Authors: Katlyn Duncan
The sun starts to set in the distance, which makes the white lights on the tree twinkle brighter with each passing minute.
“Dinner is served,” Will says.
I turn and he presents me with a sandwich and chips on the side. I take the plate from him and we sit side by side on the couch.
“Isn’t that a little OCD?” he notes through a bite of sandwich, indicating the ornaments.
“It’s a defined process,” I say. “Perfected over many years.”
“OCD,” he murmurs under his breath and I elbow him in the arm.
“Nice job on ‘dinner’.”
“Hey,” he says, stealing a chip from my plate even though he has plenty. “I don’t have a full restaurant at my fingertips tonight. I’m doing the best I can with what I have.” He exaggerates a thick Italian accent, I’m assuming it’s his best impression of his manager, Ralph.
“It’s delicious,” I say, taking another bite. I didn’t realize how hungry I was since the only thing I ate today was a cookie, and that was hours ago.
“Are you getting into the Christmas spirit?” he asks.
I nod while crunching on a chip. “It’s a different experience without my parents and Ethan, but a good different.”
“Sorry I’m more of a Scrooge.”
I know exactly who to blame for that but I keep my mouth shut. “He changed by the end of the story…” I hint.
“Yeah, I know.”
I lean my head on his shoulder. “Remember how we used to stay up together and try to spot Santa in the sky?”
He chuckles. “And not one year did we stay awake.”
I nibble on my sandwich. “But we always managed to be back in bed when it was time to get up.”
“We must have drove our parents insane.”
I shrug. “They kept us in our dreaming childhood phase as long as they could. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
I know we’re teetering on dangerous ground when Will massages the back of his neck. “Well I think someone is still in that phase.” He kisses my cheek and pushes off from the couch. “I’m going to fix the stair you broke.”
I throw a chip at him and he catches it, popping it into this mouth. “You don’t want to decorate the tree with me?”
“Scrooge doesn’t want to take away the fun,” he says, already walking away.
I don’t push the issue, even though I imagined we’d do this together. Baby steps, I remind myself.
I hear Will coming down the stairs the next morning. I roll over, shielding my eyes from the bright sunlight streaming through the windows. A soft melody of Christmas music floats across the room. I couldn’t make it up the stairs last night after I finished decorating, sweeping up the pine needles and stashing the boxes in the panty.
Will runs his hand through his hair and plops down on the couch.
I sit up. “Good morning.”
Will admires the tree. “Mornin’. When did you go to bed?”
I stifle a yawn. “Maybe around 1?” I scan the room, which has turned into a Christmas wonderland overnight. I’d put the presents from my parents and my solitary one for Will under the tree, looking as if Santa had already visited.
“You could have left some for today…”
“No way,” I say incredulously. “I wanted it to be—”
He cuts me off with a kiss. “Perfect. I know.”
I preen.
“Looks good,” he says, finding his stocking hung above the fireplace. Mabel has stuffed the stocking to the brim.
I pick up my phone and check the time. “It’s almost noon!” I say.
Will stretches his arms over his head. “I think we’re both catching up on some much needed rest.”
My head falls against the arm rest of the couch. Admittedly I could fall back asleep for another few hours, but there’s work to be done.
“Let me make you something for breakfast, then I’ll start on the turkey.” I head over to the speaker and turn on the Christmas tunes.
Will whistles along to ‘A Holly Jolly Christmas’ and I can’t help but smile. My efforts have not been wasted getting Will into the spirit of Christmas.
***
After a quick breakfast of egg sandwiches, I shower and put on the only red sweater I took to school with me. If I’m the only one in the house who’s excited for Christmas, I better dress the part. As I come back down the stairs, I inhale the scent of fresh pine needles mixed with a lingering scent of baking cookies from the day before. The Christmas music is louder than where I left it and I can just hear Will’s humming coming from the closet with the water heater. I grin to myself and head to the kitchen.
I had an idea on how Mom usually made the turkey but I scan a few recipes on the internet. I find one that seems easy enough. I chop some vegetables and fill the turkey. Mom always made the stuffing separate but added the vegetables to keep the turkey moist. I snap a quick picture and send it to my family in a group text. Mom sends back an encouraging thumbs up. While Ethan asks that I don’t burn the cabin down.
