It was only going to get more hectic as the day progressed, because our entire family descended upon my parents’ house every Christmas Eve and spent the night so we could wake up together on Christmas morning and open presents first thing. It was tradition. And we couldn’t change a thing about it, even though it meant that this yearthere would be fourteen adults, two quasi-adults, three rambunctious kids, four dogs, and not nearly enough bedrooms to go around. Most of us would spend the night camped out on the living room floor, which meant we’d be awake late into the evening, followed by a butt-crack-o-dawn wakeup by the kids.
I was going to need to sleep for a week straight when the holidays were over to make up for all the lost shuteye.
I should be at my parents’ already, immersed in the chaos. Instead, I’d spent the morning locked in my room, panic-wrapping gifts, because between preparing for houseguests, closing down my shop, and the mega-distraction of Ben Kakoa, I didn’t get it done in time.
Megan and Stacey left with the dogs well over an hour ago. Mom had asked them to be team players and stop at the store on the way over, because she’d run out of vegetable stock and carrots for their favorite vegan stew, as well as a few other items that she claimed Christmas would be ruined without.
To say that Megan was unimpressed was an understatement. The thought of wading into the carnage of a grocery store on Christmas Eve made her look physically ill. Thank God for Stacey, who told Megan that she’d be the one to run in, and Megan could wait in the car. After all, someone needed to stay with the dogs while the other acted as a sacrificial lamb. Megan looked only slightly less nauseous at that prospect, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.
She tried to get me to relent about taking the boys with them, but for once I stayed firm with her. They would slow my wrapping to a snail’s pace. Fred had never encountered a piece of paper that didn’t need to be sat on, and Sam thought running away from me with ribbon in his mouth was one of the best games ever invented. I swore they were part cat.
My phone chimed beside me on the floor with a text notification. I craned my head sideways to see it because I was in the middle of tying a rather complicated bow, and if I let it go now, I’d have to start all over.
It was a picture, sent by Stacey, of the familiar black and white blurs of Fred and Sam running through the snow. Behind them, my parents’ springer spaniel, Dancer, was mid-leap as he chased after them.
Another text came through from her.
Poor wittle floofywoogins wit his stumpy wittle legs.
What the hell?
I looked closer. There, far behind the rest of the dogs, just barely visible over the top of the snow, was a pair of eyes, a forehead covered in caramel-colored fur, and two tall ears. It was my parents’ other dog, Corgnelius the corgi. He looked like a little snowplow trailing after the others. Poor floofywoogins indeed. Then again, judging by the gleam in his beady little eyes, he was having the time of his life.
I shook my head and went back to work on the bow. Another text followed shortly after, and I half expected to see more corgi pictures – Stacey was obsessed – but it wasn’t from her. It was from Stan.
My heart skipped a beat.
Merry Christmas Eve. Jack is here. Just challenged him to another legendary round of double-dutch.
I grinned so wide my cheek muscles pinched. I tied off the bow, leaned over, and picked my phone up.Merry Christmas Eve! Go easy on him. He’s old.
I’m telling him you said that.
Go right ahead.
You sure about that? He finished another batch of oatmeal stout and just gave me a six-pack as a Christmas present. You think if I tell him you called him old, he’ll give me yours too?
I TAKE ITBACK. PLEASE DON’T.
You’re lucky. The holiday spirit has me feeling kind and benevolent this eve.Three winking emojis were tacked onto the end of the text.
Dear God. Was he flirting with me? Or was this the kind of run-of-the-mill banter I would expect from him if I knew him better? Damn the lack of intent that text messages conveyed!
Thank you, good sir,I texted back, playing along.
My heart beat obnoxiously fast as I waited for his response. It had been far too long since I’d had a crush. I was out of practice. I had no chill.
Nothing else came through, not even the little bubble that indicated he was typing. My fingers hovered over the screen. I wanted to keep talking to him, but if this was where he wanted to leave it, this was where it stopped.
I waited another minute, then heaved a sigh and set the phone down. For the most part, I thought I did okay yesterday. Well, aside from when I’d steamrolled that conversation with his parents, which I was still embarrassed about. After that, I did better. I caught myself when I got pushy. I let him make the call about hanging out again tomorrow night. I stuck to self-deprecation and making a fool out of myself, limiting my more advanced teasing to the Mantis Incident. But, come on, who could blame me for that?
And I did my best not to stare at him. Even when he laughed. Even when he demonstrated the proper use of those battle ropes. Sure, I had to force my face away to tear my eyes from the sight of his flannel shirt pulling taut across his chest as his shoulders and biceps bunched and flexed, but I managed to do it, damn it, and that should count for something.
My phone chimed. It was Ben.
Do you have a timeframe for stopping over tomorrow? I can have food ready if it’s around dinner.
This crush I was working on was going to reach monstrous proportions if he didn’t start to show some serious character flaws. It wasn’t fair that on top of being punch-you-in-the-eyes gorgeous, he was also considerate, polite, passionate about what he did – which I saw firsthand during that house tour yesterday, had a good sense of humor, texted in full sentences with proper punctuation and grammar (be still my nerdy heart), made a mean cup of coffee, shared my taste in beer, and liked my dogs.
