Can’t Fight the Mistletoe

10

Who does that anymore?

I’m fumbling to find my keys at the bottom of my purse, which of course brings to mind the porch scene in Hitch. I glance at Dan, wondering if he’s considering going ninety percent. Do I want him to?

It’s hard to see in the poorly lit parking lot, which I absolutely need to bring up to the maintenance crew at the next staff meeting, but I think he could be leaning. You know, like While You Were Sleeping leaning. What do I do?

It’s been how many years since I’ve been kissed?

I’m frozen in freakout mode again, but Dan somehow understands and makes everything better by wrapping his wonderful arms around my body and tugging me close.

“I like you, Alessia,” he murmurs near my ear. I shiver, and he gently tightens his hold though it wasn’t from the cold. “No pressure, no expectations, remember? Getting to know you better tonight was enough.”

His words or his voice, I don’t know which—maybe both—give me the freedom to breathe. To simply exist in this moment.

To be brave.

“I like you too, Dan,” I say softly now that my body is obeying me again. My hands find their way up, through his open coat, to his chest the way they did the other night in the kitchen. My mind is calm and clear as twilight after the rain, and I know exactly what I want.

“No pressure. No expectations. But…” I inhale a fortifying breath. “I’m gonna need you to kiss me now.”

Dan

She doesn’t have to ask twice, but after wanting this kiss for so long, I am absolutely going to take my time.

Alessia’s hands are warm on my chest as she lets her fingers trace the smooth edges of my shirt’s open top button. I doubt she knows what she’s doing to me. It reads like an unconscious action, but she’s driving me crazy in the best way.

The faint glow from the lights gives her an angelic aura, the kind of glow and beauty that inspired eighteenth century men to write sonnets. She’s easily the most alluring woman I’ve ever known.

I bring one hand up to the middle of her back and the other to the juncture of her head and neck. I’ve always wondered if her hair was as soft as it looked. Now I know, and I pray God in His mercy keeps my sweaty hand from sticking to it.

Long black lashes drift closed as her chin tilts upward ever so slightly. Her warm breath skims my face with a hint of the Andes mints our server left with the check. It’s a cold December night, but it feels like spring with her in my arms.

Closing the distance, I skim the side of her face with mine.

She giggles under her breath. “That tickles.”

“Sorry,” I murmur, doing it again with less pressure. “Better?”

“Heavens, yes,” pours out her lips in a rush.

My lips curve up into the beginning of a smile, and I’m not sure how much longer I can hold out. I will, though, because moments such as these are meant to be savored. Some guys press too fast for the “good stuff.” Maybe it’s how I was raised, or my love of literature, but this right here is the good stuff.

“You’re stunning, Als.”

“Dan?”

“Mm-hmm?” I could stand here nuzzling her the rest of the night. Every nerve ending is electrified, every heartbeat a rush.

“Please shut up and kiss me already.”

This woman.

I think I love her.

Smiling and feeling like I could conquer the world if she asked, I find her lips and lose all thought.

My entire being is focused on this moment. Eyes closed, my other senses tune into the faintest details as her silky soft lips meet mine. The citrusy smell of her hair, the press of her fingers wrapped around my collar. The tiny hums of pleasure she gives, the taste of chocolate and mint on her tongue.

No kiss compares to this. To the surge of emotion roaring up from deep within, ferocious and fierce. Steady and true. She’s who I want to kiss for the rest of my life.

Alessia’s hand curls around my neck, and I swallow a groan as her fingers toy with the hair at my nape. As much as I want this to continue, it’s time to throttle back and say goodnight. We have plenty of time to explore ahead of us.

She lets out a frustrated whimper when I break the kiss. I give in and press my lips to hers once more, lightly this time so we don’t get lost again.

I’m not ready to let her go. It’s inevitable, but I want to keep her here in the circle of my arms until the last possible second.

Foreheads touching, breaths mingling, I kiss the tip of her cold nose. “Thank you for not pushing me away.”

Her smile lights up the night, but she says nothing.

“Please text me when you get home, so I know you’re safe.”

