Lando had never been one for traditions. His life on the track was full of travel, uncertainty, and constant change. But this Christmas, everything felt different. The air in the apartment was filled with the warmth of cinnamon, and the faint scent of pine lingered around the room. You had insisted on making the holiday perfect, and for the first time, Lando didn’t mind.

You were sitting on the chair, a rolling pin in your hands, with flour dusting your cheeks and hair. The kitchen counter was covered with gingerbread dough, ready to be cut into shapes. Lando had already made his first attempt at rolling the dough, but it had turned into a lumpy mess.

“I swear, these will be the worst gingerbread cookies ever,” Lando joked, chuckling as he attempted to fix the dough.

You smiled, your hands busy shaping the cookies. “It’s not about how they look, Lando. It’s about having fun together.”

“I don’t know if I’m having fun, but you look cute covered in flour,” he teased, leaning down to kiss your cheek.

The warm kiss sent a flutter through you, a reminder of how much you appreciated him, especially in moments like these. You had always been independent, always doing everything yourself. Growing up, it was second nature to take care of things—whether it was organizing your home, cooking meals, or handling the little details that kept life moving forward. But with Lando, everything felt easier.

He stands beside you, taking the next piece of dough. “Alright, show me how it’s done,” he said, his voice full of playful challenge.

You guided his hands as he rolled it out more carefully this time. The sounds of Christmas music played softly in the background, and you both worked together, laughing when Lando accidentally broke a gingerbread man’s arm. You didn’t mind—everything felt right.