Page 30 of Don't Hate the Holidays
I look at the TV for the pose. Eli follows my gaze.
“We’ll keep it slow,” I promise.
And we do, Eli moving in a somewhat rhythmic circle around me, softly clapping his hands together in a way that doesn’t produce much sound. We sway again, holding each other, and then he spins with me, one hand steady on my back as we take curved steps in time together. He moves to spin me out again and goes to one knee, broad shoulders straight, still holding one of my hands. I move to circle him, knowing this is the end of the dance. Short, tight steps close to his body, a final curve, the skin of my hand sliding against his . . .
I fall over his bent knee, into the arm he has waiting to catch me.
I fall a little harder than I should.
Eli swears and goes to the floor with me.
It doesn’t hurt, but we collide with the floor, tangled against each other. We stare at each other for a few seconds, breathing faster than before. “Danny Kaye would have caught me,” I say, my heart picking up its pace.
“I did catch you, idiot,” Eli says, voice crackling with desire. His breath is warm, mingling with mine.
“You actually fell with me.”
“You’re in my arms, aren’t you?”
My breath hitches and I curl my fingers into the collar of his sweater. “My favorite place to be.”
He crushes his mouth to mine, chocolate and laughter sweet on his lips. For a few minutes I dissolve into his embrace, and then Widget jumps down from the couch and bumps his nose against my back.
“Someone else wants affection,” I say. Eli chuckles. I’m in the process of rolling over to pet Widget when Mom’s voice sounds, louder with each word as she appears in the doorway.
“Jack, Eli, did you want more—oh. What happened?”
We scramble upright, Eli smoothing his sweater down where I scrunched it. “We were dancing,” I tell Mom. The back of my neck burns. At least she didn’t walk in on us actively kissing, but still . . .
She raises her eyebrows.
“We were trying to dance like they do inWhiteChristmas,” Eli says, somehow not as mortified as I am—or better at hiding it. “Jack fell, I caught him, and . . . yeah.”
“He fell too,” I add in.
Eli glares at me, then gestures to the paused movie on the TV. Mom laughs. “You tried to dance like that? No wonder you fell!”
“Wow, thanks for the vote of confidence,” I mumble.
“He needs a lot of work,” Eli says.
I turn on him. “I did better than you!”
Eli crouches to pet Widget. “No proof of that.”
“I just wanted to see if I should make more hot chocolate,” Mom says. “I’ll let you get back to your movie. Dinner will be soon, okay?”
“Thanks, Mrs. Benson,” Eli says, as I say, “Thanks, Mom.”
She goes back toward the kitchen, Widget trotting after her in hopes of treats, no doubt. Eli and I look at each other and I see a tinge of pink color his cheeks.
We sit back on the couch without a word, Eli spreads the blanket over us again, and I start the movie up. His hand finds my knee beneath the blanket and gives it a gentle squeeze, and he rests his head on my shoulder with a contented sigh. I glance at him and then focus on the movie, a smile pulling at my lips.
Now it feels more like Christmas.
ELEVEN
ELI
