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Can't come today, too sick. Emma hits send, flings her phone aside and buries her head under the covers. She has no intention of leaving her bed today. A thought strikes her and she reluctantly creeps out of the warmth. It takes her a few minutes to find her phone again, hidden as it is in the folds of her thick, fluffy duvet. Sorry, she adds, wincing at how lame the afterthought is.
“Bah Humbug, now that's too strong! 'Cause it is my favorite holiday.” Emma’s so startled by the music blasting out of her phone that she drops it. Despite knowing that no one is around to see her fumble, she blushes at her own clumsiness, and stares at the photo of Killian grinning up at her on the screen.
She's tempted to ignore it, but she literally just texted him, and she can't think of a good reason not to answer. She picks up her phone and answers it, taking a deep breath to steel herself for his questions.
“Glad you decided not to ignore me, Swan.”
“I wasn't ignoring you!” she protests, and can hear the disbelief in his pointed silence. “Well, I didn't ignore you at least, that's got to count for something, right?”
She's not sure it's really possible to hear someone arch their brow, but she swears she does. “Hmmm,” is all he says, and waits just a little too long to continue for it to be truly comfortable. “Are you going to tell me why you're really cancelling on today?”
“I told you, I'm sick.” She definitely hears those eyebrows creep up his forehead this time. “I am!”
“You never cancel on Potterfest, no matter how sick you are. You once sat in an inflatable kiddie pool, hugging a bowl, vomiting intermittently, rather than admit that you were too hungover for Potterfest. You said that ‘it's the most wonderful day of the year and only hospitalisation would keep you away.’”
She meant it at the time too - the tradition of marathoning Harry Potter at the start of December was one that her and her friends had been doing for nine years. Ever since Neal had dumped her and tried unsuccessfully to frame her for his crime and Killian had declared that Harry Potter was the only one who could fix the pain. Several movies, innumerable alcoholic beverages and a nap or two later, she was no longer stressing about the break up.
Probably because she had fallen in love with Killian Jones while they watched Harry, Ron and Hermione age on screen. It was sometime around Harry’s first wet kiss under the mistletoe that she realised she was wondering more what Christmas kisses with Killian would feel like than worrying about her ex. He had wrapped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her in close, wordlessly offering support in case the festive romantic moment should upset her, and she just knew he was it for her. She still wonders about mistletoe kisses from him. Not that she’ll ever tell him that.
They don’t always watch all of the movies, some years they only have time for one, but this year Potterfest is a weekend-long affair and they’re going to watch every last one. Or her friends are at least, because she’s a massive coward.
Killian’s voice turns a little strained, the only indication that he's maybe starting to worry about her. “You're not in hospital are you? I know it's my turn to host, but if you are, I'll be there.”
It's official: she's an asshole. Not only is she trying to weasel out of her friends’ annual tradition, but also she's got Killian to panic about her.
“Woah, chill out there Fear, I'm not in hospital. It's just..” she trails off, too embarrassed to continue.
“Come on, Emma, you can tell me anything,” he pleads.
She never can resist when he calls her Emma, he's so sincere and it just does things to her. Things she doesn't like to think about, because they're just friends and that's what they should stay.
“I overheard Ruby and Mary Margaret… plotting…”
“I knew it! No one's that nice outside of a Disney movie! So what are they plotting? Kidnap? World domination? To steal Christmas?”
“Thank you for taking this really seriously,” Emma deadpans.
“I'm sorry, I'm listening, I promise. Now what was our dear sweet Mary M plotting with the big bad Ruby?”
“Mistletoe traps.”
“Is that meant to mean something to me?”
Emma sighs deeply. “They were talking about catching us out with mistletoe. So that we would make out at last or something.”
“Ah.”
“Yeah.” There's an awkward silence. She hates it. The silence between them is never awkward, she'd rather sit in silence with Killian than talk to basically anyone else in the world. And now Mary Margaret and Ruby have gone and ruined it with their meddling and their mistletoe and it wouldn't hurt so much if she didn't want it so bad.
“Don't worry, I promise not to kiss you Emma.” Killian says. She's not sure if bitterness actually colours his words, or if she's just projecting, because this is the opposite of what she really wants. “Not without permission at least.”
That shouldn't make her heart skip a beat and her stomach do some kind of jump for joy, but dammit, it really really does.
“You wish,” she blusters, hoping that she's not giving too much away.