Jerk.
I place the turkey in the oven and start peeling potatoes. I’m already exhausted by the time the five-pound bag is peeled but thankfully Will offers a hand just as I finish.
“Cut up the bread and place it in this bowl,” I instruct, pointing at the loaf of bread.
Will takes my hand and presses the backside to his mouth. “We made enough stuffing at work around Thanksgiving that I’m pretty sure I can do it in my sleep.”
I stick my tongue out at him. “Fine, show me how it’s done.”
Will leaves the room and comes back a few minutes later with a handful of herbs and takes one of the apples that we bought as a snack.
I watch him from the corner of my eye as I quarter the potatoes.
His hands move expertly over the apple, slicing it into small pieces and tossing them into the bowl of bread he cut up. He crosses the kitchen to the refrigerator and grabs an egg. He cracks that and adds numerous herbs to the mix.
I can’t hide my surprise any longer. “Is there a reason you’re not cooking for me more often?”
The corner of his mouth quirks devilishly, making me want to forget cooking and get right to dessert. “You never asked.”
I turn back to the potatoes and place them in the pot of boiling water. “When we get back, I’m asking. Like every day.”
He brushes past me, his hand slipping over my hips, sending a fresh wave of tingles in its wake. He grabs the casserole dish and spreads the stuffing inside of it. I cover the pot of water and potatoes and place the dirty dishes in the sink.
“This may sound gross,” Will says, helping me pick up around the kitchen. “But Ralph made this awesome gravy out of turkey giblets. And I think I remember how he did it. Did you throw them away yet?”
My mouth opens and closes a few times as I realize what I did. I wince and spin around to face him.
“It’s okay if you did,” he offers. “It was something I just thought of.”
My eyes flick to the stove. “I didn’t throw them away.”
Will grins. “Great, I’ll get started.” He opens the cabinet and pulls out a pot. “Where are they?”
I suck my bottom lip into my mouth, biting down. How could I have been so stupid?
I turn on the water and start arranging the dishes. “In the turkey,” I mumble to myself.
“What’s that?”
My chin falls to my chest. “I left them in the turkey.”
Will snorts and I whirl around to face him. He’s shaking his head, attempting to stifle his laugh.
Heat rushes up my neck. “I told you I never made a turkey before!”
He holds his hands up in front of him defensively. “I said nothing.”
The vegetables and turkey are going to be ruined because of me. “Can I take them out?” I tug at my hair, pushing it off my heated skin. “Stop laughing!” I’m nearing hysterical as Will is laughing harder now.
I shove him to the side and grab the pot holders, wrenching open the oven. It’s been in there for nearly an hour, enough that I hear the sizzling of the vegetables inside of the almost ruined bird.
“Stupid, stupid,” I mumble. I grab the pan and practically drop it on the stove. I reach forward but Will stops me.
“No trips to the hospital, remember?” he says calmly, holding my arms down at my sides.
He moves around me and takes a set of tongs from the drawer, flourishing them between us like a ridiculously overdone magic trick.
“I’m not a child,” I say petulantly.
“Things that come out of a hot oven are hot. And burns do make a trip to the ER.”
He pulls what’s left of the nearly melted giblet bag out of the turkey with the tongs. I grab a plate and hold it in front of him. He drops the bag and moves out of the way. I put the turkey back in the oven and close the door with my foot. It’s an older model so it crashes closed, jolting my nerves even more.
I throw the potholders on the counter and start for the dishes needing to work out my frustration. I turn the water on, moving my fingers under the stream waiting for it to warm up.
Will’s hands rest on my hips and his lips press against my neck.
I lean into his touch, my frustration evaporates with each movement of his fingers.
“Leave those.” His warm breath tickles my ear.
I reach forward and push down the handle and the water stops. In the same movement I turn to face him. “You want to do them?” I tease.
“No,” he presses a kiss to my lips. “I saved the turkey. Right now I’m hungry for something else.”
His fingers dance across the hem of my sweatshirt, moving underneath. I suck in a breath at his warm touch against my stomach.
