Page 28 of Frosty Felicity
“Did I look like I was being silly?”
“For real? You were serious? You really hate Christmas?”
“Hell, yes I was serious! I don’t like the holidays. I mean, I participate—I do have some home training and refinement after all—but I don’t go out of my way. I don’t extend myself and go to extra events, things like that. You’ve mixed children, Santa, and Christmas into the same sentence. That’s a triple threat. A disaster. You can count me out.”
“Christmas is my favorite holiday. I look forward to it months in advance.”
“Every time you open your mouth, Brett, you become less and less attractive,” she teased.
“Well, it’s true. It’s magical. The snow. Snuggling.” He reached over and playfully patted the tip of her nose. She grimaced. “Hot cocoa. Kissing under the Mistletoe.”
“Mistletoe is known to have chiggers. It also catches fire easily.”
He rolled his eyes and continued, “Walking around at the Festival of Lights. Gingerbread house contests. The holiday train ride. Christmas carolers. It’s absolutely beautiful! I mean, just look at it.” He pointed toward his window. The blinds were open, exposing undisturbed sheets of snow on his lawn, and the twinkling of the white Christmas lights that hung from the gutters, as well as inside the home. He had a huge white Christmas tree dressed in gold, green, and silver ornaments. It looked professional, but somehow she was certain he’d done the shit himself. He’s homemaker-ish about the holidays, too. Gross. Ugh… Stop talking about this, and let me jingle your bells…
“How can you not like anything about this time of year? It’s not just about the kids. It’s about all of us.”
“Isn’t that the name of a Christmas Hallmark movie? You’re truly disturbed. Shoveling snow isn’t a thrill. Icy roads that kill people aren’t fun. People pretending to love and care about you, suck, too. No, I don’t like Christmas, Brett. I just don’t.”
“I know you said the materialism of the holiday drives you crazy, and hell, I agree, but even if you take religion out of it—just think for a second that deep down, so many people just wanna make someone else happy, at least one day of the year, ya know?”
“You’re a persistent booger.”
“They want to hand someone a card or a gift and see them smile. Hope that it makes their day brighter. Fix ’em a plate. Serve and help. It’s about the spirit of it all for me, Felicity.” He dripped with exuberance, excitement, and sappiness. “Some kids who never get birthday gifts or a decent dinner get one at the shelter or at the charity I help. It’s the only one they get all year.” Her smile began to fade. “They think Santa forgot about them, and only helps the rich little boys and girls. That they must’ve been naughty every damn day, and every year, because nothin’ is getting better. And yet, they know other kids are getting things, and they’re eating great meals day in and day out, and their families are gathered, and everyone seems happy…
“But they can’t be happy because their stomach is always rumbling, and things are tough at home.” She felt funny… a little lightheaded. A tad browbeaten. “It’s the spirit! It’s not about what you think is going on in men’s hearts, okay? Materialism, and people acting stupid at stores. That’s all the negative stuff. Yeah, it happens, but this is bigger than that. This is the time of year when people start thinking about committing suicide, and then go and do it as soon as the holidays pass, because they don’t want to ruin it for their family. It’s so important to help people, Felicity. To be there. NOW. To remove the ‘I’ and make it about ‘we.’ My mother always threw an annual Christmas party, and it was beautiful! She’d really do it up with the decorations and food… Music. She even had games and prizes. This is the first year we’re not havin’ that party…” He hung his head. “We can’t do it like her, and we’re not going to even try. I’m still grieving.”
“Of course you are. It’s not like it happened twenty years ago.” She reached out and touched his wrist.
“No, Felicity. You don’t understand. It doesn’t matter if it had been a hundred years ago. I’ll never be the old me again. My grief is here to stay, and I’ve made peace with that. My mother and I were really close. I wasn’t a mama’s boy; it was nothing like that, okay? But I could talk to her, and she was just an amazing person.”
She nodded in understanding, though a part of her felt a bit on the spot. Uncomfortable. A crawling feeling worked its way from her gut to her throat. She felt vulnerable and examined. As if she, in some way, was pulling the lever on his emotions, unleashing his agony.
