“I thought you were warming. Not baking.”
“Don’t ruin this for me.”
“Does this count against my coupon?” A giggle threatening to escape me.
“This is warming.”
“So you admit, you’re not baking.” I smile as I wrap my arms around his torso and press my face against his broad back. He melts, dropping the spatula so he can pull my arms tighter across his stomach. “Also baking while shirtless is a bold choice. Not that I’m complaining.” I add.
“Cooking and baking are two different skill sets, Elle Lucille Taylor.” The use of my full name means serious business. I smile against his back, tightening my embrace. “You don’t cook shirtless, as there is a high chance of splatter, you however can bakeshirtless.” He jokes.
I smile and squeeze him tighter. “I hate that you have to leave,” I mumble. It’s our first Christmas. Our first major holiday after that unfortunate insecurity fueled spiral of mine. I want everything to be perfect but unfortunately, we are at the mercy of the schedule.
“I know. Me too.”
I want to keep him here, in this warm kitchen that smells like sugar and coffee and slightly pine-y from the unlit candle, but a Christmas home game means a Christmas schedule, and no one escapes the Christmas schedule. The organization allowed the players to spend Christmas Eve with their families, a novelty for players before a game.
The drive to the Wolves facility is quiet but comfortable. Christmas music plays softly over the car’s speakers. Archer taps his fingers on his thigh, going over plays in his head. I sip my coffee and exchange ‘Merry Christmas’ texts with my family and friends.
He kisses me before he gets out.
“I’ll see you after,” he says. “Save me a cinnamon roll.”
“You already ate two.”
“Save me another one.”
I smile and I watch him jog toward the entrance, backpack slung over one shoulder, headphones around his neck. A Christmas sweater that I know matches Ty’s from the photo Sadie shared this morning. His new watch on his wrist. Charcoal gray coat proudly on display.
His ass looks fantastic and I watch it until I can’t see his silhouette anymore.
The stadium is buzzing with holiday electricity. Santa hats, elf ears, fans in ugly sweaters, a brass quartet on the field playing Christmas music that somehow sounds competitive.
I pull my blanket tighter around me, wiggling my toes in my new cozy socks. Sadie sits next to me, in a matching Wolves Christmas sweater, blanket wrapped around her like a suit of armor.
Then Garcia’s voice booms. “Your Winter Wonderland Wolves take the field!”
And there he is, my person, helmet on, visor down, mixing with the sea of players running onto the slightly snow dusted field.
I cheer so loudly my throat burns, a mixture of volume and cold air.
When he throws his first touchdown, a perfect spiral to Tyson in the corner, I jump up, nearly knocking the blanket to the cement floor, and Jay, the season ticket holder who sits next to me every game yells, “Your boy’s got an arm!”
I grin. “He certainly does.”
The Wolves absolutely annihilated the Sharks, a southern team that isn’t used to cold temperatures. Archer and Ty were on a whole other level this game. DJ led the defense making them an impenetrable fortress on the field. It’s dark when I pull into theplayers’ lot, headlights reflecting off bits of snow. When Archer finally walks toward me, backpack in one hand, winter hat on, cheeks red from the wind, I find myself falling more in love with him.
He opens my car door and leans in to kiss me, cold lips warming fast against mine.
“Merry Christmas, Ellie,” he murmurs.
“Merry Christmas,” I whisper, sneaking one more kiss. “You ready to go home?”
“Absolutely.”
He throws his bag in the trunk, climbs into the passenger seat, and exhales for what must feel like the first time all day.
We eat leftovers on the couch just a little before midnight. Momma McCreary’s famous ham and potatoes reheated in the microwave because neither of us has the energy for anything fancy. The tree glows in the corner, and Archer is stretched out with his head in my lap, still in his hoodie, hair damp from his shower. Elf is playing at a low volume, and Fish is curled up on top of the couch.
