I get up, ready to tell whoever it is to leave me alone, but words die on my tongue as soon as I open the door. Impossible. Aaron is standing on my landing, dressed in dark jeans and a clean white shirt, a dark wool coat on top. Snowflakes dust his dark hair, which is combed to the side. He’s a dream. I mean, I must be dreaming. “What…” I start. He smiles, which makes him even dreamier. “Merry Christmas, Wren.”
