My Christmas Winter’s Mate

I was twenty-four years old—a complete novice in the ruthless world of advertising—and still learning how to breathe inside a company that moved faster than I ever could. I had been working as a secretary at one of the biggest advertising agencies in Manhattan for less than a year, living alone in a tiny apartment that smelled like old coffee, printer ink, and the permanent hum of the city that never slept. After my father died a few months ago, my mother couldn’t bear staying in New York. She packed her bags and moved to Alaska, chasing silence and distance. Because of work, I hadn’t been able to visit her even once. I promised I would go for Christmas, but deep inside, I already knew I wouldn’t. So yes—New York was loud, bright, and merciless. And in that chaos, I was surviving alone. Then Adam Blake entered my life. At first, I only knew him as the executive everyone admired. The kind whose presence made the entire floor fall silent. But he noticed me—actually noticed me. It started with small things, simple gestures that felt like lifelines in a sea of indifference. The first time he ever spoke to me, I was buried under a mountain of folders, trying not to cry after receiving a passive-aggressive email from Human Resources. He appeared out of nowhere, placing a cup of coffee on my desk—black, no sugar, exactly how I liked it, though I had no idea how he knew. “You look like you need this more than I do,” he said, his voice warm enough to melt the January frost outside. And I smiled. A real smile, not the polite one I used with everyone else. The next day he brought another. This time with a chocolate croissant. The third day, he asked my name. And after that… he never stopped. Soon he was finding excuses to linger by my desk, asking about my day, telling me stories about his childhood in Boston, or pretending he needed help with something trivial just to stay close. The way he looked at me—steady, intentional—made me feel like I was the only person in the room. One afternoon, while I was organizing his files in his office, my phone rang. It was my mother. Mom: “Kasia, sweetheart, how are you? Eating well? Sleeping?” Me: “Trying to.” Mom: “I wish you could be here for Christmas. The snow here is beautiful. You would love it.” I swallowed the lump in my throat. Me: “Work is complicated right now. Maybe soon.” Mom: “I just want you to be happy.” I didn’t know Adam was standing by the door listening until I hung up and turned around. He wasn’t smiling—his expression was something softer, almost tender. He stepped closer and brushed a loose strand of hair behind my ear with a gentleness that made my heart ache. “You deserve someone who chooses you,” he whispered. I should’ve seen the irony then. But I was already falling. Six months later, we were secretly dating. He said our relationship had to stay quiet because it could damage my job. That it was better to move slowly. And I believed him. I defended him. I justified every excuse. I never asked for anything. I survived on stolen minutes in his office, hidden dinners, midnight messages. I thought love was sacrifice. I thought he was worth it. I thought what we had was special. That it only needed time to become public. That he only wanted to protect me. How naïve I was. That afternoon I had finished work early after an exhausting morning. I was about to go home when I remembered I had left important documents at the office—contracts Adam needed to revise. I called him to let him know I’d be returning, but he didn’t answer. I tried again. Nothing. I assumed he was in a meeting. (Breathe, Kasia. Don’t overthink this.) I took the subway back to the office. Outside, snow was falling softly—the thin kind that covers the city without dirtying it, as if someone had decided to decorate Manhattan for a romantic movie. For the first time in days, I felt something like hope. We had been distant lately, but I told myself it was the pressure of work, that December was always complicated. Maybe today we would talk. Maybe he would finally ask me to spend Christmas together. Maybe he wanted to tell me something important. When I arrived at the building, the security guard looked up and smiled. “Good afternoon, Kasia.” “Hi, Tom,” I replied. “Just coming back for some papers.” He winked. “December stresses everyone out, doesn’t it?” I smiled without humor and pressed the elevator button. Yes. December was stressful. December destroyed. The twentieth floor was quiet; almost everyone had already left. Soft Christmas music drifted from the speakers—a slow instrumental version of Silent Night, echoing through the decorated hallway where the little lights flickered like breathing stars. Adam’s office door was slightly open, the light still on. Strange—he was obsessive about turning off everything before leaving—but I didn’t think too much of it. I stepped inside quietly, heading straight to his desk. The documents were there on top of a black folder. But something else caught my eye. A luxurious silver-and-gold case rested right on top of the papers. Even before touching it, I knew it was expensive. I opened it slowly. Inside was an elegant hotel key card, engraved: THE ROSEWOOD IMPERIAL HOTEL — SUITE 1904 And beneath it, a small card written in golden ink: “For tonight.” I froze. My hands trembled—not from fear, but from excitement. A surprise? Something he had been planning? Was that why he had been distant? Nervous? A warm knot rose in my chest. I imagined his smile when he saw me arrive, his hands taking mine, his voice saying something that would change everything. Maybe he would finally say it: Let’s make this official.