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By their couch stood a massive Christmas tree. If she were being completely honest, it was a little too much for the size of the living room. But she had insisted. And her father had given in.
She and her mother had tied red ribbons around some of the branches, shaping bows nestled between the needles. Ornaments picked up during their last trip to Frigis hung among them. Wooden carved stars, tiny reindeer, and bells that chimed softly every time Bond wandered too close to the tree.
Maybe one day, she would decorate the tree with him.
The star standing at the top of the tree had been won by her dad at the fair’s shooting stand during that same trip. She smiled at the memory.
Bond was sleeping quietly by the tree. She had tied a golden bell around his neck, just like they had every Christmas before. Sadly, she hadn’t heard it ring as much as she would have liked.
After everything they had been through together, her dog deserved his rest. She let him spend the day sleeping, undisturbed.
Sometimes, she wished she were still short enough to curl up beside him, to nap against his side like she used to. But she had grown tall - even if Damian still called her shorty on occasion.
On their dinner table, the Advent wreath rested at the center. The candles rising from the dark evergreen branches had been lit the previous Sunday. It was a tradition passed down from her mother, one she held close.
Maybe one day, she would light the candles with him.
A large batch of Christmas cookies covered the rest of the table. She and her dad had baked them earlier that week. Her favorite ones.
Maybe one day, she would teach him how to make them.
In the entrance, her father had hung mistletoe above the doorframe. He had made sure to kiss her mother every time she crossed it during the past few weeks.
Sometimes, Anya caught echoes of her mother’s thoughts, memories of those early days, when the idea of a welcome-home kiss had been enough to leave her flustered and bright red.
She did her best to avoid listening to thoughts like that. She had learned some thoughts were better left unheard.
Maybe one day, he would kiss her under the mistletoe?
She blushed at the thought.
Next year, she would turn eighteen. She would graduate from Eden - as an Imperial Scholar, to the absolute pride of her parents.
It was a new beginning, and also the end of something. Something that had been good. Something she wasn’t quite ready to let go of.
She didn’t know what would happen next year. Some of her friends would probably leave Berlint. Some might even leave the country entirely, to study abroad.
Will I still be able to see him? she often wondered.
Yes. They were friends…
But they weren’t a thing.
Becky liked to call it the longest slow-burn ever.
Anya couldn’t stop herself from wondering what would happen after Eden. And it seemed to be the only thing her family and friends wanted to talk about.
Which university? Which courses? Which city? Which job?
It gave her headaches. Especially since most of her friends either had a business to take over or had known what they wanted to do since they were six.
She glanced at the clock. Five minutes left.
She couldn’t wait any longer.
She stood, stretching her legs, and slowly made her way to her room. She stopped in the doorway.
Her shelves were filled with knick-knacks: stuffed animals, books, a sheep keychain that had faded to an off-white, seashells she had brought back from a trip to the sea with Becky, Damian, Ewen and Emile, a peanut-shaped bag Becky had gifted her as a joke.
In the middle of one shelf stood an Advent calendar.
It had been a gift from Damian. Dark wood carved into the shape of a gingerbread house, dusted with fake snow. Where windows should have been, there were small drawers, numbered from one to twenty-four. Damian had filled each one himself, mostly with different kinds of peanut snacks.
But for number twenty-three, he had given her specific instructions. Under no circumstances was she to open the drawer before eleven on the twenty-third. He had made her promise.
Becky had many theories of what could be inside drawer number twenty-three. She had even tried to get Ewen to talk. From the memories Anya had accidentally seen in Ewen’s mind, it had looked like an SSS interrogation more than casual questions you asked your boyfriend.
But it was common knowledge that Becky could be scary.
The interrogation had been a failure.
Slowly, Anya opened the drawer.
Number twenty-three.
Her hands were shaking.
A note.
He had been waiting for her, sitting on a cold bench, for what felt like forever. The sun cast pink streaks across the pale blue sky, and the moon still lingered above, almost full. It was that time of the year. No clouds. Clear sky. And the cold…
It bit the moment you stepped outside, turning cheeks pink and fingers numb. He had forgotten his gloves. His hands trembled slightly.
From the cold.
Or from anticipation.
He checked his watch.
She would be here soon. He was sure of it.
She would come.
…Right?
After everything they’d been through?
Today would change everything. She was either going to be his forever - because if she gave him a chance, he knew he would never let her go - or she was going to break his heart into pieces no one could ever put back together.
He checked his watch again. Shouldn’t she be here already?
He looked up, and it hit him.
Pink.
He had always loved pink. It made him think of her.
There she was.
Rushing toward him, walking faster than she probably meant to. She looked nervous. Like she had hurried all the way here.
Is she wearing only one glove? He wondered.
She got closer.
You’re beautiful, he thought, and he hoped she heard.
She was holding the note he had left in the Advent calendar he’d given her.
“I didn’t think you’d actually wait,” he said, his voice soft. “I’ve been here for hours.”
She chuckled. “Of course I did. I promised.” She glanced at the note in her hand. “And, of course, I do.” she added, answering the question he had asked in it.
She smiled. Then she rose onto her tiptoes and pressed a soft kiss to his lips.
He froze.
And then his hand found her hair, and the back of her neck, pulling her just a little closer.
And they kissed until the cold no longer mattered.
She was his.
And, maybe one day -
In English, it was called love at first sight. But in French, it was called un coup de foudre, as if you were struck by lightning the moment you fell in love with someone.
Damian liked that idea.
Un coup. A punch.
Yes. That definitely reminded him how he had fallen in love.