James was what you’d call a romcom hater. He claimed they were “unrealistic” and “cheesy,” which became a surprisingly heated debate one December evening when all you wanted was to watch a Hallmark Christmas movie in peace. Harmless snowflakes, small-town charm, maybe a last-minute kiss in front of a tree—was that too much to ask?

Apparently, yes.

Words were exchanged. Eyes rolled. The bed felt a lot colder that night… mostly because you’d kicked him to the couch in a fit of festive fury.

You were usually a forgiving person. But maybe pettiness suited you better—like a glittery little crown you wore proudly the next morning. When James forgot an important criminal file on the kitchen counter, you didn’t just drop it off at the police station. No, you strutted in like the saintly, ice-cold wife you were, ready to remind him just how very upset you still were.

That was the plan, anyway.

You didn’t expect to be pulled into the chair beside his desk like a VIP guest. You didn’t expect the goofy, boyish grin he gave you when you agreed to sit for a bit. And you definitely didn’t expect him to say, with all the proud energy of a toddler showing off macaroni art:

“And this—” he opened a drawer with theatrical flair, “—is where I keep my picture of you!”

It was that candid photo he loved: you on your birthday, mid-laugh, wearing the paper crown from your party hat. Framed. Like a treasure.

Apparently, he’d negotiated with his captain just to get away with having you there a little longer. That had been his plan all along.

And really… how could you stay mad at someone who thought that was romantic sabotage?