Page 24 of Touchdown Under the Mistletoe
“Go wake everyone up, will you? Breakfast is almost ready, and then we’ll do presents.”
I head back upstairs, but I pause outside my bedroom door. Through the crack, I can see Riley sitting up in bed, stretching her arms over her head. She looks soft and sleepy and so beautiful it hurts.
I knock and push the door open. “Morning. Merry Christmas.”
She smiles, and it’s like sunrise after a cold night. “Merry Christmas, Travis.”
“Mom says breakfast is almost ready.”
She swings her legs out of bed. “Great. Give me ten minutes to look human?”
“You already look gor—” I start. “Yeah, take your time.”
Smooth, Steelbird. Real smooth.
Twenty minutes later, we’re all crammed around the dining table again, this time for breakfast instead of dinner. The cinnamon roll casserole is a hit, the pancakes are slightly burnt but edible, and there’s enough bacon and eggs to feed a small army.
“Everyone to the living room for presents,” Mom announces as soon as all our plates are empty.
The living room feels even more cramped than it was for the talent show, but somehow we all squeeze in. Presents surround the tree—way more than there were yesterday. Apparently, everyone snuck down during the night to add their gifts to the pile. I know I did.
“Okay, ground rules,” Dad says, standing by the tree with a Santa hat that Rosie keeps trying to grab. “We’ll go around the room. Everyone gets to open one present at a time, so we can all see what everyone got. Riley, you’re closest to the tree, so you go first.”
Riley picks up a rectangular package with her name on it and reads the tag. “This one’s from Aspen and Maddox.”
She unwraps it to reveal a beautiful leather journal. “Oh, this is gorgeous. Thank you so much.”
“It’s for all those brilliant literary thoughts you have,” my sister says with a smile.
We go around the room as agreed. Beau gets a new tool set from his parents, Grandma receives a mystery novel collection from Annie and William, Mom gets a fancy kitchen gadget from Dad, and Rosie mostly just enjoys destroying the wrapping paper despite the mountain of toys she’s collecting.
When it’s my turn, I open a gift from my parents. It’s a new watch, sleek and understated. “Thanks, Mom, Dad. It’s perfect.”
“Okay, Travis, your turn to hand one out,” Mom says.
This is it. I reach under the tree and pull out the small package I wrapped last night after Riley fell asleep. I called in a favor yesterday and picked it up after the shops were already closed.
“This one’s for Riley,” I say, handing it to her.
She looks surprised. “You didn’t have to get me anything, Travis.”
“Just open it.”
She carefully unwraps it. Inside is a box of premium stationery—thick, cream-colored paper with delicate edges—and a fountain pen.
She stares at it for a long moment, and I can’t read her expression. Is she happy or disappointed?
“It’s for letters. I know we can text, and that’s fine, but I missed your letters. The ones you used to write aboutShakespeare and Stephen King and whatever book you were reading. I thought maybe we could start that tradition again.”
When she looks up at me, her eyes are suspiciously bright. “Travis, this is…”
“Too much? Not enough? I can exchange it.”
“No, it’s perfect. Thank you. And I’d love to be your pen pal again.”
Her eyes meet mine, and a warm feeling spreads through my bones. It’s like she sees exactly what I’m trying to say without me having to spell it out. That I want to stay in touch. Want her in my life.
“Well, that’s sweet. Young love. Nothing like it,” Grandma says with a smile.
