Festive Short Story

I rarely share my writing, mostly due to fear and doubt, but here we are, braving the internet with a Christmas short story!

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I sipped my mint hot chocolate, its sweetness deeply comforting, and watched the world pass by outside. Shoppers struggling with bags of presents waiting to be wrapped, pulling their scarves tighter around their necks and children gazing at the twinkling lights. It was gloriously warm in the coffee shop, papers chains hung over the chalkboard menus and over the displays. There was a tree in one corner decorated with warm lights and red tinsel. The baristas were tired, but nonetheless the festive attitudes of all the customers perked them up.

I always thought Christmas brought out the best of people. It was in the chilly winter air, the delicious festive drinks and the busy streets. Let’s forget those who don’t enjoy Christmas, the scrooges, the complainers. Christmas is the most wonderful time of year. The season makes me incredibly happy, as soon as November rolls around I’m in full festive mood, much to my parent’s dissatisfaction. They love Christmas too, it’s in our blood, but mum believes the first week of November is too early to be blasting ‘All I Want for Christmas Is You’. Yet despite her protests I have caught her dancing around the kitchen, shaking her hips whilst making dinner as Mariah belts it out.

I finish my hot chocolate and bundle up in my coat and scarf. The sunset brought flames to the sky, blending on the horizon into a pink blanket. I hoped it would snow soon, it didn’t snow often in this part of the country, and even when it did it was only a thin coating. But enough to make me the happiest person in the world.

On the way out, I say thank you to the barista, again. I liked to come here and stay for hours with a hot drink or two. Sometimes I bring a book, or an assignment I’m supposed to be working on, but sometimes I want to take in the world around me, take a little break from my constant whirling brain and watch other peoples lives play out. Especially during the festive period, there’s a cheery atmosphere to everything, even in the dire weather.

“See you soon.” The barista laughed as I exited.

The temperature had dropped drastically, the crowds on the high street were disappearing, ready to go home, cook a hearty meaty stew and settle down with a blanket. I walked down the high street admiring the shop window displays. They always outdid themselves. The high street came alive with colour and twinkling lights. I stopped outside a small independent store, one of my favourites, decorated magically with a hanging blanket of lights from the ceiling, snowflakes on the windows and a small Christmas tree on the counter with pine cones sprayed with snow. It was still open, so I stepped inside feeling the blast of heat. I still had to get Miesha’s present. I browsed the shop and picked up a fancy selection box of gins, tiny little bottles from various brands with a tumbler. The perfect gift for her, something we could share.

“I’m on my way over.” Miesha calls to say.

“Doors unlocked, I’m upstairs.” I reply.

When she arrives twenty minutes later, her face is flushed, her nose bright red. She flings her coat off and jumps onto my bed. But before I can say anything she leaps back up and rummages around in her bag. She pulls out a box of gingerbread men, homemade and badly iced, and The Grinch DVD.

“Are you ready for a Christmas bonanza?” She says with the biggest grin on her face.

I smile, remembering the bottle of mulled wine downstairs.

I turn on the fairy lights and we sit under a blanket together. The room is dark and warm, the smell of hot spices wafts around the room.

“These are surprisingly good.” I say biting into a gingerbread man.

“Surprisingly? What do you mean? I’m basically Mary Berry.” She laughs.

“As if. You wouldn’t stand a chance on Bake Off.”

“You’re right but I wouldn’t mind a slice of Paul Hollywood.”

“Miesha! You’re disgusting.” I laugh.

We lean back on to my headboard. Miesha nestles her head on my shoulder. I inhale the sweet scent of her shampoo, it doesn’t feel as familiar anymore. It wasn’t like that. We’d been there, done that.

I remember how she tasted the first time we kissed. Of honey because she just ate a honey and banana sandwich which I didn’t approve of. I remember how my fingers got tangled in her curls and how when she sleeps she likes to constantly be touching, even just a hand on my stomach or my arm. I’m down memory lane, lost in her, forgetting she’s right next to me watching a film. I’m thinking about the times we had breakfast in bed, sounds romantic but it was buttered toast and crumbs in the bed, but it was one of my favourite moments.

She fidgets, catching my attention and I look down at her, at how happy she looks watching The Grinch. She senses me watching her, she always does. “Why are you watching me?” She questions with a slightly teasing tone.

When you like someone, have a strong connection with someone, watching them do mundane things becomes a habit, something you can’t stop because you can’t stop looking at them and marvelling at how wonderful and funny and beautiful they are.

She looks up at me, and in the warm glow of the fairy lights it seems right. She scoots closer, my hand cups her soft cheek and we’re kissing. She tastes of gingerbread, of nutmeg and cinnamon and all things wonderful and festive. She is Christmas personified. Her lips are so soft and gentle. I feel her touch all over. Her hand slips under the duvet and her fingers run down the curves of my body.

She pulls away first with a small smile on her face, I grasp her hand to pull her back and she kisses me gently one more time.

“I love this bit.” She says, not addressing what happened, my heart still thumping.

A little while later, she squeezes my hand and asks, “Are you ok?”.

“Yeah fine.” I reply, a little blunter than intended.

“You’ve gone quiet.”

I squeeze her hand back.

“What are you thinking about?” She says.

“Just this.”

“What.” She looks up at me puzzled.

“Us.” I pull her closer. “I’ve missed this. I don’t know if it’s right, I don’t know if it will work. What I do know is, I want this.” I pause to look at her, she’s smiling which is good. “I want you.”

At this she sits up so we’re facing each other, she moves the clasp of her necklace from where it’s fallen and smiles. She holds both of my hands, and they’re so cold.

“Me too.” is all she says and it’s enough. Enough to warm my heart and remind me this is supposed to be happening, this is meant to happen.

If the person you love comes back to you, it’s meant to be. That’s what everyone says isn’t it?