven, so I'm not taking any chances leaving at quarter to six." I put my shoes on. "Good luck with the coffee art thing today. I'll check in later."

She pulls the covers higher seemingly having no intention of getting out of bed yet. "Good luck with the festival. I know you'll kick ass."

"Thanks." I walk to the side of the bed, bending down to place a long, lingering kiss on her lips. "See you later."

"See you later, babe."

I successfully make it back to the inn before the world is awake. I take a quick shower, then change into comfortable but warm clothes. The first of a multi-day event always feels like the longest. I probably won't be back here until close to midnight. That makes me wonder where here should be—should I check out of the B&B and stay with Alex for the last three nights? It doesn't make sense to pay for a place that's only storing my luggage. If I'm to trust what Alex has told me and what Dr. Holland has shared, then there's no reason to continue staying here.

I grab a muffin from a tray in the hallway and leave a note for the innkeeper, hoping to get out of my contract early. I blush at the words I've just written, but they're remarkably true.

The Christmas committee meets to review last minute logistics, and I provide each of the chairpersons a walkie talkie. None of us should be out of reach since the entire festival takes place within half a mile of Town Square.

I do a walk-through of every space with the appropriate chairperson, including Town Hall where theatrical performances will happen; the gazebo where choirs will sing; both the small sleigh and wagon sleigh ride venues; Santa's workshop where people can make crafts; and the ice skating rink. Everything seems perfectly in place.

In the early afternoon, I meet one last time with Vanessa and the restaurant owners to review their plan for expediting food. I talk with Lewis and the maintenance crew about ensuring there are no overflowing trashcans or spills that don't get quickly cleaned up. At an event four years ago, there was a spill that caused a guest to fall and break his leg. Because my company was in charge of every aspect of the party, we were liable for the medical costs. I won't let that happen again.

The last place I need to check on is the over-21 tent.

"How's it going in here?" I pass two space heaters and am impressed how toasty it feels.

"Great," Julie, one of the owners of The Moonlighter answers. "Mike and Jonathan have one more load of liquor to bring over. Alex was here a few minutes ago, too."

"Alex?"

She nods. "She stopped by to see if there was anything we needed and ended up being a huge help." Julie points to the center of the tent. "She put tablecloths on every one of these tables and set up the bar."

"I'm glad." I didn't realize she was involved with set up today, but I'm happy she stepped in. "How many workers do you have tonight?"

"Two behind the bar and two volunteers picking up stray glasses and stuff." She lights the firepit. "Now that this thing is working, it should warm up this end of the tent."

I stick my cold hands over the flame. "What about security?"

"It's covered," she responds. "Unless snow collapses the tent, I think we're good here."

"Let's hope that doesn't happen." I smile. "If you need anything, call Vanessa first. If you can't get in touch with her, I'm next in line."

"Sounds good."

It's like I'm working in Santa's village where everything runs smoothly. I can't help but wonder when the other shoe is going to drop, hoping it never happens.

I have just enough time to check on Alex at Kringle's before the children's choir kicks things off, so I make my way over there, excited about seeing her as if I were a school-aged girl about to see her new girlfriend.

There's a group of eight or nine women near the counter. "What's going on?"

"We heard about the coffee art thing from Brenda and decided to sign up," one woman replies.

Where do I know the name Brenda? Ah, right, Marty's wife. She seemed like a maven when we met at the cocktail party, and I'm glad she's spreading the word.

"Here's the sign-up sheet." Alex hands a woman the clipboard. "I can run your payment when you're ready."

"Does this come with free coffee?" another woman asks.

Alex grins. "All you can drink."

She catches my eye through the gaggle of older women and mouths, hi.

I smile—no I swoon at her beautiful smile that I know is meant for me. I'm sure I look like Sally, the Peanuts cartoon character, when she talks about Linus complete with hearts hovering above me.

I approach the counter. "Looks like you've got quite the group of people for your class."

"Some of them are signing up for tomorrow," Alex responds. "But Edie just told me we have 10 people who've registered through the online portal for today alone."

"That's great," I say. "Can everyone fit?"

"We've cleared out the back room, so we'll host it in there," she begins. "Another employee should be here any minute to work the front of the shop while I'm in the back with Edie."

"Who's working at the kiosk in Town Square?"