I lean forward, kissing
him
this time. His hands dip to my butt and lift me. Before I know it, I’m in the air then sitting on the counter. I wrap my legs around him, reminded of a similar situation in another kitchen this summer, and my whole body erupts with need.
I clutch his shirt, needing him closer to me. He finds his place under my shirt again and moves across my back, to my bra. He pops the clasp and, in one fell swoop, lifts my shirt and sweatshirt over my head. I fumble for the hem of his, trapped under the tight grip of my legs. But within seconds we’re topless and panting.
His lips move to my neck and I tilt my head, giving him more space to roam. My hands explore his hard chest, igniting a wave of heat that blooms between my legs.
He hugs me close to him and we’re mobile. My head falls over his shoulder as we relocate to the couch. We fall to the couch and grasp at each other’s clothes in between feverish kisses.
I moan into his mouth as his tongue moves over mine, deepening the kiss. No busted water heater is stopping us this time.
Will hovers over me before sitting back on his legs. His chest puffs out in deep breaths, matching mine as he pulls my jeans off one leg at a time. I try to rush him and am met with a slow, sexy grin spreading across his lips.
What a tease.
I rocket up from the couch and unbuckle his belt. His fingers find their way between my legs, halting my movements. I’m frozen in place for a moment before grabbing the back of his neck and pulling him to me. We fall back down to the couch, tangled in each other’s arms and hearts.
***
After the turkey dinner, which turned out quite savory—even though I thought I could make out a hint of plastic taste, I clean up the kitchen while Will starts a fire. The whole cabin heats up quickly, enveloping me in the warmest fuzzy feeling I’d ever had at Christmas. Christmas in years past always had a certain feeling of coziness. Even with the ups and downs of the past few days that feeling remained, yet it had something else. A newness. As if the known Christmases past were able to be melded into something even better.
Will and I sit by the fire with mugs of hot chocolate in our hands. The only lights in the whole place are from the twinkling lights from the tree and the crackling flames in the hearth. I lean my head into the crook of his shoulder and take a deep breath, inhaling the fresh scent of pine and wood smoke. A faint scent of dinner swirls around us as well. My gaze falls to the tree and the presents underneath. My stomach twists thinking that Will won’t have much to open in the morning. But the amount of gifts can’t compete with the revelations in our relationship we’ve uncovered in the past few days. And for that I’d trade everything under the tree.
“I wish we could stay here forever,” I say into my mug.
Will kisses my hair. “Me too.”
In a few days our vacation will be over. As much as we’ve discussed our future and rekindled our feelings, I can’t help but think we’ll go back to the same routine once we get back to the City.
“I’ve been thinking about our conversation,” Will says, as if reading my thoughts.
“Uh huh,” I hedge.
“We had four months to get over the move and get settled,” he starts. “I think we should set some time for each other. At least once a week.”
“Time to sit and do nothing. Like this,” I say dreamily, wanting to never leave this place physically or spiritually.
He chuckles. “We can do other things. But yeah…”
We listen to the crackling fire for a few moments before Will speaks again. “I’m going to give some of my shifts away. To make time.”
I look up at him, the fire reflecting the seriousness in his eyes. “I can give up a club or two.”
“And maybe when we go back we can go ice skating,” he says with a small hint of regret. I know it’s not his thing, but his compromise is a big step forward.
I pinch his arm lightly. “You’ve really found the Christmas spirit, haven’t you?” I joke.
His expression is serious though. “I think you’ve warmed Scrooge’s heart.”
“I wanted to make this special for you,” I admit. “I know the holidays haven’t been the same for you for a long time.”
He massages the back of his neck, craning it against his hand. “Becky wanted to do something with Mom and me when we get back. If Dad is able to forgive her, I think I might be able to.”
“I hope so,” I say, downing the rest of my mug.
Will moves off the couch, cooling that side of my body with the absence of his warmth. He stands in front of the hearth.
I sit up and put my mug on the table. “Is something wrong?”
He shakes his head once but doesn’t turn around. “I know your family opens a gift on Christmas Eve.” He reaches up and takes something from the mantle and turns around, holding it in front of him.