Authors: Melissa Brown
I open my eyes and gaze up at the Christmas
lights above my head as Evan lie
s down beside me, lightly stroking my stomach with his fingers. The soothing sound of Dean
’
s Martin
’
s voice flows throughout the room as a tear slips down my cheek. I don
’
t think I
’
ve ever been so happy.
Evan
December 25, 2008
“
Merry Christmas,
” I
whisper
softly
into Kate
’
s ear. She moans a little bit and pulls her covers higher. Kate
’
s not an early riser at all, but I
’
m always excited to wake up on Christmas morning. I
’
m up at the crack of dawn and I can
’
t wait to get the day started. I have something very important for her under her tree and I
’
m dying to give it to her.
“
Ev, seriously,
”
she groans, looking at her clock,
“
6:45? Really? Go back to sleep, babe.
”
“
I know, I know, but I want us to spend as much time as possible together before we head up to Green Bay. I can
’
t help it. I
’
m feeling selfish today. I want you all to myself
.”
I can
’
t stop the stupid grin on my face as I massage Kate
’
s shoulders, trying so hard to coax her out of bed.
“
I
’
ll make you a deal,
”
she says, smiling. I
’
ve got her.
“
Give me a few more minutes to pry my eyes open. You make us some coffee and as soon as this clock says 7:00, I promise I
’
ll meet you in the kitchen.
”
“
I
’
ll do you one better. I
’
ll make coffee
and
eggs.”
I playfully raise my eyes up and down. Kate looks impressed. I don
’
t cook for her often, but Christmas morning demands a proper meal.
“
Wow, you really do love Christmas morning,
”
Kate says, planting a kiss on my cheek.
“
I do. I
’
ll get started on breakfast. You take your time, sweets
.”
I hop out of bed, put my robe on and walk into the kitchen. K
ate has no idea that I went
shopping yesterday afternoon before we went out for dinner. She
’
s about to experience a Maxwell Christmas Morning Breakfast.
The coffee begins to brew as I pull out the eggs, bacon, milk and orange juice. The bacon begins to sizzle as I scramble the eggs. The bakery down the street has the most delicious cinnamon rolls, Kate
’
s absolute favorite. Placing two rolls on a plate, I continue to prepare the meal.
“
Wow, Ev, it smells amazing in here
,”
Kate says, doe-eyed and gorgeous, wrapped up in her fleece robe. Beneath, she
’
s wearing a pair of my pajama pants. The sight of her in my clothes drives me crazy and I feel myself getting hard. Quickly, I think of the football game the other night to calm myself down. Works like a charm. This meal is too important and as much as I
’
d love to press her up against the fridge and let the bacon burn, I want this to be special for Kate
—
for us.
Kate picks up the paper bag from the bakery and looks at me expectantly.
“
Is this what I think it is?
”
“
You know it, your favorite cinnamon rolls.
”
“
I
’
m starting to appreciate the way you do Christmas morning,
”
she says as she starts pulling plates out of the cabinets.
“
No, no, no,
”
I say, ushering her to the table, passing her a cup of steaming coffee.
“
I
’
ll take care of that. You sit, drink your coffee and give me something beautiful to look at while I work
.”
Giving her a peck on the cheek, I return to the bacon, which has finished cooking. Popping a piece in my mouth, I set the rest on a paper towel, just as Dad always does. Next, the eggs are scraped onto two plates, followed by several pieces of bacon and fresh strawberries.
Kate shakes her head as I walk towards the table holding our plates.
She looks astonished.
It always feels so good to impress her.
“
I can
’
t believe you did all of this, Ev. Is this what your family does every year?
”
she asks, placing her napkin in her lap.
“
Yep,
”
I nod,
“i
t
’
s a tradition. We always have a big breakfast before opening our gifts. And I wanted you to experience it.
”
“
I love it
.”
Kate bites the side of her lip. She almost looks sad.
“
Sweets?
”
I reach out to touch her hand. She squeezes mine in return.
“
It
’
s nothing, seriously. I
’
m just impressed. Christmas morning in my house wasn
’
t terrible or anything like that. Just not so, I don
’
t know, special.
”
“
What did your family do on Christmas morning?
”
“
Well, it was different every year. Sometimes we
’
d go for brunch at my Nana
’
s house. I always loved that. Nana was so awesome
.”
She always smiles so wide when she talks about her Nana. It makes me want to know more about her.