"Her nephew, Blake." She runs a credit card through the machine. "Thank you. Who's next?"

"Well, it looks like things are going smoothly in here," I comment, squeezing her arm. "I have to make sure everything is set for the opening performance."

"Good luck."

I want to lean over and kiss her, but I think better of it as Edie surfaces from the back room. I walk outside into the chilly air feeling good about everything so far.

I'm incredibly thankful for the distraction of hosting this coffee class so I don't have to come up with an excuse not to attend opening night of the Christmas festival. To be fair, I don't think anyone expects me to show up, but I'd rather not disappoint my aunt or Piper by telling them I'm going to sit this one out.

"I think I did it!" a woman exclaims, showing me her foam art.

"If that's supposed to be a snowflake, you nailed it," I respond.

"It sure is," she proudly states.

"Nice work. Now, try the snowman." I glance around the room. "Anyone else ready to show me what they've made?"

So far, I've taught them how to make a basic snowflake and a snowman—two of the easiest forms of holiday inspired coffee art. A couple of guests did it well on their first try, so I take them aside to show them how to make a Christmas tree, which is a little more difficult.

Edie is thrilled that we have 12 paying guests, four of whom bought milk frothers or steamers. The hope is that they'll tell their friends and family about how much fun they had, and we'll get 15 tomorrow. If that happens, Edie wants me to host these types of classes regularly. I don't remind her that I'm going back to Manhattan as soon as possible, so this little endeavor will be short-lived.

"That went well, don't you think?" Edie says after the last person leaves.

"It did. The girl with the pink stripe in her hair was really good." I wipe down the stainless steel tables. "You should consider hiring her."

"I just might." She sticks a few mugs in the dishwasher. "I'd love to make it to the opening choir before they're finished."

I glance at my watch. "Looks like there's still 10 minutes left. Go. I've got this."

"Are you sure?"

I carry four more coffee cups to the dishwasher. "Yes."

"Thank you, Alex." She removes her apron, hanging it on a hook. "For everything."

I smile. "No problem."

I take my own sweet time cleaning up as I contemplate what it must be like to own your own coffee shop. Edie gets to hire who she wants, serve whatever coffee she wants, open and close whenever she wants, and work whenever she wants. Must be nice. Not that I'm complaining about my job—at least not about my job at the Coffee Project. I have more creative freedom than I have at Kringle's, that's for sure, except for getting to host this coffee art class and teach it like I see fit. At the Coffee Project, I'm relegated to teaching what they want, but I get to choose how to teach it. Maybe someday I'll open my own place, but I know there are headaches involved with running a business, too—it's not all sunshine and roses.

By the time I'm finished cleaning, I notice it's almost six o'clock. That means the festivities are well underway. I hope everything is running smoothly for Piper's sake. I consider texting her, but I think better of it—she's probably too busy to respond anyway.

"Need anything before I head out?" I ask Gina, the barista on duty tonight.

"I'm good," she replies. "I have a feeling it's going to be a slow night."

I shrug into my coat. "Unless the line gets long at the kiosk in the Square."

"Yeah. Have a good night, Alex."

"You, too."

Maybe I should walk up Main Street if for no other reason than to see what kind of crowd has gathered. I pull on my gloves and make sure my wool cap is in place as I head towards the center of town. There are children running towards all the action and parents telling them to slow down. I grin, wondering if I was like that as a child. My, how times have changed.

The closer I get to Town Square, the louder the carolers become. I take a deep breath, telling myself everything is fine; it's all good. It's joyous even. All of the patrons are smiling, save for the one kid who appears to be having an epic meltdown near the pictures with Santa station. I feel your pain, kid.

I want Piper's words to be true—I want her to take away the sting of Christmases past and bring joy and love to this holiday season and future ones, too. I walk further into the Square where there's a small choir performing in the gazebo. They're not dressed like traditional carolers; instead, they're wearing what can only be described as hippie clothes—bright, swirling colorful tops and short mini-skirts with white, patent leather boots. The man in the group has on a tan tunic over tight jeans. It's odd to say the least.

I get close enough to see the sign—they're an ensemble that only sings songs from the 1960s. According to the schedule posted on a sandwich board next to the gazebo, they followed a 50s band and a 70s group will sing next. I see—it's decades of Christmas music. That's not a bad idea—music that will appeal to all ages. I wonder if it was Piper's idea.

