Page 1 of All in for Christmas

Cooper takes off down the high school corridor, his puppy dog tail wagging and his leash dragging behind him.

His therapy dog vest is bedecked with shiny bells that jingle-jangle-jingle as he lopes along, and papier-maché snowflakes dangle from the ceiling above him.

“Cooper! Wait!” My pulse pounds fiercely.

I was entrusted with his care for five minutes .

Five seconds was all it took for him to break loose.

I scurry after him in my red tartan turtleneck and jeans.

I’ve got a navy blue Paws and Read T-shirt tugged over my turtleneck.

Its cute doggie pawprint logo is stamped inside a red circle on its front pocket below the white printed words “Paws and Read.” Each paw pad resembles a book.

Our librarian, Martha, thought that up. I was so pleased I hugged her, before remembering I don’t do hugs.

Outside my family, which is very small, just me and Mom.

Otherwise, I’m super controlled, except for when I’m not. Like now. “Cooper! Here, boy!”

The rascally Jack Russell terrier glances over his shoulder with a sly look as I chase after him—faster and faster.

But not too fast. Whoa —my sneakers skid on the damp floor, but I catch my balance with bent elbows just outside the darkened main office.

It’s after six and school has closed for the day, but our faculty holiday party rages on.

Cooper’s mostly white with a big brown patch around one eye, and exceptionally well trained.

Only, by Beth—his handler—who’s dashed back through the snow to her car to grab her ID badge.

I cannot blow introducing my program to the school.

I’ve worked too hard for this by lobbying school administrators, then finally gaining school board approval.

If there’d been this kind of program in place when I was a kid, maybe I and so many others wouldn’t have fallen through the cracks.

I was an embarrassingly slow reader, but—with the intervention of a kindly ninth grade English teacher—I landed on my feet.

And now I teach English myself. Back then, I never could have imagined getting accepted to college, much less securing a teaching degree.

It started in kindergarten with the bluebirds.

At first I was in the cardinal reading group, but then no.

All the other kids could decipher the words on the page five times faster than I could.

The pictures were great but the letters were one big stream of gibberish.

I got to be a goldfinch next. The books had more pictures but fewer words.

That didn’t make them any less confusing, though.

I gradually gleaned that some other kids had two parents, and many of them got read to at night.

Mom was exhausted doing it all by herself.

We watched TV. So. I landed with the bluebirds, a sad little group of fine-feathered friends.

Our books had even more pictures and even fewer words.

Cooper hears the commotion in the cafeteria, trotting toward it and past the glass case of sports trophies and student awards.

He clearly knows a good time when he hears one, the little scamp.

Laughter booms through the cafeteria’s double doors and light chatter sifts through the air like fluttery snowflakes.

“Cooper! Stop!” But Cooper has other plans.

He’s curious and interested, tilting his head from side to side at the noise while charging forward.

The doors part as a teacher pushes through them, leaving an opening for Cooper to dart through.

“Oh! Sorry!” the surprised teacher says, her eyes tracking the dog.

I dash after him and scan the crowd that’s suddenly swallowed him up.

Teachers dressed in holiday sweaters swarm toward buffet tables, filling sagging paper plates, and student artwork lines the walls, portraying views from our little mountain town of white-capped mountains and snowy valleys.

Walton High only opened this year, and everything’s shiny and new, from the freshly painted concrete walls to the gleaming light fixtures.

I shield my eyes with a hand and survey the area, peering around people and behind knees.

Principal Peabody lords over the punch bowl dressed in a Santa hat and looking cheery.

She sees me and I wave, nerves humming through me.

Dogs in the school won’t be a problem , I said.

They’re very well behaved. And sociable.

Cooper’s apparently the most sociable of them all.

“Cooper,” I whisper hoarsely. “Cooper, where are you?”

Ahh, there he is! Jingle-jangle-jingle. I catch a glimpse of his puppy dog tail beyond a pair of chatting teachers and lunge forward— oomph —landing on my hands and knees.

Cooper prances ahead of me as I frantically crawl after him.

“Cooper! Cooper! Wait!” I hiss under my breath.

Principal Peabody’s laughing and smiling, glancing around the packed room.

Her eyebrows knit together. Noooo. She’s heard the jingle bells, too.

I crouch lower to the ground and crawl faster.

Where’s Cooper going? Aha. The treats table.

