Page 7 of Polar Prank
BRINKER
The phone buzzesagainst my hand. I’ve been a zombie all day. Unable to think after that kiss. But then there’s also the HR thing. I own the business, but that doesn’t mean I can dip my pen in the company ink. It doesn’t look good. Jenna’s going to want to talk and what can I say.
I had to… it was the mistletoe!
Like that’ll work?!
I answer the phone and I can hear my grandmother Victoria’s voice crackling through the line. “Brinker, how is your search for the holiday spirit going?”
I exhale slowly, pinching the bridge of my nose. “I don’t know, Grandma. It’s not something you can just look for and find. It’s not a missing sock.”
Her laughter is warm, like the sun spilling through a window. “Oh, sweetheart, I disagree. The holiday spirit is everywhere if you just open your heart to it.”
Her optimism feels distant, like a delicate balloon floating far from my reach. A weight settles in my chest as I recall the years of high expectations, the relentless push to perform, to excel, as if worthiness is measured in accomplishments alone.
“I guess… I’m still working on it,” I admit, letting the uncertainty wash over me.
Silence lingers for a moment, before she adds gently, “Sometimes, it’s about recognizing the small moments, dear. Don’t give up.”
Just as those words settle into a comfortable echo, I hear a familiar voice call out from the other side of the office.
It’s Iclyn, rounding the corner, her eyes bright and playful. “Hey, we’re having a holiday Twister game in the hallway… you in?”
Something stirs inside me at the sight of her, an unexpected warmth blooming in the pit of my stomach. I grin, feeling the weight of my grandmother’s concern begin to lift.
“Who’s that?” she asks through the phone.
I glance over at Iclyn, with her silky hair catching the light and that mischievous spark in her sky-blue eyes, I’m not just thinking about holiday spirit anymore.
It’s definitely something more.
I can feel it now, wrapping around me in strands of hope, something that feels precious and real.
I chuckle, unable to contain my new realization.
“I think it’s the spirit of the holiday,” I answer, my voice lighter than before. I look back at Iclyn as she leans in playfully, a challenge glimmering in her eyes and a quick flick of her eyebrows, inviting me to join the fun.
And with that invitation, the idea of the holiday spirit transforms in my mind. It’s in these moments, the laughter, the lightness of being known and understood— even in a game of Twister.
“I’ll talk to you later, Grams.” I hit “End,” throwing it aside to stand and move around the desk.
Iclyn moves closer, brushing her shoulder against mine, and I savor that glimmer of connection. “You’re missing a mad competitive game of holiday Twister, Brinker.”
Every moment with her is fresh, different from the suffocating expectations I’ve carried for so long. We lock eyes, and before I realize what’s happening, I lean in, my heart racing as her lips are just a breath away.
I close my eyes and let myself dive into another kiss. It’s soft and tentative at first, a dance of hesitation that dissolves with every shared heartbeat. And then it deepens, a kiss that tastes like hope, full of all the things I thought I’d never have in life. The world blurs around us, and in this moment, everything coalesces— the twinkling lights, the laughter from the hallway, and the distant echo in my mind from my grandmother’s voice.
It’s not about finding some elusive spirit anymore.
It’s about being present and getting to know myself and maybe someone else.
Painting the days with every stroke of newfound joy. And as we pull away, breathless and smiling, I feel it…
A spark of holiday wonder igniting inside me.
“Go to dinner with me…” I say, nuzzling her ear.
The warm glowof candlelight flickers between us on the polished wooden table, casting playful shadows that dance on the red and gold walls behind us. I glance across at Iclyn, her eyes wide as they wander over the menu, obviously feeling slightly out of her depth in this upscale little restaurant. She fidgets with the delicate silk napkin in her lap. I can’t help but notice how stunning she looks— like she’s stepped right out of amagazine, but somehow she’s all the more captivating for the slight unease that flickers across her features.