I swivel my head and glance at the throngs of people—there must be at least a hundred that I can see, and I'm sure there are more in the booze tent and on sleigh rides. I wish I could be one of the revelers, but my palms begin to sweat as the lights appear to get brighter.

No, this can't be happening. I'm more powerful than the anxiety that's building inside. I take a few deep breaths and close my eyes, concentrating on the sound of children's laughter rather than the carolers. Then it happens—they sing the one song that will inevitably relegate me to a full-blown panic attack: Santa, Teach Me to Dance. The lights feel like they're closing in on me. I stumble over to the nearest surface, which happens to be an oak tree and place my palm against it. My chest feels tight and my head feels like a knife is shooting through it; I can't see. I don't know if my eyes are opened or shut, which makes me panic even more.

"Lady are you ok?" someone asks.

"Piper…I need you to get Piper Chapman." That's what comes out of my mouth? Piper has never seen me in this freaked-out state. She won't know what to do, but neither will my aunt. I just need to concentrate on my breathing, but my chest feels like it's holding a thousand bricks. I can't breathe.

I feel an arm on my shoulder. "Alex?"

Although the figure is blurry, I see blonde hair sticking out from under a pink hat. "Piper?"

"It's ok. I'm here…" She tips my chin up. "Look at me, Alex. Look at me."

I squeeze my eyes shut for a few seconds, and then open them again. She comes into focus, and I give her a small nod.

"Concentrate on my voice." She begins rubbing my arm. "Nothing else exists—just me and you."

That's when I realize I'm on the snow-covered ground. I'm not sure if I sat down intentionally or if I fainted. "Where am I?"

"With me," she says with such confidence, I don't dare question it. "You're with me."

I nod again and chance looking around. People are staring.

For the first time since she announced her presence, Piper glances up at someone. "Get them away from her—now."

My heart rate has slowed, but it's still racing. "Why are they looking at me like that?"

She seems to chew on my question for a bit. "Because you're the most beautiful woman in town. I'd even argue the most beautiful woman in New York."

That causes my lips to slightly tic up. "I think that honor belongs to you."

She rests her forehead against mine and closes her eyes, a tiny smile gracing her face. "You're going to be just fine."

I have no idea how long I sit there, mostly in Piper's embrace, but now I know where I am. "Did I just have a panic attack?"

"I think so, yeah." She's sitting on the ground next to me. "But you're better now."

I look at my left hand and see that my glove is ripped. "What happened?"

"Let's go somewhere warm." Piper stands, holding out a hand. "Can you get up?"

"I think so." I stand on shaky legs, but she steadies me.

"Got it?"

I nod.

She walks arm in arm with me to the 21-and-over tent. "This is good." She pulls out a chair. "Sit down."

I do as I'm told. "Now will you tell me what happened?"

"From what I gather, you finished with your coffee art class, then came to the Square," Piper begins. "There was a group in the gazebo singing 1960s Christmas songs, and one of the songs was the one your mom loved."

"Santa, Teach Me to Dance?" I ask.

She nods. "I was checking on the Santa photo station a few feet away when I heard it, and I had this odd feeling like you were at the festival."

I listen intently.

"Before I knew it, Barbara and a woman I don't know drug me over to you," she continues. "You'd fallen next to the tree."

"Did I pass out?"

Without answering the question, Piper places a hand on my knee. "Your aunt is finding a doctor to check you out."

"I don't need a doctor." I start to get up, but her grip on my knee tightens.

"You're not going anywhere."

I glance up and see 'all business Piper' with her clenched jaw and don't fuck with me look.

"It's not a big deal, really," I complain. "I'm fine now."

She lifts her shoulders. "Good, then the doctor will say so and you can go on your way."

I toss my head back, realizing I'm not going to win this battle.

"Here she is." Aunt Dottie approaches with Abigail Wintermeyer.

"Was Piper's hotness too much to handle so you fainted?" Abigail jokes with a straight face. "I get it if that's the case, though I prefer dark haired women over blondes."

I can't help smiling at her sense of humor. "Aren't you an oncologist? I'm pretty sure I don't have cancer."

She ignores my statement. "What happened?"

I relay what I know to be true, and then Piper fills her in where my memory fails. Abigail makes me do a few vision and balance tests.

