Page 211 of My Rules

The children run their Christmas concert. They sing and they dance, and the world is a better place for it.

I glance out into the audience, and there he is, my greatest cheerleader. Sitting in the front row. Smiling as if his own children are on the stage.

Blake Grayson is another level of perfect.

He’s been painting backdrops and hanging art and doing coffee runs for me and my colleagues when we worked all through our weekends to prepare for tonight.

He put up the tree in my classroom and helped me decorate it with the children’s art.

It’s our first Christmas together, and this year ... everything is magical.

The concert was a raging success, and I walk out to find Blake standing in my classroom with a big bouquet of flowers.

“Oh, I love you.” I laugh as I run to him.

“You were great.” He smiles, but it doesn’t touch his eyes. “Incredible, amazing even.”

He’s got a weird expression on his face.

“You didn’t like it?” I smile.

“I loved it.”

“What is that look for, then?” I tease.

“What look?” He pulls me in close and kisses my temple. “There is no look.”

I kiss him as I take the flowers from him. “Thank you for being so wonderful.”

“Not as wonderful as you would like to think.” He widens his eyes. “Let’s go home.”

I collect my things, and we walk out into the parking lot hand in hand. While I’m jabbering on about everything, he’s staying unusually silent.

“What’s wrong?” I ask. “You’re quiet tonight.”

“Just tired.”

“Been ruling the world all day, have you?”

“Not so much,” he mutters under his breath as we get to my car. “I’ll see you at home.”

I get into my car and smile all the way home as I reminisce about the Christmas concert.

Everything went perfectly. We put so much work into it, and to have it turn out like that is a dream come true.

We make our way home, and Blake drives into his garage to park his car.

I make my way inside and begin filling up my vase with water for my flowers, and Blake comes bursting through the front door like he’s being chased.

“What’s wrong?” I frown.

“Why ... why ... why would anything be wrong?” His eyes are crazy, and his hands are on his hips.

“No reason.” I frown as I keep filling my vase.

He’s walking around with his hands on his hips as I fuss about in the kitchen. “You want a grilled cheese sandwich?” I call.

“Please.”

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