He ignores the slight, he's good like that. “Now that you know you don't have to worry about festive greenery, will you come over?”
She bites her lip, she wants to say yes, but, “what if they have something else up their sleeves?”
“Like what exactly?”
“I don't know… Something Hallmark-worthy with blind dates and Secret Santa and sharing a bed.”
“Hey! There’s no sleeping at Potterfest! You’re going to be awake for every minute of those glorious movies.”
“You snored on my shoulder last year.”
“Blasphemy! I would never!”
“You did and there’s the photos to prove it, give it up, Pinocchio.”
“Napping in between films, may be allowed,” Killian grumbles, conceding defeat. “But there will be absolutely no need for you to come anywhere near my bed, however devious Mary M may be beneath her innocent demeanour and pseudo Snow White face. You can sleep on the couch or in a sleeping bag on the floor just like every other year. We’re not that old yet, Swan. Honestly I don't know whether to laugh or be offended at the suggestion that we are.”
She laughs herself at that. “I don't know about that, aren't you like 300?”
“And yet I've retained my youthful glow and ability to sleep anywhere.”
“Oh really?”
“I thought you weren't interested in sleeping together?”
“See you had to go and be all logical and now I feel like even more of an asshole than I did before.”
“Just get your arse over here now and we'll forget all about this.”
Dammit, she can't argue with that. It's more than she deserves. Besides, she's already wearing her Griffyndor jumper, she knew that he'd talk her round.
***
She doesn't bother knocking when she gets to Killian's, just lets herself in like she owns the place. That's another thing she doesn't think much about. Or, more accurately, tries not to - for someone who didn't have a home for so long, it's more than a little overwhelming to find herself with two.
She’s halfway down the corridor that leads to his living room before she notices the decorations and her eyes widen in delight and awe. There’s fairy light-studded garland, fake candles and, the door in front of her has been decorated with cardboard so that it resembles a grand, ancient door. Most impressive and intriguing of all, four large hourglasses filled with what she assumes are chocolates wrapped in bright colours, green, blue, red and gold respectively.
She’s in the Hogwarts entrance hall.
She’s ecstatic.
She races down the corridor and flings open the door to see what Killian’s done to the living room. And is faced with a wall of sheets that stops her short.
The sheets part and Ruby’s face peeks out between them. “Come on in, Em!” Ruby calls out, grinning her wolfish grin, “you’ve got to see what Killian’s done!”
Ruby disappears again and Emma ducks down to follow her. It’s a little awkward for her to wriggle her way in, so she waits until she’s fully through to see what’s going on.
She gasps.
It’s a blanket fort and the Hogwarts great hall all rolled into one. Emma never would’ve thought that those two things could go together, until this moment right now.
The floor is squishy, covered by duvets, pillows and sleeping bags in four lines of colour - green, red, blue and yellow. There are bowls of popcorn, Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans and chocolate frogs all along the lines, and plastic goblets studded around. She knows immediately that they’re set up like this to mimic the house tables. It’s a little touch, but it really sells the look Killian’s going for.
They are surrounded by a mishmash of sheets and blankets. Fabric Christmas trees have been pinned along both walls - apparently at strategic points to hide the joins.
Best of all, the blankets above them are navy blue with swirling stars across them, to mimic the night’s sky, just like the “real” Hogwarts. The only light in the room comes from the fairy lights that have been strung up to the makeshift ceiling and the electric candles that dangle down from fish wire, giving the illusion that they are actually floating.
Emma’s forgotten how to speak. This is the best thing that anyone has ever made, she’s sure of it.
“I knew she’d like it, but I didn’t think she’d forget how to speak,” Ruby’s voice breaks into her reverie.
“Shhhhh, leave her be!” Mary Margaret scolds.
Emma starts and looks around again - this time looking at her friends instead of the decorations. She’s the last one there, undoubtedly thanks to her freak out earlier (that she absolutely has not forgotten, despite Killian declaring that they should). Ruby is lounging beside the entrance to the great hall fort with her head in Elsa’s lap. Mary Margaret and David are curled up together inside a sleeping bag. Emma’s nose wrinkles as it occurs to her what they could get up to in there without the rest of them noticing, it’s practically like thinking about her parents having sex. Will and Belle are snuggling into a pile of pillows. And Killian is … nowhere to be seen. Huh.