Alessia nods before unlocking and opening her driver’s side door. She lingers a moment, a clear sign she wants one last kiss as much as I do. I’m no fool. Well, maybe her fool.

“G’night, Alley Cat.”

She smiles as she takes her seat behind the wheel, her eyes peering up at me with affection. The look seizes my chest.

“Goodnight, Danger.”

Groaning, I close her door and wave as she drives away.

I’ve never liked my name so much as when she says it.

“Are you sure about this?” I nod toward the doors leading into the community fitness center.

“Not really, but we don’t exactly have a choice.”

Alessia closes her eyes and inhales for a three count before exhaling on four. I reach for her hand, lacing our fingers together. The touching aspect of our relationship is still so new and exhilarating, I find myself wondering if I fell off a bridge into the Rio Grande and this is some Jimmy Stewart-esque parallel existence. Clarence has yet to make an appearance, so there’s a chance Alley Cat’s mine for real.

“Come on, Als. We’ve got this.”

She squints one eye open, scrunching her nose up in a bunny face. I smile, having been introduced to her rabbit this morning when we dropped off the wedding favor supplies we’d purchased earlier in the day. They say pets resemble their owners—both are adorable.

“You’d better not step on my toes.” Even her fake frowny face is cute.

I am so gone.

“Don’t worry. I know what I’m doing. The question is, do you?”

Alessia scoffs. “Please. If you’re so skilled, Mr. Astaire, let’s see what you’ve got.” She motions toward the door. “After you.”

“No, no,” I insist. “You first, Ginger.”

I follow her into the fitness room, which this afternoon will serve as our dance space. Silas claims his dance skills are rusty, so he asked if we’d be willing to help him polish up before the wedding to surprise Peggy.

Naturally, Alessia is all-in because “who can resist such a romantic gesture,” and I’m here because there’s a one hundred percent chance of twirling my girl across the dance floor and showing her my moves.

Yes, I’ve got moves. You don’t walk away from living with five ambitious, romance-loving women (seven if you count Aunt Mindy and Candice’s periodic stays) without learning some form of dance. I’m just grateful Tory went through a swing dancing phase and not ballet.

Silas went all out and hired a pair of instructors, and to ensure there’s no chance of discovery, enlisted Peggy’s daughter to take her to lunch.

The man’s got game, I’ll give him that.

Silas and Peggy are from the Watusi, twist, and mashed potato era, but since it’s their wedding, Cody, the male instructor, suggests a partner dance is more appropriate. He introduces his partner, Kendall, and the pair demonstrate a few options to test Silas’s mobility and interest.

At the first mention of ballroom style, Silas grunts.

“Don’t care to dance like I got a stick up my—” at Alley’s bugged eyes, Silas corrects to “spine.”

The man shakes his head at the waltz and downright refuses to tango but seems open to learning a little west-coast swing. The latter is an excellent choice for an elderly couple, since the movement is focused within a back-and-forth slot requiring minimal movement at a slower pace than east-coast.

“If you’re ready, we’ll begin with a simple box step.” Cody says from the front of the room near the wall-mounted sound system while Kendall takes up her starting position with Silas.

Having Alessia in my arms compensates for the two and a half hours spent traipsing through Hobby Lobby. Shoulders squared, hand in hand, we flow through the basic motions until Cody chuckles and moves us on to the next set of steps. He corrects our form a few times, but otherwise seems content to let us goof around on our own while he focuses on helping Kendall with Silas.

Before long, I’m twirling Alessia around the perimeter of the room in a slowed down version of the Lindy Hop. She picks up the steps quickly, and after the first spin has her laughing with delight, I’m adding others, as well as a few of the simpler tricks I learned in class with Tory.

I forgot how much fun swing dancing is, but as it’s coming back to me, I’m thinking how fun it’ll be to take her out and show her some of the more advanced moves.

Glancing over to check on Silas, he’s clearly uncomfortable with Kendall. She’s young and pretty, but I’m guessing her energy is more than the man was prepared for. She keeps teasing him as if that’ll put him at ease. Spoiler alert, it won’t.

“He looks miserable,” Alessia says breathlessly as I twirl her out and in, flush against me but watching our friend.

