Ugly Sweater Weather

"Um, the Dyker Heights Christmas lights, of course! Oh, my God. Did I actually find something that has to do with Christmas that you didn't know about first?"

"I think you did. I'm impressed, Dea," he said, giving me a cocky little smile. "So, what are the Dyker Heights Christmas lights?"

"Oh, it is gaudy and over the top and amazing. They hand out candy canes and play Christmas music. And we try not to go blind by the brightness."

"Your mom was going to go walk around and look at Christmas lights?" he asked, brows furrowing, trying to imagine my six-inch-heel-wearing Mom in her designer everything walking around tacky Christmas lights.

"I wasn't exactly planning on telling her," I admitted guiltily. "And I was going to get her a little bombed first," I added. "Then stick those funny glasses on her."

"The funny glasses," he repeated.

"You know, the ones that are like the 3D glasses the movie theater gives you, but instead of making things 3D, they make each individual light you look at resemble something else. A gingerbread man, a candy cane, and Santa Claus. I thought it would be fun and really trippy to get drunk, and walk around looking at lights through some of those."

"Well, I'm game. Where are we drinking? Is there anywhere Christmas-themed in that neck of the woods?"

"I mean, nothing like your little coffee shop," I told him, and I could feel a foreign heat creeping up my neck, blooming across my cheeks, making me realize I had been replaying the kiss scene in my mind for a couple of seconds. "But I found a place that has a couple of theme trees. The themes are top-secret, so we have to see them when we get there. And they do, wait for it, Christmas karaoke."

"Oh, Dea, this is sounding too good to be true," he said, eyes lighting up. "We have to do Baby, It's Cold Outside, right?"

"If five-hundred other people don't do it first. There are a couple good duets. Christmas Without You, The Greatest Gift of All. Or we can have fun and do something like Santa on the Rooftop or, if they have it, There's Something Stuck Up in the Chimney."

"The Chimney Song," Crosby corrected. "And let's not forget that Baby Jesus is Born is a bop, and not a lot of people know it."

"And you know I have to do it," I told him, stopping to give him a firm nod.

"No, you really don't," he said, shaking his head.

"Listen, your distaste for her in general is clouding your judgment. Christmas Tree Farm is an amazing new Christmas song, and you need to accept that."

"I guess I can give it another try. You were right about that new album."

"Of course I was. Okay. So, if we are going to be drinking, I propose we need to eat beforehand, right?" I asked as we took a turn to walk in the direction of my apartment. We always had a spot where we parted ways on the nights that Crosby didn't outright insist on walking me all the way home before catching an Uber back to his place.

"That would be wise. We don't want a repeat of our Anti-Valentines-Day pub crawl."

"Oh, God. Please," I begged, feeling my stomach roll at the memory. "Don't remind me." Those shots, yeah, they snuck up on me and ruined my life. "But one caveat," I said.

"I'm listening."

"The meal can't be Christmas themed. No cookie binges or anything like that. We need to lay down a good, solid layer of grease and fat and carbs if we are going to be drinking and strapping the trippy glasses on our faces."

"Agreed. I will handle the food, since you figured the rest out."

"Sounds like a plan," I agreed, finally untangling my arm from his as the front of my apartment building came into view. "What time for shenanigans?"

"Six? We have a big night," he reminded me. "Maybe you can bring Lock to my place to hang out with Jellybean and Clarence. That way, you don't have to worry about getting back to him."

Clarence had doggy-sat Lock on more than a few occasions. And aside from him once painting his nails and coat—in pet-safe color, of course—he'd always just kind of hung out with them, took them for walks, snuck them treats. It was worth a trek up to Crosby's apartment to have that peace of mind. Especially when it was going to be a longer night out than usual.

"That's a good idea. Okay I will be there at six."

"It's a date," he agreed.

It was a casual, flip comment. We'd said it to each other dozens of times before. It meant nothing.

Why, then, did my belly do a little flip-flop?

I didn't know, but I was going to blame the gyro I snagged off a food cart on my way out of work earlier.