“He’s just bringing the drinks in,” says Elsa, answering a question that Emma’s sure she didn’t actually ask out loud.
“We’re all right here though, nice of you to finally join us, and hello to you too!” calls out Will, earning himself a none too subtle dig in the ribs from Belle.
Emma waves awkwardly, feeling the combined force of all her friends’ gazes on her. “Hi, this is … uh … wow.”
“I was aiming for magical, but wow will do,” Killian says, as he crawls into the fort clutching bottles of water and coke. He appeared from an entrance opposite Emma that seems to have entirely vanished now that he’s inside the fort. It really is like Hogwarts in here, Emma thinks grinning at Killian as he shuffles over to her.
“This is amazing,” Emma says, beaming at him when he finally makes it to her side. He scratches behind his ear, a small smile on his face at her words. “But where’s the TV? We can’t really watch the movies without it.”
Killian’s eyebrows wiggle at her. “Oh ye of little faith,” he tuts, “anything’s possible if you believe in magic.” He pulls a remote out of his pocket and presses a button. A projector starts up, turning one wall of their fort into a giant cinema screen.
“Nice work Inspector Gadget,” Emma says with a grin.
“Shouldn’t you switch up your references for something more seasonally appropriate?”
“Does Inspector Gadget have a festive equivalent?”
“Ummm…” Killian pauses, deep in thought, “well Eleven kind of was in the Christmas special with the Scrooge guy.”
“Christmas Eve on a rooftop, saw a chimney, my whole brain just went... what the hell.” Emma attempts an English accent as she quotes Matt Smith, just to see Killian laugh. He looks good when he laughs.
He clears his throat and nods seriously. “Exactly.”
“That’s a garbled reference,” Emma says, “they’re meant to be short and snappy like Buffy.”
“And you’re meant to be turning on the bloody movie Killian you wanker!” cuts in Will.
“Fuck off,” is all he says in reply, but he turns the film on all the same, and Emma snuggles into his side. Purely for comfort of course.
***
The first attempt to get them to kiss under the mistletoe came in the form of Ruby throwing some of it towards them. Emma leans her head against Killian's shoulder, effectively ducking out of its path, without appearing to have noticed it at all. It flies uselessly into the blankets behind them.
“Dammit,” Ruby mutters under breath, apparently believing that they were oblivious to her seasonal matchmaking attempt.
“See, Swan? Nothing to worry about,” Killian murmurs into her ear, giving her goosebumps. “Are you cold?” He wraps his arm around her shoulder and pulls her closer to his side before she can reply. It's nice.
***
They stay that way for the whole of The Sorcerer's Stone, Killian's just so warm and comfy that it's just makes sense. She only begrudgingly moves when he has to leave to get lunch from the kitchen. She follows him to help instead of staying to hear her friends’ thoughts on their seating arrangements.
That's when the next trap strikes.
Mary Margaret isn't even subtle about it, just leaps at them, mistletoe in hand, and thrusts it over their heads. Emma groans at her.
“Well what do you say, Swan?”
She looks up, startled by Killian's words, but sees the twinkle in his eye, cheeky grin on his face and the ever so slight incline of his head towards Mary Margaret and she just knows what he's thinking.
They lean in, Mary Margaret does a squeal of victory and glee, and they both quickly move to plant sloppy wet kisses on her cheeks.
Emma tries not to laugh at her friend's crestfallen and slightly slobbery face as Killian pats her on the shoulder. “Nevermind, Mary M,” he says, “it was a noble attempt.”
He busies himself with collecting up the lunch he'd already prepared, roast beef sandwiches, what looks like pumpkin pasties and more.
“You been slaving away like a house elf?” Emma asks, deeply impressed by the effort he's gone to.
“Nothing but the finest British cuisine should accompany Harry Potter,” he explains pompously, then ruins it all with his trademark awkward wink that Emma loves. To tease him for that is. Although right now it would be rude to, what with all the effort he's gone to, so she just scoops up some plates and follows him back to Fort Hogwarts, leaving Mary Margaret still wondering where her crafty plan went wrong.
***
It's not until the chamber of secrets has been opened, the prisoner of Azkaban freed and they're tucking into shepherd's pie that the next stage in Operation Meddle in Emma and Killian's Platonic Relationship strikes.
“Hey Killian, are you doing anything next Sunday?” Mary Margaret asks.