“Yeah,” I agree. I keep sneaking peeks to check on him, but she’s right.

Silas looks more distressed as the minutes pass. Kendall keeps grasping his hand and pinning it to her waist when Silas tries to hold both her hands instead.

An idea sparks. It’s so obvious, I wonder why I didn’t think of it from the start. “Hey, Cody?”

The guy crosses to us in three strides. “What’s up? You guys look great out there. Have you been dancing together long?”

“No, first time,” I say, shaking my head clear. I had a purpose here. “Silas loves westerns and country music. I bet he’d do better with a two-step, then add some country swing when he gets the hang of it.”

Cody’s face brightens into a broad smile. “Great idea, man. Kendall! Let’s try something else.”

He explains the plan, and I breathe easier when Silas’s shoulders relax. This is good. I wish I’d have thought of it sooner.

“You’re pretty smart, there, Danny Boy.” Alessia flashes my favorite sassy smirk.

“Why, thankee, ma’am,” I drawl, tipping an imaginary hat. “Shall we?” At her nod, I lead us in a slow two-step to match the tempo of the song Cody changed to for Silas.

She’s grinning and laughing so brightly, she’s making me dizzy, and I’m not the one spinning around the floor. I love the way her ponytail swings out behind her like a whip each time I twirl her body.

This moment right here makes every dance lesson I ever complained about totally and completely worth it.

Don’t tell Tory I said so.

“Is there anything you don’t do well?” she laughs.

“Resist you?” I say with a shrug and a half smile.

“Well now, that’s not fair. You’re turning a strength into a weakness to make yourself look good.” Her brown eyes glimmer with humor, and I’m thinking about excusing ourselves out into the hall and claiming those lips again.

It's been two days, which is two days too long in my book.

Her gaze turns heated, and I’m about to tug her through the door when Cody calls out.

“Time to try something else. Silas still isn’t comfortable. No offense, Kendall, but I think we’ll need to switch partners. Silas might relax if he knows the person he’s dancing with.”

I glance at Alessia, but she’s staring Kendall down. When my gaze shifts to the other woman, I see why. Kendall’s wearing an all-too-pleased smile that makes me feel like a squirrel under the watchful gaze of the neighborhood hawk.

Alessia’s expression softens as she catches the relief on Silas’s face. “C’mon, Silas. Spin me around. Pretend I’m Peggy, and we’ll be fine.”

Guess that leaves me with Kendall. I wonder if I could fake an injury two bars into the song.

“I’ve seen your moves. Let’s go, cowboy.” Kendall grabs my hands and leaves me no choice once Cody turns on a country song I’ve never heard. Sounds like a recent one-hit wonder, but then these days they all do. I miss the stuff Silas used to play when I was a kid.

Does that mean I’m getting old? I haven’t yet hit thirty.

Whatever. Music and movies aren’t as good anymore, a fact that has nothing to do with my age. Means I have taste.

“Hey, Cody,” I call. This time he stays at the stereo. “Play us some Travis Tritt, would ya?”

Cody’s brow scrunches when the name doesn’t register, but he taps his phone screen a few times until a familiar old song with a decent beat begins.

I find the rhythm and give Kendall a spin, but then she takes the lead and starts forcing me into more complicated moves. Sure, I know how to do them, I just don’t want to do them with anyone but Alessia. Our relationship is too new, and I’ve worked too hard this month to prove I’m not the guy she thought.

No way am I risking hurting her feelings.

From the corner of my eye, I spy Silas ushering Alley into a basic turn. He catches the downbeat and resumes the steps like an old pro. In a few bars, he’s even doing a few old school country swing combos that restore Alessia’s smile.

She’s gorgeous from the inside out. Silas’s problem wasn’t the steps, it was the woman. And while my body may be dancing with the wrong one, my attention is one hundred percent on the girl who’s always been right for me.

Alessia

Bliss.

That’s the emotion I’m trying to focus on despite my weirdo brain waking me up with intrusive thoughts in the wee hours. Sharing my days with Dan this week has been sheer bliss.