"I'm not drunk you know," I grumble.

"Good to know." Abigail makes me follow her finger with her eyes and uses the flashlight on her iPhone to look at my pupils. "We're killing two birds with one stone then—you're not drunk, and it appears you're not concussed either." She gets to her feet and glances at Piper and my aunt. "Did anyone see her fall?"

A young woman with braids hanging down her jacket raises her hand. "I did."

"Do you know if she hit her head?"

"She didn't," the woman answers. "She was bracing against the tree, and her hand slipped. I think it got caught on the bark or something, but she didn't fall—she sort of lowered herself to the ground and looked like she was in pain."

"You're sure?" Abigail asks.

"Positive. My boyfriend and I saw the whole thing."

The man next to her nods.

"Thank you. You can go enjoy the festival now." Abigail waits for everyone to leave except for my aunt and Piper. "Alex, have you ever had a panic attack?"

My eyes dart from hers to my aunt's. "Yeah."

Aunt Dottie's hand shoots to her chest, but she remains silent.

"Do you know what triggers those attacks?"

I nod. "Christmas stuff in general, but that song specifically."

"What song?"

I look away, feeling both embarrassed and frightened to mention it.

"Santa, Teach Me to Dance," Piper replies.

"My sister's favorite," Aunt Dottie gasps.

I have to be brave in this moment; no use hiding behind my machismo. "It's the song that was playing when I found her on the bathroom floor."

Piper sits next to me again and holds my hand.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Abigail says with utter sincerity as she crouches in front of me. "But that'll do it."

"Do what?" my aunt asks.

"Trigger a panic attack," the doctor replies. "Alex probably has Vasovagal syncope, which occurs when you faint because your body overreacts to certain triggers, such as the sight of blood or extreme emotional distress. This sort of episode causes your heart rate and blood pressure to drop suddenly." She gets to her feet. "If that's what it is, it's harmless and doesn't require treatment unless you hurt yourself if and when you fainted."

"It's not PTSD?" Piper asks.

"I wouldn't rule it out," Abigail says. "Best to go through some tests with your doctor, but for now, the only thing I'd recommend is staying away from the things that are most likely to trigger you."

"You mean stay away from Christmas," I mutter.

"Not necessarily," she continues. "Have you experienced anything like this since you've been in Hollygrove?"

"No."

"Not at the coffee shop, our party, your aunt's house?"

I shake my head.

"What about before? Last month, last year, the year before that?" Abigail asks.

"I've had a few minor freak outs where I've had to step outside at a party or something, but it's only been this bad twice," I confess, and then think about those other two times when I experienced something like this. "It's only when I hear that obscure song."

"Makes sense." Abigail nods. "I don't see any reason you can't go on with your normal activities tomorrow but take it easy tonight."

My aunt shakes her head, tears hanging in her eyelids. "I had no idea."

"Please don't cry." I stand and reach for her. "I didn't want to bother you with all this."

"How many times do I have to tell you, Alex, you're never a bother!" she says angrily. "I love having you around. I love that you've kept me company this year when my heart aches for Lloyd." She shakes her head vigorously. "You're a blessing, not a bother!"

That makes me all teary-eyed. "I'm sorry." I pull her into a tight embrace.

"Stop apologizing," she says against my shoulder. "I don't care if you don't want to celebrate Christmas. I just care that you're healthy and happy. That's what your mom would want."

I pull back, trying my best to smile. "She would."

"I know someone who makes you happy." Aunt Dottie glances at Piper. "In fact, she's standing right here."

I release her and Piper takes her place. "She certainly does."

Abigail smiles. "You really are a striking couple."

I feel a blush crawling up my neck.

"No correction this time that you're 'not quite there yet'?" she enquires.

"No, we're there," I reply, grinning at the woman in my arms.

"Took you long enough," she says with an eye roll.

We really will need to invite Abigail and her wife to dinner some time. I might miss them as much as I'll miss my aunt when I return to Manhattan.

"Alright, friends…" Abigail hooks a thumb over her shoulder. "I'm on kid duty while Vanessa galivants around. I'll check in with you tomorrow."

"Thank you," I say. "I mean it."

She smiles and takes off down the sidewalk.

