“Of course.”
He beams. “Which one is your favorite?”
“Die Hard.”
He gasps. “Die Hardisnota Christmas movie.” He jumps down from the counter and starts grabbing the stuff we need for breakfast.
“Of course it is,” I argue. “It’s set at Christmas. There’s a Christmas party.”
I check the fireplace, add a few logs, and start a fire.
“Is not. There are guns and people dying everywhere.”
“People get hurt inHome Alone, and no one argues that it’s a Christmas movie,” I say.
He huffs.
I’ll admit it’s funny seeing him get all riled up over such a topic. But when he starts waving a knife at me before using it to spread the icing on the cinnamon buns, I get worried.
“Hey, baby,” I say, coming up behind him. “Why don’t you hold that anger in and let it out later in bed, huh?”
Bubble turns around after, thankfully, putting the knife down. “You like playing with fire, Mr. Dempsey.”
I kiss him. “Only when it’s you doing the burning.” I take the plate with the cinnamon buns and put it on the table. He brings the coffee and two cups and announces that since it’s Christmas morning, he’s going to sit on my lap for breakfast.
We take our time feeding bites of still-warm cinnamon rolls to each other, drinking coffee, and talking about what Christmas used to be like when we were kids.
Bubble is so easy to talk to that I keep forgetting there’s a twenty-year age gap between us. He may be bubbly, full of life, and seem carefree, but he’s also responsible, caring, and very mature.
The way he put his grandmother first and his dream second says everything about the man he is.
He’s talking about the decorations on the Christmas tree when my phone rings with a video call from my parents.
He starts to move from my lap, but I hold him in place. His cheeks redden. It’s one of the few times I’ve seen him looking less confident.
“Hey, Mom. Hey, Dad,” I say when I swipe to answer the call. I prop the phone against my empty coffee cup so I don’t have to hold it.
“Hey, sweetie. Merry Christm—oh, you have company,” Mom says.
“Merry Christmas, Mom. This is Curtis. He’s the cheerleading coach at my high school. Remember the pie you had at Thanksgiving? You can thank him for that.”
Curtis is as still as a mouse while my mom doesn’t miss a beat.
“Nice to meet you, Curtis. Your pie was delightful. You’ll have to share your recipe or let me know how I can get my hands on one next year.”
I already have my arm around Bubble’s waist, so I run my thumb in circles to reassure him that it’s okay.
“Um, thank you, Mrs. Dempsey.”
Mom waves him off. “Oh, pfft, call me Jan. So, what have you boys been up to? Has the storm passed already?”
It’s my turn to blush. “Well, I…um…I’ve removed the doors from the kitchen cabinets, sanded them, and restained them. They look like new. Curtis decorated the cabin, so it looks like one of Santa’s elves escaped the North Pole and is hiding here.”
“For the last time, I’m not an elf. I’m small but perfectly formed,” Bubble says, crossing his arms in front of his chest, looking outraged. Then he seems to catch himself, and his whole face goes an adorable shade of pink.
“It’s been great having Curtis here. You know me, I’d have had sandwiches and frozen pizza for dinner every day,” I say to my parents, trying to take some of the attention away from him.
“How exactly did he end up there? I thought you were going to be on your own,” Dad says.
