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I died at the Christmas tree lighting. Okay, not literally. But my heart stopped playing by the rules in front of half the town, and I went down hard. The last thing I remember before the world went dark was thinking: This is it. I'm spending Christmas alone after all. Then strong hands caught me. Steel-blue eyes locked onto mine. And a voice like gravel and honey commanded: ""Stay with me."" Dr. Rowan Hale. Silver fox cardiologist. Forty-eight years old. Devastatingly gorgeous. Completely emotionally unavailable. He saved my life that night. What I didn't know was that I'd been slowly poisoning myself for weeks-and he was about to become obsessed with figuring out why. ""I care far more than I should, "" he admitted, his hand trembling as it almost touched my face. He hadn't celebrated Christmas in six years. Not since his partner died in his arms on Christmas Eve. He'd locked himself away, built walls higher than the mountains surrounding our small Colorado town, and resigned himself to a life of careful, controlled loneliness. I was the chaos he'd spent six years avoiding. The sunshine that refused to let him hide. The twenty-four-year-old baker who made him feel everything he'd sworn never to feel again. We had twelve days until Christmas. Twelve days for him to solve my medical mystery. Twelve days for me to crack through his defenses. Twelve days to decide if love was worth the risk of devastating loss. But here's what neither of us knew: my heart wasn't the only thing trying to kill me. And the night he finally let his walls down, the night he whispered ""I'm falling for you"" against my lips- That's when everything fell apart. The Christmas I was meant to miss might be the one that destroys us both.

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