"Now that the excitement is over, I have work to do," my aunt says with renewed enthusiasm. "Alex, I trust you'll straight home?"

I nod.

"I'll walk with you," Piper offers.

I hold a hand up in protest. "That won't be necessary."

"Seriously? You just had a panic attack. It's the least I can do."

"Piper, I'm fine." I grab both of her shoulders. "Believe me, there's nothing I'd love more than to spend even ten minutes with you, but you have a job to do. I'm fine—Abigail said so herself. Really."

"Ok, but I want you to text me the minute you get in the door." She looks uncertain. "If I don't hear from you in eight minutes, I'm coming to find you."

I smirk. "Eight, not ten?"

"I won't be able to wait ten minutes," she replies. "I timed it anyway—it takes seven minutes and 43 seconds to get from Town Square to your aunt's house."

I lean close to her ear even though no one else is near enough to hear. "As I recall, that's how long it took to make you cum yesterday."

She slaps my arm.

"Maybe it was a little less than that." I purse my lips. "But close to eight minutes feels right."

"You have a dirty mind." She steps out of my reach. "I'm leaving now. Text me the moment you get home."

I hook my finger and thumb around my eyeglasses, feeling much better. "I heard you the first time, babe."

She grins, presumably at my term of endearment, and then disappears into the crowd.

As I make my way back to my aunt's house, I'm blasted by a barrage of thoughts. There's no question that the 60s Christmas song triggered my panic attack, but I was feeling odd prior to that. I remember the lights seeming brighter and my breath becoming labored. Maybe when I noticed the 60s style band in the gazebo, my internal reflection jumped to worst case scenario—that they'd sing my mom's favorite holiday song. I've come to know that mere anticipation can start an episode, though it's been a year since I've experienced anything like the magnitude of today's event.

I climb up the three steps to the porch and pull out my keys. As soon as I take off my coat, I text Piper, then my aunt, letting them know I made it home safely.

What would I have done if I were alone? Would anyone have found me? Truth is, I would probably never find myself alone when that song played. I don't own a copy of it, and if I'm streaming music, it sure as hell isn't Christmas music. The likelihood of an episode like that happening privately is slim.

I draw a bath, sprinkling some of my aunt's bubble bath into the water. It's been years since I've taken a bath—I'm more of a shower quickly to get clean kind of woman. Tonight though, I want to be enveloped in the hot water. I'd also like Piper's arms around me, but I know she's busy tonight. Scratch that, because of the time she spent with me tonight, she's probably doubly busy now.

I lower myself into the warm water, letting out a long breath as I settle in. As I close my eyes, visions of what happened come crashing in on me. I monitor my breathing and let my thoughts flow through my brain. I remember feeling dizzy; maybe even a little nauseated. I also remember balancing a hand against the tree as my legs got weak. I pull my left hand out of the water and examine it. There's a thin red line across my palm, presumably the remnants of slicing my glove on the bark or a short branch, but it didn't penetrate my skin.

What puzzles me is why I asked the woman I could barely see as my vision failed to find Piper. Why not ask for my aunt or just help in general? It's hard to fathom being cognizant enough to ask for a woman I met four days ago yet who has obviously come to mean so much to me.

I relax into the water, letting those thoughts leave my mind as quickly as they entered. I don't want to expel energy on things I don't have answers to or can't control—not tonight anyway.

About 15 minutes later, I get out of the tub feeling more relaxed than I have been in a while. I slip into my aunt's guest robe, and my skin is warm and tingly. I go into my room and check my phone. There's a message from Piper: How are you feeling?

I smile as I type, Much better, thank you. Took a hot bath. Wished you were with me.

I return to the bathroom to brush my hair and dab some soothing lotion on my face. My phone chimes. That sounds heavenly.

How are things going? I write.

Now that I've finished the Agatha Christie novel, I head downstairs on a mission to find a new one. Aunt Dottie told me to read anything I'd like, so I'm hoping to pick out a thriller to keep my mind off my episode tonight. I step into her office and read the back cover of five novels, all of which are by female British authors. While some of them seem interesting, I'm looking for a real page turner. Finally, I settle on Recursion by Blake Crouch.

My phone dings, and I glance at the screen, seeing another text from Piper: All good except for a flat tire on the trailer/Christmas wagon. Got it fixed but long line now.

