Page 11 of Wild Christmas
Maisie scampers up to me and raises her arms, wanting to be picked up. She's always been clingy, but I don't mind. I scoop her up in my arms and bury my face in her neck, making her giggle as I kiss her.
“Which ones did you do, MayMay?” She twists in my arms, wanting to be put down. Then she tugs on my shirt and leads me over to a piece of cardboard that's by the Christmas tree.
Shapes are scribbled on the cardboard, and she points to it proudly. “A sign for Santa.”
I pick the cardboard up and nod at it seriously while she tells me all about the blobs of color which are reindeer that she's drawn. In Dora's childish scrawl is written: ‘Santa stop here.’
Freya comes over and crouches next to me. She bites her lower lip, an anxious look on her face. “Is this okay? Is it too much?” She gestures around the living room. “The girls made some reindeer they want to put on the wall, but I didn't know whether it was okay to use sticky tack on your walls.”
I’ve allowed sticky tack in the girls’ room to put their pictures up, but I don’t want it ruining the walls in the rest of the house. But when I look around at their happy faces, I wonder if I've been too strict. Walls can be painted over, but my girls will only be young once. “I've got some in my office. You can put some up, just not around the fireplace.”
The girls squeal with delight, and Dora runs off to get the sticky tack.
Maisie tugs at my hand, and I looked down at her wide eyes. “Can you dance with us, Daddy?”
“I don't dance, sweetie.”
Her face falls, but I haven't danced since I was an adolescent at the school dances. Dancing isn't my thing.Her bottom lip wobbles but my brave girl doesn't cry, even though her un-fun dad has disappointed her once again. “But you can put the music back on if you want to keep dancing. I’ll watch as I make dinner.”
Freya puts the music back on, this time turned down a few notches, and I head to the kitchen.
Dora comes back with the sticky tack, and soon my pristine white walls are decorated with kid’s Christmas art and more streamers.
The three of them start dancing again, and I do my dinner prep on the counter facing out so I can watch them.
But it's not my girls I'm watching. It's Freya. The way she moves to the music, the carefree way she sings along to the songs, her easy laugh, and the adoring way my girls look up at her.
This is what this cabin needs.
The thought hits me like a blow to the chest. I'm a grumpy bastard, I know that. I like things neat and clean and orderly. Freya brings fun and laughter and chaos. She makes the house into a home.
A few hours later the girls are tucked into bed after dinner, and I come into the kitchen to finish the washing up. Freya is in the living room crouched over a box and packing unused craft bits into it.
She stands up when she sees me. “Where do you keep the vacuum? I’ll run it around to get the tinsel.”
“The robovac will get it when it does its nightlyrounds.” I indicate the robotic vacuum cleaner tucked under a side table.
“Okay.” She nods. “I’ve never seen one of those in action.”
“I’ll show you.”
I flick it on, and the robovac shoots out of its holding casing. It heads straight for Freya, and she jumps out of the way. In her hastiness she bumps into me, and I grab her elbow to steady her.
Her gaze flicks to mine, and her eyes go even wider. “It startled me.”
I should let her go, but I don’t. I hold onto her longer than necessary, because she feels too damn good. There’s a piece of green tinsel caught in her hair, and I brush it away with my fingers.
“Tinsel.” I hold it up and release her elbow. She steps back and carefully away from where the robovac’s running over the carpet.
My heart thunders in my chest. Having her this close makes my palms sweat, and I’m sure she must hear my heartbeat.
I’m rooted to the spot as she bends down to retrieve the craft box from the carpet and out of the way of the robovac.
“Thanks for today.” Freya plops the box of craft supplies on the table.
I pull myself together, ignoring the way she makes my pulse race. “The girls loved it. They like you.”
She smiles. “It’s what most people do, Nate, decorate the house for Christmas.”
