We could make this a not-so-silent night.
Screw the Nice List. Let's both be Naughty and save Santa the trip.
I choke back my laughter at the horribly cheesy pick-up lines and type up a response.
Me
All you’re going to get for Christmas is a harassment charge and a restraining order, you idiot.
The three text bubbles immediately pop up, as if he was waiting for me to respond, and I laugh out loud. I pour the pasta shells into the boiling water on the stove and stir it as my phone pings with another message.
Theo
Noe, you wound me. I'll find better ones.
Hold, please.
I can’t help the smile. Theo may be a giant pain in my ass, but he’s the best friend I’ve got—other than Belle—or my sisters. He never fails to make me laugh, even when I don’t want to. Val calls us a ‘reverse-grumpy-sunshine’, something I’m assuming comes from the copious amounts of romance books she’s always reading. The text bubbles come back, then disappear. He starts a message several times before deleting it and starting over. Good god, this is going to be a bad one.
Theo
If a big man puts you in a bag tomorrow night, don't worry. I told Santa I wanted you for Christmas.
A snort of laughter escapes me as I stir the pasta. The microwave dings and I hot-potato the steaming hot bag out with the tips of my fingers grasped around one tip of a corner. I place it in the sink and come back to my phone.
Me
Going for kidnapping charges now lol. I'd rethink this plan, Theo. Orange really isn't your color, Bud.
The text bubbles are back instantly.
Theo
All I want for Christmas is you, Noe.
*Christmas Mariah Carey GIF*
New text bubbles appear before I’m finished reading.
I’ll meet you under the mistletoe.
Me
You’re an idiot, Theo.
Want to come over and watch Home Alone? I have hot chocolate bombs and junk food.
Theo
Sold. Be there in ten.
I can hear the sound of snow crunching beneath tires as he pulls in ten minutes later. I changed out of my work clothes and put on a comfy, fuzzy pair of light blue pajama pants covered in white snowflakes. A long-sleeved white shirt covers clear up to my neck and the long sleeves are about four inches too long, dangling past my fingertips. I don’t have a bra on, but the material is thick enough I’m not altogether worried about it—not that my boobs are large or anything to look at by any stretchof the imagination. Willow was blessed with those while I’d been a chair member of the itty-bitty-titty-committee all my life, though with a good push-up bra, they could look damn good. If I did say so myself.
He doesn’t bother knocking, just lets himself in like he owns the place, kicking snow off his boots before toeing them off at the door. He’s tall and thin, built like a basketball player—an ode to his high school basketball days.
He’s wearing a pair of blue flannel pajama pants, a simple Carhart long sleeved shirt in a dark navy color that compliments his blue eyes, and his usual quilted gray vest, though he strips that down his arms and tosses it over the back of one of the stools at the kitchen counter. He tosses his ballcap down onto the counter and makes his way into the living room, stopping in front of the corner of the couch I’ve folded myself into, my plate of steaming Shells n Cheese, strips of the rotisserie chicken, broccoli, and a ginormous slice of buttered French bread sitting in my lap. It might not be the most nutritious meal I’ve had this week, but it’s delicious, so I don’t care.
“Any of that left? I’m starving.” Apparently, Theo doesn’t mind a carb overloaded junk meal either.
