Nice Guys Don't Kiss Like That at Christmas

<p><strong>Burst pipes. One bed. Feelings I did not sign up for. And a vet with very large... hands. Merry Christmas to me.</strong></p><p>I probably should've asked more questions before accepting a temporary Christmas nursing contract to get my life back on track. Like: <em>Is the local vet my unresolved romantic trauma in human form? </em>Spoiler: he is.</p><p>He's also my former video-chat almost-boyfriend-the one I ghosted seven years ago right after finishing chemo when my body felt borrowed and my heart felt like an organ I hadn't relearned how to use yet.</p><p>And now we're sharing a honeymoon suite. (Me him my Emotional Support Pickle and the vibrator named after him. Do not ask.)</p><p>Dr. Adam Large Hands Larger Heart Largest...Brain Harrison has my Great Dane swooning my dachshund wearing a Santa hat and me... laughing. Unclenching. <em>Melting.</em></p><p>I should remember: it's safer to freeze than to fall. (Shoutout to Dr. Jerk du Soleil my ex for turning me into Ice Queen Foster ruler of emotional Antarctica.)</p><p>Adam's leaving tomorrow. I'm leaving after Christmas.</p><p>One night won't turn me into a messy puddle of emotions.</p><p>...Right?</p><p><strong>It's temporary. Unless it isn't.</strong></p>