Page 94 of Shut Up and Jingle Me
“That’s the whole point. And you are going to be so cute.”
He sighs dramatically, but there’s no real resistance. “You owe me.”
“I think I’ve already paid in full,” I say, leaning in to kiss him once, soft and lingering.
He hums against my mouth, sweater still bunched in his hands. “Fine. But if anyone asks, the panda wasyouridea.”
“Obviously.”
By the timeevening rolls around, the house feels alive. Every light’s on, every surface’s covered in food, and the air smells like cinnamon, brown sugar, and butter. The kind of cozy chaos only a southern family can pull off.
Mom’s in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, laughing with Dad over the gravy while my sister steals frosting straight from the bowl. They already know Max—reallyknow him—and the way they look at him now, teasing and fond, settles something deep in my chest.
It’s the rest of them I’m nervous about.
Max stands beside me in the living room, looking unfairly good in that ridiculous panda sweater. The green and red make his eyes stand out, and he’s already got flour on one sleeve from helping my sister decorate cookies earlier. He catches my stare and quirks an eyebrow. “You sure this is festive and not over the top?”
“It’s both,” I tell him, grinning. “But they’re gonna love you.”
We step into the heart of the noise in the backyard—uncles by the fire pit trading fishing stories, aunts placing casseroles on the long table, cousins chasing the dog around the tree. The whole picture is pure nostalgia for me.
I clear my throat and raise my voice just enough. “Hey, everyone—this is Max. My boyfriend.”
A dozen faces turn toward us. There’s a beat where I feel my stomach twist—then Aunt Judy smiles first, warm and bright. “Oh, honey,thisis Max? Well, come on over here so we can actually see you!”
“Welcome, sweetheart,” another aunt says, already waving him closer. “Bless your heart, that sweater’s adorable.”
Someone hands him a mug of cider. My dad calls out from the kitchen window, “Save him some cornbread, y’all!”
And then Grandma Nellie rises from her recliner—tiny, wiry, and unstoppable. She looks Max up and down, then opens her arms. “Don’t just stand there, sugar. Come give your new grandma a hug.”
Max blinks, startled but smiling, and steps forward. She hugs him like she’s known him his whole life, patting his backbefore leaning away to inspect him again. “Mercy, you’re tall. And handsome. And wearing a panda. You’re a brave man, bless you.”
He laughs, a real, easy sound. “Thank you, ma’am.”
“Ma’am?” She swats his arm lightly. “Don’t go calling me that. Makes me feel like I should start carrying peppermints in my purse again.”
Everyone chuckles, and just like that, Max fits right in.
The night spins out in a haze of carols, almost too-sweet fudge, and the steady thrum of family. Max helps Mom refill cider glasses, listens to Dad’s stories, lets Grandma make him a plate he absolutely doesn’t need. When I catch his eye from across the backyard, he gives me this look—soft, a little overwhelmed, completely happy.
And I realize there’s no better gift than this: the man I love, standing in the middle of my family, loved right back.
Later, when the fire’s burned low and the crowd’s thinned out, Grandma passes by and leans close enough for only me to hear. “You did good, baby,” she whispers, smiling at Max. “He’s got good eyes.”
I glance over at him, laughing with my sister, and smile. “Yeah,” I say quietly. “He really does.”
Grandma pats my arm one last time before turning toward the back of the house and the kitchen, muttering something about packing up leftovers before anyone can “mess them up.”
I’m still smiling when I feel a familiar hand slide along my back. Max leans in, presses a kiss to the side of my head—quick but grounding. “You enjoying the night?” he murmurs.
“Yeah,” I say, voice a little rough. “It’s been the best Christmas Eve ever.”
He hums, a quiet sound I can feel more than hear, and then straightens, glancing toward the kitchen window whereGrandma is already organizing an army of foil-covered dishes. “Think she’ll let me help her get all that to the car?”
I bite back a laugh. “You can try, but fair warning—she’s protective of her leftovers. You might lose a finger.”
He grins, eyes still soft from the kiss. “Worth the risk.”
