Don't Kiss the Bride

I lift my shoulder. “Maybe you’re right.”

She kicks off her shoes and smiles at me.

“C’mon, Santa.”

“I’ll make you a deal.” I step out of my boots and line our shoes up together on the rubber mat by the door. “I’ll put this monstrosity together if you have a hot cocoa with me.”

Her lips purse into the pout that has quickly become my favorite expression of hers. “Lucky, that’s not fair. I’m not sure—”

“It’s just milk, chocolate, and marshmallows. And my secret add-on.” I head to the kitchen, and she follows along with the cat and the dog.

“I’m not agreeing to any secret add-on until I see what it is.”

I pull out a saucepan and the ingredients I need and start heating milk on the stove.

She watches me with fascination. “My mom used to make it in the microwave with water.”

“This is better.” I wink at her. “Trust me.”

“Okay…”

I eye her playfully as I stir the milk and cocoa, hoping to make her smile. “What’d you get me for Christmas?”

It’s been years since I’ve been given a gift from anyone other than my aunt and uncle, and now that I’m thinking about it, I can’t remember the last time a woman gave me a gift.

It better not be socks.

“I’m not going to tell you, Lucky. You have to wait.”

I pour the hot cocoa into two mugs and add some marshmallows. Skylar watches me skeptically as I pull a small, wrapped candy cane that I swiped from Aunt Suzy’s house out of my pocket and throw it in a sandwich bag with a few graham crackers. After quickly crushing it up together, I sprinkle it over the marshmallow.

“It’s good, you’ll like it.” I hand it to her in her favorite mug that has a picture of a sunglass-wearing cat on it. “Everything is safe, I promise. I made the crumbs really tiny for you. No choking hazards.”

“This is what I have to do to get you to put a Christmas tree up?”

“Yup. It’s my favorite holiday drink. When we were little, Aunt Suzy used to tell us that elves made it for us. Someday when you have kids, you should make it for them.” I raise my mug to my lips. “This stuff is the shit.”

Her eyes linger on mine, then she looks down at the mug she’s cupping in her hands.

“This is the best Christmas I’ve had in a long time,” she confesses quietly. “Do you know how sweet you can be sometimes?” She glances up at me with a flash of accusation. “Or are you just totally oblivious?”

“Oblivious.” I sip my hot cocoa concoction. “Drink that before it melts too much.”

Finally, she tries it, and a white marshmallow mustache clings to her upper lip. I’m dying to kiss her and taste my favorite drink on her mouth, but she quickly licks it away.

Probably for the best.

“Well?” I prod impatiently.

She moves her hair behind her shoulder and smiles. “It’s actually really good. Very cozy and festive.”

“Told ya.”

She watches me drink my cocoa and laughs softly when I down the last gulp and lick the marshmallow from the rim of my mug.

“What?” I ask.

“Nothing…” Her cheeks blush. “I just like seeing this happy side of you. You don’t smile enough.”

“I guess I’ll try to smile more, then. How’s that saying go? You never know who’s falling in love with your smile?”

“Ya never know… that just might be true.” She brushes by me to put her mug in the sink, then turns to look up at me. “Thank you for sharing your favorite cocoa with me.”

“Thanks for drinking it and not spitting it out.”

Laughing, she picks up Gus and pins me with a look of impatience and excitement.

“Can we put the tree up now?”

We drag the box into the living room and take out all the pieces of the fake tree and its stand. We laugh at Gus, who’s having a blast diving into the box, peeking out at us, then doing it all over again.

“You know she’s going to knock this tree over, right?” Skylar says.

“That’s why we’re not putting ornaments on it. Just lights. So if she knocks it over, no big deal.”

She holds up a fake tree branch and frowns quizzically while bending it up and down. “It’s like a big tree-puzzle.”

“Maybe I should’ve gotten a real one. I thought this would be easier.”

“It would’ve been dead by now if you left it in the hallway like you did with this one.”

An hour later our tree is slightly lopsided, but finally together and strung with little white lights and garland.

“It’s beautiful,” she says, reaching up to fix some of the branches. “I love the simple white lights, don’t you?”

Nodding, I pull the Santa hat off my head and gently put it on hers, fluffing her long hair around her shoulders.

“You make a cuter Santa than I do,” I say.