He turns to Emma at once. “Am I?” he asks. She shrugs as if she doesn't know that he's totally free, except she had been thinking of asking him to do something disgustingly festive with her, so she kind of wants to say no. She also wants Elsa to stop eyeing her meaningfully though, so she keeps her mouth shut.
“Nope, I'm free, what you thinking?”
“My friend Ashley is coming to town and we're all having a dinner, I'd love for you to meet her,” Mary Margaret gushes. She throws Emma an apologetic look. “Sorry, it's kind of a couples thing, I wouldn't want you to feel awkward.”
I manage just fine the rest of the time, she thinks more than a little bitterly. She knows exactly what her friend is doing, and maybe she doesn't like the thought of this dinner, but that's because she'll be the only one left out. But Ruby is giving her a challenging smirk, practically daring her to protest, and she bites her lip and shrugs instead.
“Surely you have a handsome friend [squirreled] away that you can introduce our Swan to? It hardly seems fair for her to be the only one without a partner at this time of year,” Killian protests.
“What about Sean?” David suggests.
“Sean's very sweet,” Belle pipes up.
“Excellent!” beams Killian, a hint of a challenge in his eye. “We'll have this lovely dinner together and we'll all have found ourselves with someone to warm our bed at night come Christmas.”
The thought of Killian pulling her into his side pops into Emma's head. She stabs her shepherd's pie ferociously and tries to forget about the set up they're obviously walking right into.
***
“I thought you were meant to protect me from awkward blind dates, not force one on me,” Emma hisses at Killian when she joins him at the sink to rinse the dirty dishes.
“The obvious intention behind it is to make each other jealous, what better way to show their dirty tricks don't work than by embracing the dates wholeheartedly?”
“But I don't want to embrace Sean!” Emma says, stomping her foot and throwing her hands up in disgust. She know she's acting like a teenager, but dammit, she doesn't want to play these games. She doesn't want anything but -
“Don't worry, I'll still be available for cuddles after.” His voice is matter of fact and he doesn't look at her, just calmly rinses the plates and loads the dishwasher. Like he hasn't said something monumental.
“Well, I mean - that's just - just beside the point” Emma sputters out. Like she's not the one missing the point. But now she feels awkward and Killian's pretty much dealt with the dishes so instead of think about that too hard she escapes back to Fort Hogwarts.
She's already lying in her spot before she notices that there's fucking mistletoe hanging right above her. Ruby is smirking at her triumphantly, Elsa has a look somewhere between apologetic and “it's for your own good you know” and Mary Margaret looks eager and excited. (Belle and Will are too busy making out to give her any kind of look and David looks embarrassed, but she considers them all guilty by association.)
That's when the rage strikes.
Of course she likes Killian, loves him even. There's no denying that he's her person or whatever you want to call it. (True Love, Mary Margaret would say like the Disney Princess Killian always accuses her of being.) But they're good, they're comfortable, no one has to break up with anyone and while kisses would be nice she doesn't need them. She's a strong, independent woman and if she wants to be single her friends should just stay the fuck out of it, however much they mean well, it's not their call.
Her heart's drumming as loud as all twelve drummers in that Christmas song, and there's a lump of coal forming in her throat. It's Seasonal Anger Disorder at its finest. Tis the season after all. She's practically shaking with fury by the time she notices that Killian's only gone and sat right next to her and that means they've been caught in that mistletoe trap.
“What are you doing?” she grits out through clenched teeth.
He jumps at her words, looking almost comically alarmed. “Ummm… I'm sitting down. This is my spot, my whole living room in fact…” He breaks off and scratches behind his ear.
He's uncomfortable, she's made him uncomfortable in his own home and she's so mad at herself for being so, so, Emma, about this all that she bites out her next words. “Well now we're stuck beneath the mistletoe!”
He looks up, and scrubs his hand over his face in frustration. He sighs.
“Why don't we just get it over with?” he says sounding tired and resigned to his fate.
Tears prick at her eyes. No. This isn't how she wants to kiss him. She glares down at the blankets and pillows. All that anger is turning to tears and she hates it and she hates this.
“Traitor,” she mutters trying to sound cool and detached.
“Hey,” Killian says and hooks a finger under her chin, tilting her face up to his. “It's ok, Emma, nothing you don't want, remember?” And he smiles and leans in, kisses her softly on the forehead and wraps his arms around her.
It's crazy but that sweet, chaste kiss does more for her than all the last five hookups she's had combined.
