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Christmas Eve in New York City.
I beg and beg for it with a cute little pink pout on my lips, my hands folded beneath my chin and batting my eyelashes like the flirt I am. Alex can’t resist.
“It’ll be incredibly hard to get a flight to Linfield Christmas morning,” he says, even as he caves, because we already promised both our respective families we’d be in town to celebrate the holidays with them.
Luckily, both families have majority of plans for Christmas Day.
“I’m already way ahead of you,” I say, spinning out of his embrace to dash across our apartment and reach into the top drawer of my desk for the plane tickets I purchased months ago.
I hand the tickets to him, and he scans them, mouth opened when he finds the date.
“The red eye on Christmas Eve?”
I nod, a little bounce to my step, as he starts to grin, though I can tell he’s a little overwhelmed.
“We’ll be exhausted.” He runs a hand through his hair.
“We’ll sleep on the plane.”
He laughs.
“It’s not that long of a trip.”
“Oh, come on, Alex,” I plead. He’s already said yes, but I can tell the logistics of my plan are making him backstep a little. “I want to go ice skating and get hot chocolate, go on a tour of the city in a carriage ride, see Christmas lights and the winter village and the huge Rockefeller Christmas tree lit up.”
“We’ve done some of those things already though, Pop.”
I do my adorable pout again, and he sighs.
“Not all of them though,” I make out. “And besides, it’s more magical on Christmas.”
“Christmas Eve,” he corrects.
“Christmas Eve,” I allow. “Also,” I step closer, “Kiss under every mistletoe we see.”
His eyes darken with lust.
“Well, we can’t miss that.”
I grin. I already know a few places I’ve seen hanging mistletoe inside their establishments or right outside their entrance.
“Alright, I’ll call my brother.”
“I’ll call my parents!” I go up on my tip-toes to kiss his cheek. “Thanks, Babe.”
He shakes his head and turns away, but he’s smiling, and I know I’ve got him.
A week later, it’s Christmas Eve, and we’ve knocked out almost everything on our list. We’ve gone ice skating, gone on a carriage ride, a lights tour, even a couple bars for our signature karaoke ventures.
But there’s one thing we haven’t done, and it’s killing me that none of the places I was thinking of still had their mistletoe hanging when we passed them by. I worry we’ll have stayed out as late as we can before we have to head back home to get our luggage and head to the airport without getting that last item on my list.
But then, as we’re walking, hand-in-hand, very near Times Square, I spot a little tucked away restaurant, and lo-and-behold, mistletoe is hanging just to the side of their front door.
“Alex!” I gasp, and yank his hand over to the opposite side of the street. “Kiss me,” I say, standing beneath the mistletoe.
I close my eyes, bend a little and put my lips into the silliest kissing position I possibly can.
I feel his presence as he comes closer – or, at least who I hope is Alex. How embarrassing if it wasn’t and I kissed a complete stranger while Alex looked on.
His hands come and rest on my shoulders.
“Poppy.”
Alex’s voice. Whew.
I don’t move, but I open one eye and then the other.
“What?” I ask, keeping my kissy face intact, so he can barely make out what I’ve said but probably knows anyway.
He looks up at the mistletoe and then back at me, and I soften as he draws me closer, warming my neck with his gloved hands that come to cup my face. I tip my face up and straighten, but he bends his head and kisses me.
And boy, is that kiss good.
I feel shivers not coming from the wind whipping around us as his fingers slip into my hair and his thumbs run along my jaw. He kisses me again and again until I’m weak in the knees and slip my arms around his waist, pulling him incredibly closer and giving him a run for his money as I run my tongue along his bottom lip and tug at that lip with my teeth when he breaks away for a millisecond to breathe.
He groans.
“Poppy.”
I move my hands up his body so my arms are wrapped around his wide shoulders, and I’m flush up against him, kissing him with as much force as I can muster.
It’s just as we’re about to come up for air a second time when we hear whistling and hollering in the vicinity that I realize we’re being watched. I turn away from Alex to see that we are in fact in Times Square, and our kiss has just been broadcasted on the big screen for all to see.
“Alex.”
“What?”
He’s still breathing me in, nuzzling my neck, and I know he’s wishing we were home in front of our roaring fireplace instead of here in the cold where we can’t take our clothes off and devour each other.
“Alex,” I say with more urgency, and now he’s borderline annoyed as he lifts his head and turns it towards the street.
“Oh.”
The whistling and hollering and now clapping intensifies, and I know Alex has to be blushing, especially when a passerby comments how that was the longest mistletoe kiss they’d ever witnessed.
“Can we…uh…?” Alex asks me, and I nod.
“Yeah,” I laugh, a little embarrassed myself, as I take his hand and head out. “Let’s go.”
We don’t have time to do what we really want to when we get home because we have exactly 20 minutes to grab everything we need and find a cab in time for our 2-hour window before the flight.
But Alex does pin me to the dresser and makes out with me a little longer just as we’re about to leave. Here, where no one but us is the wiser.
“There,” he says when he’s finally had his fill – for now. “That’ll have to be enough for the next 24 hours.” He sighs regretfully, and I chuckle.
“It’ll be hard for me too,” I admit, my eyes twinkling. “But are we really only staying for a day?”
He frowns.
“I wanted to stay longer, but…”
“You like having me to yourself, huh?”
His eyes darken, and his pupils grow in size as he licks his lips, and that’s all the answer I need.
“Me too.”
We stay for a day and a half and are very, very quiet that night in my old bedroom in my parents’ house.