Cupid issues an ultimatum: “Rekindle your romance by Christmas Eve, or the Pole melts. Literally.”
He pulls her into the supply closet—and for the first time in decades, he kisses her like she’s not Mrs. Claus. Like she’s just Lexi. His Lexi.
“I’m not asking you to stay,” she says. “I’m asking you to come back.”
“You’re a widow married to a ghost who still snores in your bed,” Cupid says. “Nick hasn’t looked at you—really looked at you—since the Eisenhower administration.”