She doesn’t even look through the peephole; instead, she swings the door wide open. Her mouth falls open, and she struggles to find any words to say—for once in her life.
“Hello, Ansel, I hope you don’t mind; Donovan invited me out.” Theo hands her a bouquet of Christmas flowers; she grabs them, and she steps aside for him to come inside. He leans down, kissing her cheek. “These past few days without you have been a kind of quiet agony. I know we’ve only just met, but somewhere deep in the marrow of me, I feel it, as if written into the script of my soul, you are meant to be mine.”
Ansel leaps into his arms, plastering him with delicate kisses.
I feel Stella relax into me, her head landing gently on my shoulder.
“Christmas miracle, huh?” she murmurs. “Or more like a meddling best friend’s fiancé.”
She kisses my cheek softly.
“I couldn’t let her sit here feeling miserable,” I say. “And Theo texted me—he sounded just as wrecked without her.”
We spend the rest of the morning enjoying each other’s company, unwrapping presents. Ansel gives Stella and me matching coffee cups,“Mr.”and“Mrs.”written out in bones.
Stella hands Ansel a clothing box.
Ansel opens the clothing box. Inside, she finds exactly two items: a black satin robe with the word“Sugar Plague” delicately embroidered in hot pink thread on the front left sideand a structured hot pink blazer with black and white striped cuffs.
“Oh my god, STELLA, this is perfect.” She leaps onto Stella, kissing her face all over.
Theo and I just look at each other and shrug.
After presents are done, Stella runs to the bedroom and walks back out in a matching white satin robe. The embroidery on hers readsSlaymuffin, stitched in the same font.
She lets out a sudden shriek, and everyone turns to stare like she’s lost her mind.
“Baby, what’s wrong?” I ask.
She runs to the tree, reaches her hand deep inside, and pulls out a small black jewelry box.
“I almost forgot your last present,” she says, handing it to me before stepping back.
I pop the lid open. Inside is a silver key, simple and shining, attached to a keychain engraved with:
There’s no place like home?
I glance up at her, the question written all over my face.
She smiles nervously, twisting the hem of her robe. “I was hoping you’d want to move in with me.”
I leap across the coffee table and scoop her up, her legs wrapping tightly around my waist as I carry her backward until her back hits the wall.
I lean in like I’m about to kiss her but stop just before.
“Say it again,” I whisper.
She looks into my eyes, no hesitation this time.
“Move in with me.”
The rest of winter break, Stella and I pack and move my apartment to hers. We were able to secure another parking spot in the garage for my car and bike—thankfully.
I walk into the bathroom for my morning piss, and I am looking around. I can’t help but smile; Stella’s personality overruns everything. Pastel and gothic oddities are everywhere. However, mixed in are little parts of me: my toothbrush, my razor, my towel, and my robe. Looking at the bathroom mats, she swapped out her pink ones for my black ones. Our lives are slowly melting into one.
I step out of the bathroom and pause.
Stella is stretched across the bed, her raven-black hair a halo of tangled silk against the pale blush of her sheets. One arm is shoved under my pillow, the other curled near her chest. Her right leg is bent lazily, and the oversized T-shirt she stole from me—she refuses to give it back—is riding up far too high.
