Once I had settled on a new pair of jeans that may or may not have made my butt look good and a form fitting V-neck sweater, I headed down to find Jordan waiting by the door, looking out at the driveway through the window. At the sound of my descent, he turned with words on his lips, likely to tease me about the time it took to get ready. However, once his eyes caught sight of me, the words rolled off his tongue and fell back down his throat. I bit my lip to hide my victorious grin. He may have pulled a fast one on me by proposing this impromptu dinner, but two could play at this game.

"Ready to go then?" His words were stiff as he handed me my new coat.

"Yep, sorry for the wait. Just wanted to go over some notes I wrote regarding the decorations. I want to be prepared for our business meeting."

He didn't have a retort for that. Instead, the corner of his mouth flinched with a suppressed grin before he turned his attention to the door and led me out to the drive. I wasn't sure exactly what kind of game we were playing between the two of us, but I was fairly certain the score was now tied. Perhaps I was wrong, but it didn't matter. I hadn't played with anyone in a long time and I was savoring the heat of the competition.

However, I wasn't ready for round two. Once we were in the car and confined in that tight space together, words failed to manifest upon my tongue. I just didn't know what to say. Should I ask him about his thoughts on the trees? Should I mention some ideas I had brewing? Should I probe him with questions to see if this was really all business? But I just couldn't find the right words and it became clear that my internal struggle amused him. So I turned to the passenger side window and watched the town slide by as I listened to the radio sing with a ballad about a snowman.

It was early evening, but with the mountain peaks and the ever approaching winter solstice, the sun had already vanished into the horizon and a deep blue blanketed the sky. Ornate street lamps cast golden halos over the busy sidewalk as cheery shoppers bustled along with bags draped over their arms. Merry families also strolled by, pointing out the more intricate window displays and admiring the elaborate lights strung along the historic facades.

We slowed at a crosswalk, where people hustled from the strip of boutique stores to the town square. There, the tree beamed with festive splendor and a quaint ice skating rink offered chilly fun. To the side, I saw a small set of bleachers waiting for the carolers to appear in a couple of hours so they could usher us ever closer towards Christmas.

Despite my uncertainties over my evening, a smile warmed my cheeks.

"I'm sorry."

My eyes flicked over to Jordan, and I caught him watching my contented gaze with a delighted smile.

"Why are you sorry?" I knew full well that he may have set a trap for me, but strangely, the idea of being snagged felt thrilling.

"I've been so busy trying to live out Gina's holiday traditions, I forgot to ask you yours."

"Mine?" I wasn't sure where his apology was leading to, but this wouldn't have been my guess.

"Yeah." He crept the car forward, only to be stopped by another crosswalk with another stream of pedestrians. "What is it you do for the holidays? What traditions did you have with your grandmother?"

"Well," I muttered, looking up to the ceiling of the truck as I browsed through my memories, "we did nothing particularly special. We had a tree and a wreath on our door. Grandma would put out a couple of strings of lights, but nothing extravagant. We didn't, you know, do caroling concerts or big tree lightings or Christmas movie marathons, if that's what you mean."

"Nothing like the pies you baked on Thanksgiving?"

His question came as we turned a corner and broke free from the congestion filling the main square.

"Oh, well, we did still bake a pie for Christmas and we made lots of cookies." Then a memory slid before my mind's eye, playing out before me as if it had happened only the day before. A bright grin enchanted my lips. "I suppose there was something we did."

"What?" Excited curiosity brightened his voice.

"We would make gingerbread houses from scratch every year and it wouldn't always be houses. One year we made a rocket! Then there was the disastrous time I tried to make a cat. Oh, and then one year we made the nativity scene. Except afterward we weren't sure it was right to eat it... neither of us felt comfortable munching on the baby Jesus..."

He laughed, and I smiled at his amusement. "Well, that's a wonderful tradition. Can't say I've ever made a gingerbread house from scratch before, and certainly never anything that creative. Though I'll keep your warnings about a nativity scene in mind so that I don't make that mistake in the future."

"Glad you could learn from my fail."

"What do you plan to make this year?"

He looked at me with an eager rise to his brow and an expectant curl to his lips, but those vanished when he saw the fall of my face.

"I haven't done it since my grandmother died."

And there it was, the instant mood killer. I wasn't going to lie and say I planned to make a Christmas tree or a sleigh or something. That just seemed even more pathetic, but I also couldn't muster up the nonchalant attitude needed to play it off like no big deal.

I used to. I'd gotten good at hiding it all away when people like Mary tried to get me to spend holidays with them or tried to offer their condolences for my losses. Yet, despite being a veteran at tucking these things into dark holes where they could rot and die, I failed to mask the pain in my voice. Perhaps because it simply hurt more than I expected it to.

I turned away from the window, unable to look at the jolly families radiant in their festive cheer. Instead, I interested myself in the hem of my sweater, my fingers rubbing the soft fabric and easing away the tension buzzing through me.

Jordan didn't respond with anything other than clearing his throat. He took his attention to the road and, after a few more minutes of following down a side street, he pulled up to a restaurant. I raised my eyes to the windshield to see where we had stopped.

"The Fox Diner," said Jordan as we parked. "This is Marge's restaurant."

"Oh?" I cleared out the remaining gravel in my throat and continued. "So, the best comfort food in town?"

"The best any kind of food in town." He opened up his door and popped out while I took one last breath to gather myself. I pressed down on my buckle to free it and just as I did, my door swung open. "I promised you the best we had, didn't I?"

He held out his hand, and I didn't have any option but to take it. He guided me out of his truck and helped me settle myself onto the ground. With me steady, he released his grip and closed my door, but the impression of his fingers remained.

We walked over to the entrance and, before I could grab the handle, he pulled the door open for me and allowed me to pass through first. Then, he helped me remove my coat, which he hung up on a wall full of hooks a little way from the entrance.

It seemed Jordan emerged as the victor of round two.

"Table for two?" asked the smiling hostess as Jordan returned to my side.

"Yep," he answered, "just us tonight."

Just us, I thought. My heart raced and my legs felt stiff as I followed our hostess.