Her anger melts away and she just sinks into his warmth. He's got her. He always knows just what to do. That's why she loves him so much.
“Booooooo!” Ruby's loud cry breaks through their happy haze.
“Fuck off, Ruby” they say in unison.
“Kiss your girlfriend like a good girl and stop interfering,” Killian says. “I'm putting the next film on.”
And really what more is there to say?
***
The girls have the common sense to not try and spring anymore traps that night. Not involving parasitic plants at least. But while they're drying their eyes after Cederic dies Mary Margaret goes and brings up the dreaded words - Secret Santa. They're so predictable Emma could cry.
She doesn't even try to hide her eye roll when, in a move that would shock no one, her paper says Killian.
“It's all right, Swan, I got the perfect gift for you already picked,” Killian whispers in her ear.
“No cheating at Secret Santa!” Mary Margaret tuts with a twinkle in her eye.
“Hello pot, meet lump of coal,” Emma retorts.
“The name suits you,” Ruby deadpans.
“Are you saying I've got a heart of stone?”
“Don't be offended,” Killian butts in, “she's calling you a naughty girl.” The way he says that really shouldn't do things to her. And yet…
“No, she's calling you dirty,” Will pipes up, leaning forward and taken a sudden and very keen interest in the conversation. “Tell us, Emma, why would Ruby know how dirty you are?”
“One time she sees me post-run and pre-shower and suddenly I'm pegged as dirty. That's just rude.”
“Don't spoil my fun here! Did she help you shower, she did right?” Will's face is gleeful, while Belle is digging her elbow into his side and David looks ready to throttle him if he says another word.
“See what you started here?” Emma says to Ruby with an exaggerated sigh.
“Merry Christmas ya filthy animal,” Ruby replies with a wink.
“Bah humbug.”
“So Order of the Phoenix?” Killian interrupts.
“Hey wait, I don't think we're done taking the piss out of Emma,” Will whines.
“Her Scrooge is showing,” Killian says seriously, “let's appease her with Harry Potter before she starts getting grinchy.”
“But -”
“Don't test me Will, I'll go full Grinch. Don't forget I've heard your singing and have the scarred ear drums to prove it. It'll never make my heart grow several sizes and you'll be stuck without decorations, presents, roast beast.” Emma glares at Will meaningfully.
“Bloody hell, you really are a bad Santa, fine Jones, bring on the boy wizard.”
***
She honestly thought that the mistletoe nonsense was over long before they decided they needed sleep before the Harry Potter marathon could continue. But Mary Margaret surprises her with both a gift and her dogged pursuit of seasonal lip locking.
Mary Margaret passes over a perfectly wrapped present complete with tasteful bow. She tears into it gleefully and scowls when she sees what's inside: red pyjamas printed with white and sparkly silver mistletoe everywhere. “Oh you shouldn't have,” she says flatly.
“Tis the season!” Mary Margaret chirps.
“For oral apparently,” Emma says eyeing the mistletoe festooned crotch warily.
“Let's hope Mary M isn't the only person in a giving mood. Christmas is a loving, honest and charitable time, after all!” Ruby calls out.
“Are you seriously quoting Muppets Christmas Carol to call me a charity case?”
“Just your sex life.”
“I hate you all.”
***
She doesn't wear the pyjamas, she does, however, end up sharing a bed with Killian. Along with the rest of the gang. And by bed, she means floor in Fort Hogwarts. It's surprisingly comfy and with everyone else there it's undeniably completely platonic. Except that when she wakes up in the morning he has his arms around her and she's snuggling into his chest and it feels safe and right and intimate. It feels like love. And that's not scary, it's just good.
It's how she always feels with Killian, but waking up with him like this, just makes that feeling bigger somehow, overwhelming in the best kind of way. She could have that always. Couldn't she?
She shuffles a little, stretching out the beginnings of a cramp in her foot. His grip tightens, “go back to sleep, Swan” he mumbles into her hair.
That one little gesture is so small, but somehow it's everything. He's everything.
She's aware of her heart in a way she's never been before. Perhaps Killian just made it grow three sizes, or filled it with fairy lights, Christmas spirit and maybe an extra helping of love. She just knows he's it, he's her favourite and it's time to tell him that.