“We all just have so much to be thankful for, regardless of how hard everything has been, or who is being fake, and who is more concerned about presents than being present. You and I have a lot to be thankful for. We’ve got friends. You told me about Violet, and a couple other friends you enjoy having lunch with from time to time. We both have good jobs. Family that loves us, regardless of how challenging sometimes those relationships can be. Just be glad you’ve got your mother at least for one more Christmas, Felicity.”
His shoulders slumped and that crawling feeling carried on. It grew. It reached out and tugged. It gnawed at her insides. Perhaps it was guilt? Yes, it very much felt like that. “I know from what we discussed before that your mother drives you crazy sometimes, but it seems you love her… and that if anything happened to her, you’d likely fall apart. It would break ya in half. No matter how strong you think you are, and how she calls you ‘Frosty Felicity,’ taking fun jabs at you, you love her so much. Somethin’ inside of you craves the warmth of love and understanding. You can use humor to hide how you really feel sometimes, and that’s your ice, right? But ice melts. It just needs a heat source. Heat and heart are one letter apart. The ‘R’ stands for romance.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because you’re too good at it.” He smiled sadly. “I stood with you in the movie theater line to buy the tickets, and you had everyone hooting. Just by being you. You weren’t even trying. You’re a professional at this point. You know how to make others laugh. You roll with the punches, and the punchlines. We all use humor to hide hurt every now and again. Some of us just aren’t as gifted as you. We’re not so damn funny…”
He paused, seeming to disappear inside of himself for a moment. He brushed his hand through his hair, moving it out of his eyes, and looked away. Right then, she was no longer concerned about a rebuttal she was working up in her head before the conversation dipped and dived, fell upon the rocks, rolled down bumpy twists and turns. She was prepared to fight or fly from that horrid feeling in her gut. She wanted to blurt out the truth, reveal all the demons that danced inside of her—born from an aching pain—a wound that refused to heal. And here he was, with his own wounds that were still raw… exposing them, in his own way, gifting them to her with gold wrapping paper torn off the gift of his defenseless truth.
This big, strong man, with the deep voice and amazing eyes, a fellow who carried a gun, looked death in the eye more than once in his lifetime. Yet, he was open… so very open to her at that moment.
Instead of the mood staying cold and gray, she was enveloped in a sensual warmth like she’d never known. He ushered her close, smiled so sweetly at her, and kissed her forehead… then her cheek… then her mouth. He ended the kiss, and it felt as if a new understanding had been born between them. Maybe she could let her guard down a bit. Express her ugly truth, too? To let him know how the holidays haunted her… How they’d been sullied by a broken heart. Would he run away and find her off-putting? He wouldn’t be the first. It was quite possible that he wouldn’t be the last. She shoved the thoughts out of her mind, and by the time they finished the movie, they were overheated from laughing and playfully pinching and shoving one another. It was like being at a good friend’s house where there were no expectations, nor any reservations.
She watched him clear the coffee table of their dinner waste and walk into his gorgeous kitchen. When he opened his refrigerator, she could see that things appeared neat and orderly on the inside.
“You want a beer or something?” he hollered.
“No. I’m fine. Thanks.” She flexed her toes, then stifled a yawn.
Grabbing a bottle of yellow Gatorade, he broke the seal on the cap and started chugging away. She got up from her curled position to go meet him in the kitchen. Wrapping her arms around his waist, she rested her head on his chest while he kept drinking, then placed the bottle onto the island with a sigh. He stroked her back, and she practically meowed when he began to massage her shoulder, then kissed the top of her ear.
“Felicity…”
“Yeah?”
“I want you to stay the night… in my bed.” She listened to his heartbeat. Steady beats… one after another… Thunderous and strong. An even tempo. “I want to touch you and kiss you all night. Feel your body next to mine. Keep you warm. Keep you safe.” She slowly lifted her head and looked into his eyes.
“Why do you think I’m not already safe? Who could I possibly be running from?” She smirked as she stroked his jawbone, craving him in the worst way.
“You’re running from yourself. So, I’m offering you an early Christmas present. I really like you… We click.”
“Yes, we do…”
They kissed. And then, again.
“You’re amazing in every way, Felicity. I want you to feel safe with me. Safe to finally be you…”
