Page 26 of Royal Icing
“Tell me. Please. I’m curious what American Christmas is like.”
She tugged on a strand of hair. “Well, we do the stereotypical stuff. Hallmark movie marathon, ugly sweaters. We set a theme for cookie decorating every year—dead celebrities, swear words, animal butts.”
“Animal butts?” He raised his eyebrows.
She nodded. “I told you you didn’t want to know. When things were…better, my favorite tradition was making care packages for the homeless. Warm socks and toothbrushes and things like that.”
He tilted his head. Better? Meaning that things weren’t so great now? His heart dropped at the idea.
“Mom used to propagate and sell mistletoe out of a rickety old wagon. But our most embarrassing tradition by far was playing this obscure dancing game on our decrepit Wii. There were like two Christmas songs on there, which automatically made it a holiday tradition. One time, my mom drank too many Santa’s Revenges beforehand and accidentally punched a vase off an end table.”
Leo laughed. It sounded warm, loving, and fun—the opposite of Christmas at the castle.
“Santa’s Revenge?”
“A drink I made up when I was twenty-one. It’s basically hot buttered rum with M&Ms. I didn’t have good taste.”
“It must have been hard for you to leave your traditions to come here. You don’t have any other siblings?”
Emma shook her head as they passed a streetlamp. The tip of her nose had turned pink, and snow clung to her hair and eyelashes. He had to stop himself from reaching over to brush them away.
“No, it’s just me and my mom.”
Another question was starting to bother him.
“Your boyfriend doesn’t mind you being away for the holidays?”
She snorted, then clapped a hand to her mouth. “Sorry. No boyfriend. There was, once. But he left me a few months after my mom’s stroke. He didn’t like the idea of marrying someone who was a required caregiver.”
He straightened. “What an arsehole.”
Emma’s expression shifted from cloudy to delighted. “Are you allowed to say arsehole? Is Beatrice going to pop out of a bush and smack you with a ruler?”
“They gave up on me a long time ago,” he said.
“The people love a rebel,” she said warmly. “What’s Christmas like for you and your family?”
Leo kicked a rock down the road. Faint strains of music were audible, and the air was spiced with cinnamon. It smelled great, but not as good as whatever had been wafting out of Emma’s apartment.
“We’re not big on Christmas. We go into town and ring the bell, then have brunch and gifts.”
She looked at him. “That’s it? Do you decorate? Make cookies? Watch movies? Play games?”
“Ruby and I do on occasion. I always volunteer around the holidays, so there’s not a lot of time for frivolity.”
“Hmm. Sounds like your Christmas needs more vase-punching,” she teased.
He shook his head. “It’s just another day on the calendar.”
She seemed to consider this in silence. “Are you planning to go to the ball?” she asked after a beat. “Five hundred years is a big deal.”
“No. I usually volunteer at the community kitchen on Saturdays.”
Was it his imagination, or did she look slightly disappointed?
“That’s too bad. You’ll miss the desserts,” she said.
“I’ll have Ruby save me some.”