“I will always find you,” David says clearly still dreaming, his voice muffled by sleep or pillows, and she jumps in surprise. It's an unpleasant reminder that everyone's there, and they'll undoubtedly rub Emma's face in how right they were about her and Killian. Perhaps she'll just wait until they've gone to kiss him.
At that thought she reluctantly wriggles out of his arms, unwilling to let everyone else see them wrapped up in each other. He groans unhappily, the noise tugging at her heart such that she almost twists back into him, but he stays asleep and that's probably just as well. She feels cold without his embrace to warm her, and she needs coffee. She awkwardly crawls and stumbles her way out of Fort Hogwarts and into the kitchen, miraculously not waking anyone, even though she's sure she stepped on Will at one point.
She's slurping on her first coffee when Killian appears at her side. “Guess who made cinnamon rolls for breakfast?”
She turns to him, incredulous. “I thought we were only eating the finest British cuisine this weekend? I didn't know you Brits were into cinnamon rolls.. Isn't it all… I don't know, deep fried tea and bacon for breakfast?”
He wraps his hand around hers and pulls her coffee to his lips, it says something to how tired and befuddled she is by the whole exchange that she lets him. He takes a large gulp and licks his lips while she carefully watches him, far too fascinated by the movement of his tongue to have ever claimed that they were just friends.
She half expects a cheeky quip or his trademark clumsy wink, but he shrugs and scratches behind his ear instead and she doesn't know when they took a detour into awkward but she wonders if it's somehow her fault, if she killed the moment or something. “Aye, well, obviously deep fried grease was my first choice, but cinnamon rolls are your favourite.”
“You're my favourite,” she blurts out without thinking. He grins at her, and she knows that they're definitely back on track. His eyes are twinkling brighter than the shiniest Christmas tree and she realises she's actually fine with saying more than she meant to. She wonders how much brighter he'll glow when she tells him about all these feelings she's got. Properly. Something tells her that Santa won't need Rudolph to guide his sleigh to Killian's house after that, no matter how foggy it is.
“Do I smell coffee?” Belle interrupts and both of them startle at her words.
“Yeah, there's a pot, should be enough for all of us.” Emma says, still smiling, because Killian's still smiling and she doesn't mind the intrusion when she knows the moment’s going to be continued.
“God bless us, every one!” Belle says, diving for the coffee.
Emma doesn't stop smiling, but she does stop gazing at Killian, even if it's an effort. Later, she tells herself because now it's time for cinnamon and caffeine and for good to conquer evil in Fort Hogwarts.
***
She's confused when she spots the final mistletoe trap of Potterfest. It's just her and Killian left so who would've put it there? Unless… She looks at Killian thoughtfully then back to the mistletoe.
“Huh,” she says.
He follows her eyes. “There's no one around, we don't have to,” he says.
“Yeah, but, perhaps a little festivity is in order?”
He arches a brow at her. “Are you sure, Swan?”
“What, think you can't handle it?”
“Perhaps you're the one who couldn't handle it,” he retorts with a smirk and he's definitely goading her into it, but she's so ready to take the leap that she doesn't even care.
She yanks him to her, desperate to kiss him at last, she’s been waiting forever at least.
It’s so much better than she ever hoped.
That first moment is pure passion, lips pressed together hot and hard. As the fires burns brighter they melt into each other, totally consumed by the feeling.
If she’d known that he could kiss like this she’s sure she would’ve jumped on him sooner.
He’s the perfect combination of passionate and sweet. His lips are hard against hers. He’s tangling his fingers into her hair to hold her close. He’s crushing her against him like he’s aching to feel every part of her at once.
She knows that she needs to breathe, but why waste time on that when they can do this? How will she ever be able to stop kissing him?
When the need for oxygen becomes too strong she pulls her lips back from his, but lingers close, still feeling his breath on her face. Their foreheads touch and she opens her eyes, shaken to the core by the kiss.
She’s sure he feels the same. Eyes still closed and cheeks flushed, he’s panting, struggling to catch his breath enough to say “that was -”
“I love you.”
His eyes fly open at once, looking straight into hers with sheer delight. “Yeah?”
“Interesting answer,” she laughs. She’s as light as a feather. She's as happy as an angel. She’s as merry as a caroller with a belly full of sherry.
“I mean, obviously I love you too, I just never thought you’d be the one to say it first.”
“That’s fair, but can we do that kissing thing again? We need to make up for several year’s worth of lost time.”
He answers with a kiss.