The soft strains of a Christmas song drifted through the shared office, my fingers tapping absently against my desk in time with the melody. The music wasn't loud—barely more than a background hum—but it filled the space with an unexpected warmth, making the usual chill of winter mornings feel distant.
I had no idea how Mark felt about Christmas music, but I wasn't going to turn it off unless he asked. It had been a while since I'd indulged in the festive spirit, and after our shared tree-decorating session and cookie-baking, I was starting to let myself enjoy it again.
Across the room, Mark's chair creaked softly as he shifted. "Is that... Frank Sinatra?"
I glanced over my shoulder, catching the faint smirk on his face. "It is," I replied, raising an eyebrow. "Problem?"
He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. "Not a problem. Just... unexpected."
"Unexpected how?" I asked, feigning offence. "You don't think I'm classy enough for Sinatra?"
