Page 10 of An Unexpected Christmas
“I have ramen noodles in the pantry. Maybe some bad for you snacks.” I gesture vaguely toward the kitchen, even though I know there’s not much in there. “Probably an old cucumber in the refrigerator.”
His lips twitch, and for a second, I think he might smile. Instead, he steps past me, heading into the kitchen. I follow him, leaning against the doorframe as he opens said refrigerator and peers inside. The light casts his face in light and shadows, highlighting the strong line of his jaw. He mutters something under his breath as he surveys the contents.
“What?” I ask, a little saltier than usual. “Not up to your standards?”
He pulls out a half-empty carton of milk and a sad-looking cucumber. “This is it?”
“I wasn’t planning to be here, remember?” I say, swallowing hard. “I was supposed to be in Boston, stuffing my face with turkey and pie. Not eating... moldy vegetables.”
He places the carton into the trash, then closes the fridge door and turns to face me. “This isn’t enough.”
“Thanks for the reminder, Captain Obvious,” I say, rolling my eyes. “What do you want me to do about it? It’s not like I can go grocery shopping in a blizzard.”
His gaze narrows slightly, and I’m sure he’s going to argue. He opens his mouth, then closes it, his fingers twitching like he’s caught between staying silent and saying something he doesn’t want to admit. Finally, he sighs, the sound low and resigned, and rubs the back of his neck. The movement is quick, almost self-conscious, and his hand falls back to his side as he finally looks at me again.
“Come to my house,” he says, the words rough and clipped, as if forcing them out has cost him something.
I blink, caught off guard by the invitation and the fact that he doesn’t particularly look like he wanted to extend that offer at all. His posture is stiff, his shoulders squared like he’s bracing for me to throw it back to him. That’s usually our playful back and forth. But I’m stuck this time. “W-what?”
“You can’t stay here with nothing to eat,” he says, his tone firm. “Come to my house. I’ve got food.”
I stare at him, dumbfounded. “You’re... inviting me over? To your house?”
“Don’t make it weird,” he mutters, looking away.
“Oh, it’s already weird,” I tease. “You, of all people, inviting me into your fortress of solitude? I’m honored, maybe a little scared.”
He huffs a quiet laugh, the sound makes my tummy flutter. “Are you coming or not?”
I hesitate, glancing back at my tree. My house still feels empty and cold; the festive lights only serve to be a contrast to the inevitable loneliness pressing down on me. And as much as I hate to admit it, the thought of spending the night alone is almost unbearable.
“Fine,” I say, walking to the closet to get a coat. “But I’m warning you, I’m not responsible for any Christmas cheer that rubs off on you.”
He gives me a look that’s equal parts surprised and smug as he opens the door, snow swirling in behind him. “Don’t get your hopes up, Frankie.”
We trudge to his house, which is as dark and uninviting as ever, with no lights, no decorations, nothing to suggest that Christmas is even a thing, and I wonder how offended he’d be if I offer to bring the food to my house.
“You know,” I say as we reach his porch, I suppress a shiver, “you could at least put up a wreath or something. It wouldn’t kill you.”
He unlocks the door and pushes it open, glancing at me over his shoulder. “I think your lights are enough for both of us.”
“Hey,” I protest, stepping inside. “They’re the best part of Christmas.”
He smirks faintly as he shrugs off his coat. “There’s the Mrs. Christmas I’ve seen. I thought you’d given up.”
I try to reply with something quippy, but I’m almost positive he’s being sincere this time, and a part of me isn’t sure what to do with that, yet.
The warmth of his house wraps around me, and I look around, surprised by how... normal it is. The furniture is simple and understated, the walls painted in soft, neutral tones. It’s neat, almost to the point of being sterile, but there’s something oddly comforting about it. And it smells like him, all pine and musk with something else I can’t place yet… I like it.
As I make my way through the living area and into the kitchen, my eyes immediately blink because… am I seeing things? A tiny, two-foot-tall Christmas tree sitting on the kitchen counter, its branches uneven and sparsely decorated.
“Wait a dang minute. Is that...” I point, “a Christmas tree?”
He follows my gaze, his eyes wide. “Shit… It’s, uh, nothing.”
He makes a desperate grab for the blanket on his couch, throwing it over the tree. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him move so fast.
“Ah, yes, because now it’s invisible,” I deadpan, still staring at the now blanket-covered two-foot shape in his kitchen.