After Saturday’s dance lesson, Dan invited me to his church on Sunday morning. I had no idea he sang with the band. His church is a bit more contemporary than mine, but I enjoyed it, and the message was both sound and uplifting. Afterward, we decorated his house for Christmas, since I finished mine two weeks ago.

Monday, we had one more dance lesson with Silas, who’s remembered his old moves. Thankfully, the athletic dancing goddess, Kendall, wasn’t available. When I said as much, Dan replied, “Kendall who?” and swept me around the room until I forgot anyone existed but us.

While the rest of the week has been filled with wedding errands and to-dos—assembling favors since Peggy’s arthritis has been flaring up with the cold, for starters—we’ve also had relaxing moments over shared meals as we get to know each other better. Then there’s the kissing.

Cue swoony sigh with all the heart eyes.

Honestly, if my brain could wake me up replaying the highlight reels of our kisses, I’d never complain about lost sleep.

If only I were so lucky.

Instead, my dreams run wild with stuff like trapping myself in the storage room and missing Christmas with Paige because I’m buried under a life-sized Easter Bunny.

Then there was the one where my dad had his bandmates kidnap his assorted progeny, forcing us into a “fun, old-fashioned family Christmas.” That one might’ve been the result of streaming a truly awful made-for-TV suspense followed by Christmas Vacation.

Last night’s dream, though... Hours later, it still feels real, and I’m having trouble telling myself it’s only in my head.

To understand why the dream freaked me out, I should rewind to the hours before I slept.

The evening started out pleasantly with a Christmas tree-lit romantic dinner at my place followed by Rise of the Guardians (a truly underappreciated animated film, if you ask me). Afterward, Dan and I snuggled on the couch as our conversation drifted to our dating histories. There wasn’t much to either of ours, but something in the way he talked about the last woman he dated made me uneasy. Especially since I didn’t get to ask enough questions before a text came in from Tory, asking us to meet the family at the hospital to pray.

Mave had a headache, heartburn, and majorly swollen hands and feet—commonplace on their own, but together can be symptoms of preeclampsia, which she’s at higher risk for, thanks to her gestational diabetes. She and the baby are perfectly fine, praise God. Nothing more than dehydration and fatigue from putting in too many hours on her feet at work.

I didn’t crawl into my bed and crash until after two in the morning. My dreams put us right back in the hospital, but the patient changed from Mave to Paige to Peggy, then Silas, and eventually Dan, each one dying of something different. Black shadows filled the edges of each horrifying part of the dream, curling in wisps of mist until Pitch (the boogeyman-inspired villain from Guardians) appeared, mocking me in Jude Law’s terrifyingly pristine accent.

There’s a scene in the movie where Pitch basically taunts Jack Frost about the answers to his questions remaining out of reach, how he’ll never be accepted by the other guardians and always be a disappointment. It’s chilling, the way he preys on Jack’s fears.

I don’t remember the exact words he said to me, but now that I’m awake hours later with a cup of tea on my porch safely inside a burrow of blankets, I recall him directing a similar monologue to me. Because of my faith, I also know my enemy isn’t an animated being or a real-life person. In those predawn hours after first waking, I managed to pray myself back to sleep, yet the shadows still lurk in the corners of my mind even now.

The shadows have a name: fear. I know this. But knowing your enemy is only one step on the road to defeating them.

Truth is an ally, and so is love. But since one of the hardest parts of love is the fear of losing it… see my struggle here? Hard to hold on to bliss and the sweet honeymoon phase bubbles of joy and rainbows when fear sparks anxieties I’ve been fighting my whole life.

Am I enough? I must not be, why else would both my parents eschew time with me for their new families?

Am I too much? I’ve been told that often enough.

Why does Dan want to be with me?

Will everything work out okay for Mave and the baby, for Silas and Peggy’s wedding, for my family, for the other residents who are so dear to my heart?

Heavy questions for nine in the morning.

I should’ve been up and moving hours ago, but it was such a late night, I knew I’d get nothing accomplished today without some rest. As soon as I finish my morning chai, I’ll go inside and do something about this wad of tangles too greasy to pass for a cute messy bun anymore.