“
Tell me about her,
”
I respond, taking a sip of orange juice.
“
Oh, Ev, you would
’
ve loved her. She was honest and artistic and as moody as they come. We understood each other. I think my mom always envied my bond with Nana. But, Nana took the time to get to know me. My mom never did
.”
She shrugs, piercing her eggs with her fork before continuing,
“
You know, Nana was the one who always played Dean Martin in her house. That
’
s why I love him so much.
”
“
Ahh, I
’
d wondered how you became such a fan of Dino.
For me, it was my dad. I grew up listening to Frank and Dean and all those crooners.
”
“
I love that we have that in common. Most guys think I
’
m weird for my taste in music.
”
“
Nothing about you is weird.
Nothing
.”
The sides of her mouth perk up a bit. She pops out of her chair and kisses me tenderly
on the lips.
“
Thank you for this, Ev. This is the best breakfast I
’
ve ever had. Hands down
.”
Those words make it all worth it. I
’
d cook breakfast for this woman every damn day, that
’
s how happy she makes me.
After breakfast, Kate insists on doing the dishes. But, I manage to put all the food away before she kicks me out of the kitchen. It
’
s the perfect excuse for me to grab her gift out of my backpack. There
’
s another gift for her under the tree. But, this one is different; it means something. This one is about us.
While Kate finishes cleaning up the kitchen, I place the needle on a familiar record. Since we made love to this album, it
’
s stayed on the turntable, and I have a feeling it
’
ll remain there until after the New Year. Dean Martin
’
s voice begins to croon th
r
oughout the apartment, and I know this is what her Nana would want her to listen to today.
Kate rounds the corner of the living room and smiles widely.
“
I know why you want to listen to this album. You had your way with me under that tree and now you want to relive those memories, huh?
”
She pulls on the
belt
of my robe. I hold in my breath, hoping she won
’
t feel her gift inside the pocket of my robe. I
’
m not ready to give it to her just yet.
“
Well, of course, that
’
s part of the reason I love it. But, I think Nana would like it too, don
’
t you?
”
I ask, rubbing the pad of my thumb across her chin. She smiles and tilts her head down to kiss it.
“
I love you, Ev,
”
she says, her tone serious and affected.
“
I love you, too
.”
Brushing her lips with mine, I cup her cheeks with my hands, stroking her skin longingly. Her arms wrap around my waist as she licks my top lip seductively. Taking this as an invitation, I caress her tongue with mine, moving one hand to rest behind her neck, the other sliding down to her ass. Kate smiles as I rub her ass slowly and continue to kiss her hard.
I
’
m not looking to seduce her, although with Kate, it
’
s always tempting. I can
’
t be in the same room as her without wanting to strip her down and have my way with her. But, right now it
’
s more than that.
Remembering my intentions with this morning, I pull away slowly, take her by the hand and lead her to the Christmas tree. We sit, cross-legged next to the fir, the deep green needles reaching out towards us in a welcoming gesture. The white lights sparkle, even in the daylight, and right away I
’
m as smitten with the tree as Kate has been for over a month.
“
Present time
.”
She giggles, grabbing a box wrapped in red shiny paper and placing it in my hands. She tilts her head towards the gift and says,
“
Open it, Ev.
”
Tearing open the gift, paper flying everywhere, I look at her in astonishment when I open the box.
“
It
’
s a first edition,
”
Kate says softly, looking anxious. I stare at the copy of
Lord of the Flies,
my favorite book of all time.
A first edition
. And it
’
s sitting in my hands.
My hands
.
“
Wow,
”
I say, gazing down at the worn hardcover book, William Golding
’
s name in yellow block letters among the jungle green of the cover art.
“
I can
’
t believe you did this. Sweets, this must
’
ve cost you a fortune.
”
“
It was worth it,
”
she says
, shaking her head.
“
I know how much this book means to you. Your old paperback is always perched on your bookshelf, and I thought you should have the original. I was able to get a deal because it
’
s not in the best condition, but all the pages are there; I checked. And there are no smudges or anything like that, so you can still read all of the text.
”
“
I don
’
t know what to say.
I
’
ve been obsessed with this book since I read it in junior high school.
”
“
I know,
” she says with a smile.
“
Your turn,
”
I say, grabbing the large box that I placed under the tree last week. I realize now that she will probably be a little disappointed with this gift because she doesn
’
t know that it
’
s not her real present. The real one is tucked inside my pocket.