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First, the lights are on in a strategic sort of way that makes it cozy and not too bright. The under-cabinet lights glow, but the overhead light is off. I can see the incandescent bulbs from the tree in the living room reflecting off the sliding door. A candle flickers on the table.

And sitting on the island is a pan I have never seen before in my kitchen, containing a beautiful beef roast that’s surrounded by cranberries and rosemary. It’s the most festive meal I’ve ever seen, screaming Christmas even though we’re still weeks away from the holiday.

“Oh, hey!” Cami says, emerging from the hallway with a smile on her face, her cheeks flushed, wearing a soft pink sweat suit that hugs her curves while still looking comfortable. Her hair is pulled back in a loose ponytail. “You’re home a little sooner than I thought.”

“Sooner than you thought?” I know she left the office at five.

Stopping in front of the oven, she grabs a pair of oven mitts that, again, I was not aware I owned, and opens the oven door, revealing a pan of sweet potatoes dressed with butter, spices, and herbs. My mouth is watering, and that’s before I see the second pan with asparagus and puff pastry.

“Yeah. I just checked in with your assistant to see what time you normally leave.”

I blink at her, look at all the food she’s set out over the kitchen island, and shake my head. “Cami, this isn’t part of the agreement. You don’t have to cook me dinner.”

“Well, I have to eat, too,” she says over her shoulder, reaching up on her toes to get down two nice dinner plates. I realize I never thought to move them; I hardly ever eat from them. All my meals get tossed in the oven, then I eat them straight out of the trays. Turning around and setting the plates on the counter, she says, “And I want to take advantage of this kitchen while I have the chance.”

For the first time, I look around at the kitchen, at my house, and wonder what her place looks like. I’m struck with the strange urge to see it—I’m sure it’s better decorated than the office, even—but it’s a ridiculous thing to ask about, so I keep my mouth shut.

After she’s put the plates together—drizzling on the sauce like we’re going for a Michelin star—I take them and carry them to the table. It’s too nice of a dinner not to have a good wine, so I disappear into the cellar to pull out a bottle that came with the house.

I’m not really a wine guy, and I’ve always enjoyed whiskey, but I do my best to pick a red I think will go with the roast she’s made. Something a little festive.

When I return with it, her eyes widen.

“Just one glass,” I clarify, grinning, realizing it might not be the best look for the CEO to encourage drinking on a weeknight. Meeting her eyes, I let the corner of my mouth quirk up. “It’s the holidays.”

That makes her laugh, and soon we’re tucked into the table together, the delicious meal and wine shining in the ambient lights.

“All right,” Cami says when we’re finished and I’ve loaded everything up into the dishwasher—assuring her three times that it can handle the roast pan, and she doesn’t need to hand-wash it. “Come here. I have something to show you.”

It’s ridiculous, the way my chest responds to the sound of that.

This is already more time than I normally spend on dinner. By now—half an hour before now—I’d already be in my home office, working on a project, answering emails, pouring over reports.

Instead, I follow this woman into the living room, sitting down on the couch as she plugs her laptop into the TV. My eyebrows raise when a presentation appears on the flat screen, my face pasted onto an elf. The title reads Patrick Dunne’s Christmas Education.

“It’s my turn to do a presentation,” she says confidently, hitting the space bar on her laptop and launching us into the slideshow.

The first image is a schedule—starting at seven and going until ten each night, I—apparently—am completing a curriculum.

Movies include The Grinch, A Christmas Story, It’s a Wonderful Life, and something about a vacation. I raise an eyebrow at her.

“Cami, as ambitious as this is, I don’t have time to watch a movie every night.” I narrow my eyes at the schedule, realizing each night has a planned activity as well. “Or to frost gingerbread cookies!”

“That’s a non-negotiable,” Cami says, popping her hip and crossing her arms. I force myself to look away from her. “Chris Moreno is going to eat you alive if we show up for the trip with you in this shape. You can’t pick a favorite Christmas movie; you’ve never frosted a gingerbread cookie. I bet you don’t even know the best part of decorating a Christmas tree.”

I glance back at her, making a face. “Paying someone else to do it for you?”

She grabs a throw pillow and uses it for the intended purpose. I duck and it flies behind the couch. “No!” She laughs as I widen my eyes, looking between the offending pillow and her. “Putting the star on top! Me and my sisters used to fight over who got to do it. They tried to let us all do it together, or each of us would, or we’d rotate each year. It’s still a whole thing.”

Staring at her, I shake my head, imagining a fierce little Cami fighting for her right to place a star at the top of the tree.

“And my grandma does an angel,” she says, hitting the space bar again and straightening back up into teacher mode. “That’s old-school. And this is all stuff you’re going to need to know if you want to get on Chris’s good side. If he loves Christmas as much as you say he does.”

I sit on the couch and stare at the ridiculous schedule.

What I said was true; I really don’t have time for watching movies.

And yet, I can feel myself nodding, giving in to what she wants.