Someone’s dropped a pretzel on the floor, but I can’t let him eat that .

It’s covered in chocolate and candy sprinkles and everyone knows chocolate’s bad for dogs.

If he gets sick on my watch… My stomach churns.

No. I crawl, crawl, crawl until I’m almost to him.

He stops and sniffs the treat then tilts his head from side to side, bouncing on his front paws.

Jingle-jangle-jingle. Bark! Bark! Bark!

I pounce—then Cooper’s airborne! …And being scooped off the floor and hoisted skyward.

“Well, hey there, little buddy,” a guy’s voice says.

“Where’d you come from?” Cooper’s leash dangles beside me, its handle end coiling on the cafeteria floor.

I swallow hard and goggle at the khaki pants legs in front of me, then sit back on my knees and look up.

A very handsome guy with short brown hair and a deep dimple in his cheek stares down at me and my breath catches.

He cuts a familiar swath, like a movie star or a sports celeb.

Someone I’ve seen billions of— My heart jolts like a sledgehammer’s smashed against it.

Dean Burton. Cradling Cooper in his arms and dressed in a dark red sweater.

I had no clue he was back in town. Or at Walton.

We met at a campus pizza place and dated my first two years of college.

Last I’d heard, he’d moved to Boulder, Colorado.

A voice in my head shouts: Surprise! The word clanks around like a gonging cymbal, so loud my brain hurts.

Of all the teachers at Walton, I’m the least likely to get surprised.

Ask anyone who knows me. I organize; I orchestrate!

I complete! Dot all the i’s and cross all the t’s.

Plan out my workdays, my free time—my dreams , to be embarrassingly honest.

My pulse skitters. I did not plan for this.

Maybe he won’t recognize me? Or remember?

Sweat beads my hairline.

A lopsided grin.

My heart hammers so hard it aches.

“Paige Pierce,” he says. “This is a surprise.”

I scramble to my feet and dust off my jeans.

“Dean!” His eyes fill with wonder, like he doesn’t believe what he’s seeing.

I don’t believe it, either. I’m melting in my snug turtleneck and T-shirt, and not in a good way.

More like in the way my face is glistening.

I tuck my stick-straight brown hair behind one ear, pondering Mom’s advice.

She’s a hairdresser and forever urging me to spice up my looks.

Add highlights to my hair, flirty layers!

But that means being daring and taking chances.

Change . And I don’t change easily. My entire childhood was spent navigating rocky seas and I prefer calm waters.

Although it kind of feels like my craft’s been upended, and I’m drowning in Dean’s deep brown eyes.

“Hey,” he asks about the dog, shifting Cooper in his arms, “is he yours?”

“No, I’m minding him”— and not very expertly —“for Beth.” I reach for Cooper and Dean passes him to me.

Our hands brush and my stomach does a tiny twirl.

No, Paige. Just no. I don’t need Dean reawakening those old feelings.

Where are they even coming from, anyway?

I was so sure they’d been put to bed. I set Cooper down and pat his head when he sits properly by my feet.

I hold on to his leash, very tightly, wrapping part of it around my wrist. “Beth is Cooper’s handler for our program. ”

“Program?” he asks.

I pull myself together and proudly point to the logo on my pocket. “Paws and Read.”

Dean chuckles and strokes his chin. “Nice play on words.”

“Thanks! We tried out several options but this one was top-dog.”

He smirks and my heart flutters. “Pretty doggone good.” He notes the gray around Cooper’s muzzle. “Guess you can teach an old dog new tricks?”

Cooper yaps excitedly, as though somehow aware we’re talking about him.

“Dean!” I laugh and sigh, acting like I’m dog-tired of this conversation, which I’m not .

“So what do you do at Walton?” he asks lightly. “Other than, you know, run the doggie show?”

“I teach here. Ninth grade English.”

“Really? That’s great.” His eyes shimmer so warmly I go all topsy-turvy inside. Come on, Paige. Knock it off. I’m about to ask him what he’s doing here when a high-pitched squeal sounds, and someone taps a microphone.

“Can I have your attention, please!” It’s Principal Peabody in her bright red Santa hat.

Dean and I turn toward the short, stout blond.

“I’m so glad we could all be here together at this inaugural holiday party.

What a joyful occasion it is, having the entire faculty together under less stressful circumstances.

” She smiles. “No students!” Low chuckles ripple through the room.