Audrey thumps the bottom of her hutch in warning. Tilting my head to the side, I listen for whatever disturbed her. Sounds like someone setting up a ladder. Bet it’s one of my neighbors putting their Christmas lights up late. Honestly, it’s December twenty-first—why bother?

My feet carry me around to the side of my house where I peek over the gate for a better look. Somebody’s really going for it, and it’s got to be close. Scraping, dragging, thudding, then the slam of a tailgate moments before feet clamber up the ladder. The noise echoes on the crisp morning air, making it hard to tell exactly where it’s coming from, but I’d say somewhere close.

Oof. I glance at my phone, and the time tells me I’d better hurry up if I want to get today’s activity set up on time. We’re doing Holiday Game Night with several different activities, so I’ll need two hours minimum.

After a rushed shower that left my skin pink and toasty, I throw on a silly pair of printed leggings Paige sent me as a joke three years ago. They’re brown camouflage, but the camo pattern is made up entirely of reindeer. Pairing it with an oversized white crewneck sweatshirt with a red-nosed Rudolph face and some fuzzy socks, I feel ridiculous but also cute, in an over-the-top festive way.

Normally I wouldn’t be caught dead dressed in this, but a few of our more outlandish residents suggested we add a “spirit week” to the calendar similar to their grandkids’ schools. It’s been fun to see so many residents get into it with White Out, Christmas Tree Day, and Ugly Sweater Day. In case it’s not obvious, today is Reindeer Day.

I’m debating whether to add a headband with antlers I found at the dollar store when the clang of a ladder sounds right outside my bedroom window. Barely stifling a shriek, I peek through the miniblind slats.

What on earth is that man doing?

In less than a minute, I’m out the door and staring up the ladder at one thermal wearing Danger Stevens. The man rocks a pair of sweats, let me tell you.

“Why are you putting colored lights on my eaves?”

Dan practically jumps out of his skin, barely managing to catch himself before plunging off the ladder to his death. Okay, not death, but certain injury since the only cushion for his potential fall is a bunch of dead mums I neglected to clear out.

“Alessia!” He gasps. “You’re supposed to be at work already.”

“Slept in, which is what I thought you’d be doing.”

“Oh. Yeah, I tried, but Tory’s car wouldn’t start, and she needed a ride.”

I give him a raised eyebrow. “That still doesn’t explain what you’re doing here. At my house. On a ladder.” Folding my arms across my chest (it is so much colder out here than it looks), I huff a sigh. “Will you please climb down and explain? Talking up to you is killing my neck.”

“So, you’re saying I’m a pain in the neck?” Dan grins as he descends the ladder.

I roll my eyes and smile when he skips the last two rungs and lands with a thud in front of me. “You said it, not me.”

His smile crinkles the corners of his eyes. It’s a great smile and my heart skips a beat. “Morning.” He bends and presses a light kiss to my lips.

Much as I’d prefer to explore his mouth further, I really do need to get moving. But first, I need answers. This man is far too good at weaseling out of answering my questions.

“So?”

His brow furrows. “So… what?”

“Why are you putting lights on my house mere days before Christmas?”

He shrugs, and I consider whether to pinch him or flick him in the forehead if he avoids any longer. Dan lets out a longsuffering sigh before gracing me with an annoyed look.

“The other night, you said one of the parts you missed most about the holidays since your parents split was the feeling of living inside a gingerbread house. Thought I could surprise you with a bit of nostalgia after work tonight.”

Somebody call Oliver because I’m a bowl of mush, and the poor child wants some more.

How do I respond to a gesture so sweet? No one has ever done something like this for me.

Oh my word, am I tearing up?

“Oh, honey, don’t cry.” Dan sweeps me into his arms, squeezing me tight against his chest. “I’ll put it all away if it upsets you.”

Can he get any sweeter?

“No!” Regaining some semblance of control, I try again in a normal tone. “No, please. I love it.”

“Yeah?”

I nod. “So much. You’re the best boyfriend ever.”

He grips my arms and thrusts me backward, halting my impending freak out over saying the wrong thing by grinning the widest smile I’ve ever seen. Big enough to see molars. He laughs before pulling me flush against him into a hug so tight I may pop.