Picking up my head, to look into Rosie’s warm hazel eyes I ask her, “Will you spend Christmas morning with me?”

“That depends,” her lashes flutter and I can see her cheeks flush, “Do I get to spend Christmas night with you?”

“You spoil me, you know. I’d love nothing more.” She kisses me again and we walk to the car, watching the snow fall. I turn on the radio inside and whack it once with the side of my hand to stop the crackle. Carols fill the car and Rosie sings along. She doesn’t have a spectacular voice, but what makes the moment perfect is her softly crooning Winter Wonderland.

We walk through the door some time after 3:00 a.m. and tip-toe up the stairs, slipping into the attic room like a couple of Saint Nick’s bandits.

“You look awfully cold, Miss Adams,” I coo to her, “You must need some extra body heat to warm you up.”

“I bet you could help me with that.” We climb under the covers, squeezing as close as possible and becoming a knot of intertwined limbs. I never want this night to end.