I debate whether to ask if she needs help. While I want to help her, I don't know if that's such a good idea tonight.

Will you do me a favor? She asks.

Fuck, I don't know if I can turn her down, but I'm worried about my anxiety. I'm a little surprised she'd ask me to do something for her after what transpired tonight. What do you need?

My bag.

That's confusing. Did she spill something on her clothing? Maybe she's the one who changed the flat tire and is all dirty after laying on the ground. If she did change the tire, I find it extremely sexy.

Where should I bring it? I write.

The three little dots dance on the screen. To your bedroom.

A downright stupid smile spreads across my cheeks. In that case, happy to help.

I won't be home until close to midnight. Keep the bed warm.

I'm positively swooning. I hold the phone over my heart and smile so hard it turns into laughter. I type a simple Done, then head upstairs to get dressed. This novel will have to wait.

Piper knows I dislike Christmas. The thing that astonishes me is that instead of asking me to help with even the most non-holiday tasks at the festival, she's leaning into my discomfort and giving me something to be hopeful (or thankful) for in her deciding to stay with me. She's like a healing salve or a warm blanket I can't live without. That's a striking thought—I can't live without. Maybe that's it—maybe this whole time I've hated Christmas, I just needed someone to help me through it without forcing it down my throat.

While Aunt Dottie has been a godsend for letting me stay with her when I'd otherwise be homeless, she's more of a neutral factor—she hadn't even brought Christmas or the festival up until Piper arrived. I guess her way of handling me during this time has been to ignore or disguise what the season means to her. That has certainly worked for the two of us, but with Piper, it's different. Obviously, one reason is because I'm attracted to her. Very attracted. But the less obvious reason is that she's playing this with a deft hand. I'm sure that can't be easy since she loves Christmas, but she's not pushing me into a corner or forcing my hand at something for which I've expressed nothing but disdain.

What must it have felt like for her to hear me say I'd try to appreciate Christmas? I didn't examine her expression close enough in that moment; I wish I had. I hope it was music to her ears that I'd at least attempt to enjoy the holiday. She might not know this, but I haven't made such an offer to anyone I've dated over the years. She could've easily flashed her baby blues, begging me to be with her or to help her for the big opening night, yet she didn't mention it. Instead, she allowed me to focus on the coffee art class, which was her idea from the start.

I stop in my tracks just before getting to the bed & breakfast. Did Piper make that suggestion to give me a public 'out' of having to attend the festival? Is she that clever—that in tune with my feelings? How could that be when we've known each other for a matter of days? But what if—what if she's like my Christmas angel, sent here to bring me the joy I've been missing all these years?

I tried to enjoy the festival on my own, but I failed so miserably that I ended up having a panic attack. Maybe I can't do this without her; truth is even if I can, I don't want to.

My musings end as I enter the inn and am greeted by an older lady.

"May I help you?"

"I'm here to grab Piper Chapman's things," I say, wiping my feet on the doormat. "I'm hoping she told you she was checking out."

"Ah, yes. We're sorry to see her go, but apparently she's fallen in love."

I jut my head back. Unless this woman is reading between the lines, Piper told her the reason she was leaving was because she's fallen in love. I'm speechless.

"I think love is the best reason to give a guest a refund on the nights she won't be staying here." The innkeeper walks to Room #2, opening the door. "Don't you?"

"I do." I smile. "Thank you."

Why do I get the feeling she knows who has captured Piper's heart? She has that gleam in her eye that my aunt had when she figured out I had feelings for her former student.

"I'll be quick," I say as I begin gathering Piper's belongings.

So many thoughts are swirling in my head, not the least of which is the newfound realization that Piper isn't the only one falling in love. I didn't want to put a name to what I've been feeling, but that's it. I haven't felt this way about anyone—I don't mean in a long time—I mean ever. She has captured my heart, and I'm not going to be able to shake this smile for the foreseeable future.

I strap a bag over my shoulder and wheel her suitcase out of the room. "I think that's everything."

"Very good, dear."

"Anything else you need from me?"

She shakes her head. "No, the bill is covered for the nights she's already stayed."

"Ok, then. Thank you." I step outside with all of Piper's stuff, feeling like this is much more than just a move from the inn to my aunt's house.

Dr. Holland and I enter the house quiet as mice just before midnight, both exhausted to the core.

