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“Hey, Babes. You got a dead plant hanging on the wall.”
“It’s called ‘mistletoe’, B.J.” Lydia answers; her balance on the kitchen counter is somewhat precarious, made even more so by the fact she’s currently in socks and standing on laminate, “And it wasn’t my idea. The stepmother put it up.”
“She find it necessary to pepper the whole house with it?” he takes an unnecessarily long and loud sniff of the plant, rolls his eyes, and stretches out across the table like he owns the place, “Not exactly a glamour piece.”
“It has a different purpose, Beej.” She rolls her eyes and stretches outward (girl never has a problem testing the compassion of gravity) a moment longer, to hook the last bit of garland in its impressive string across every ceiling in the lower level. “It’s not for show, as much as for something else.”
“Letting the neighborhood know she kills plants every day of the year?”
Lydia rolls her eyes, dusts off her hands, and takes a calm step off the counter. She drops into his arms, not entirely with him prepared for it, and smirks a little at the look on his face – about five seconds before she plants a kiss right on his mouth. By the time she’s done, he has almost half her lipstick smeared across his mouth and feels like he just took a knock upside the head. From the smirk she’s still wearing, he probably has a look to match.
“…Not that I’m complaining,” he finally says, “but what the heck was that for?”
“It’s tradition, you idiot.” Lydia’s smirk stretches wide across her face, “Hang mistletoe, and whoever happens to be standing under it has to kiss.”
“What, like it’s the law?”
“Mm hm.”
“What happens if you don’t?”
She rolls her eyes again – and, yeah, fine, maybe he really deserves the dramatics. “You go to jail.”
“For how long?”
“Until you die of boredom or you manage to deliver a decent kiss.”
He thinks about it for a minute, then shrugs. For breather standards – already as low as standards come – that’s an easy sell. “So, am I off to the clink?”
Lydia turns and delivers one of her most sinful smirks to date. “Tis the season for giving…and receiving. I might be moved to spare you the mandatory lock-up and give you a second chance on a proper delivery.”
Well then. Time to get holly on the jolly.