"Feel free to make yourself a cup of tea or a bite to eat," she says, removing her outerwear. "I'm going straight to bed."

"Thank you." I squeeze her arm. "I'll be up in a minute."

I take off my hat, coat and gloves and let out a long breath, cracking my neck from side to side. I've been mostly on my feet since 7 a.m. and my legs are killing me. I walk into the living room and smile. This home is so cheery, but I wonder how it makes Alex feel with Christmas almost everywhere you look. If I had to guess, I'd say she's pretty good at tuning out her surroundings at this time of year.

I notice my bag on a side chair and once again smile, knowing she went to the inn to get all my stuff. I open it to see my laptop, phone charger, and various other work related items. I look around the room to see if my suitcase is down here, but she must've brought it upstairs.

I breeze into the kitchen and pour myself a glass of water that I guzzle. I haven't stayed well-hydrated today and make a mental note to change that tomorrow. I'll fill my Hydro Flask before I leave. While my body is grateful for the water, I'm also staying downstairs a little longer to give Dr. Holland time to settle into bed upstairs. I don't want to be a nuisance or disturb her nighttime routine.

When I feel like enough time has passed, I tiptoe up the wooden staircase and enter Alex's bedroom. The door creaks upon opening it, but she doesn't move. The only light in the room is coming from a nightlight in the bathroom, and once my eyes adjust to the darkness, I realize it's just bright enough for me to see her slumbering form. She's beautiful even as a silhouette. A smile touches my lips.

I notice my suitcase propped up on a chair against the wall. I unzip it and rummage through it to find my pajamas, which consist of red flannel snowman shorts and a matching top. I've never liked sleeping in long pants. Then, I quietly go to the bathroom to change my clothes, wash my face and brush my teeth.

"Did you just sneak in?" a groggy voice comes from the bed.

"Yeah." I enter the bedroom, then crawl into bed next to her. "Sorry to wake you. I thought I was being quiet."

"You were." Alex reaches for me. "How'd it go tonight?"

"Good." I tuck my body under the warm sheets and stretch an arm over her hip. "There were a few hiccups that we'll iron out tomorrow, but other than the flat tire on the Christmas wagon, there weren't any major snafus."

"I'm glad."

I can't resist kissing her. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine. Sleepy." She kisses me again. "I took a hot bath tonight, which is rare. Then I went to the inn to get your stuff."

I slide my other arm under her pillow. "Thank you for that."

"The innkeeper told me the reason why you were checking out." Although it's dark, I can see that she's grinning.

"Oh, that was just to get her to agree not to charge me for the next three nights," I say, cheeks heating up. "I figured I'd give it a try to see if she was as sentimental as I thought she might be."

She brushes my hair out of my face. "Are you saying you lied to her just to get your money back?"

"Maybe just stretched the truth a little," I respond, worried about overstepping.

Alex props herself up on one arm. "So, you're not falling in love?"

"That would be preposterous," I let out a nervous laugh. "To fall in love in a matter of days."

"I agree..." she trails off, pressing her lips against mine. "But as preposterous as it may be, I think it's happening—at least for me."

"Really?" The hopefulness in my voice immediately gives away my true feelings.

The light from the bathroom reveals her white teeth as she smiles. "Yes."

I hurl my body against hers, effectively making her fall on her back, and I kiss her soundly and hear a sound emerge from my own mouth that began deep in my belly. "Then it's settled—we're falling in love."

"And you've been released from your contract at the inn," she jokes. "It's a win-win situation."

"It is."

We make love that night, and it feels, well, perfect. I never expected to find love in Hollygrove, but I'm very glad I did. I'm also thankful that I found someone who not only appreciates me, but also trusts me. I'd forgotten how good that feels. She's put her faith in the right person, and I can't wait to continue earning her love and trust over the next weeks, months and hopefully years. Nothing would make me happier than helping Alex once again find joy during the holidays. I think we're off to a terrific start.

We're going to have a merry Christmas indeed.

The End

Author's Note: I hope you enjoyed my 6th Vauseman Christmas story! I had fun writing it. Oh, and I have Vasovagal syncope, but it's triggered by the perception of danger or blood. Haven't fainted in a long time from it, but it's very real. Hope you all have the happiest holidays in this strange Covid world we're living in!