"It does not, actually," he groused, settling down on the couch.
I joined him, tucking my feet underneath me as I faced him. "So," I began, "what's your favorite color?"
He looked at me like I'd grown a second head. "Really? That's what you want to know?"
"I figure I'll take it easy on you in the beginning," I said with a playful grin.
His lips twitched as if fighting a smile. "Fine. Blue."
"Blue?" I echoed. "Like sky blue or navy blue?"
"Navy," he clarified, leaning back and watching the fire.
"Good choice," I nodded thoughtfully. "Navy is solid, dependable."
"What about you?" he asked after a moment of silence.
"Green," I replied without hesitation.
"Green?" He raised an eyebrow. "Why green?"
"It's lively," I explained. "Full of promise and growth."
Daryl shook his head slightly but didn't argue. Instead, he glanced around his living room as if seeing it through my eyes for the first time. "You really think this place needs decorations?"
"It couldn't hurt," I said gently. "A few lights, maybe a wreath."
He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm not good at that kind of thing."
"I could help," I offered softly. "If you want."
His eyes met mine, searching for something unspoken. After a moment, he nodded slowly. "Yeah... maybe."
We fell into another comfortable silence, the crackling fire filling the room with its soft murmur. It felt like we were sharing more than just space—something deeper and unspoken passed between us in those quiet moments.
"So," he broke the silence again, surprising me with his own question, "why do you love Christmas so much?"
I smiled softly, memories flooding back. "It's about hope and love and believing in magic when everything else feels impossible."
He looked at me with an intensity that made my heart race. For once, Daryl didn't seem quite so closed off or distant.
He leaned in, his eyes darkening with an emotion I couldn't quite name. My breath caught in my throat as his hand found my cheek, rough and warm. Time seemed to stretch out, each second hanging between us like a fragile thread.
Then his lips touched mine, softly at first, testing the waters. My heart pounded against my ribs, and I felt the world around me fade into a blur of warmth and sensation. His kiss was slow, unhurried, as if we had all the time in the world. The softness of his lips against mine sent a shiver down my spine.
I responded instinctively, leaning into him and threading my fingers through his hair. The kiss deepened, growing more insistent but never losing that gentle touch. It was as if he was pouring all the things he couldn't say into that kiss, telling me everything he felt without words.
The fire crackled beside us, casting flickering shadows on the walls. I felt his other hand slide around my waist, pulling me closer until there was no space left between us. My skin tingled where he touched me, and I sighed softly against his lips.
When we finally pulled back, his eyes searched mine, and for once, they were free of their usual guardedness.
"Beth," he whispered my name like it was a secret he'd been holding onto for too long.
"Daryl," I murmured back, my voice trembling with a mix of emotions—hope, desire, something deeper I wasn't ready to name yet.
He kissed me again, slower this time but just as intense. It felt like a promise, one that neither of us fully understood yet but were willing to explore together.
In that moment, surrounded by the warmth of the fire and the closeness of Daryl's embrace, I felt something shift inside me. Maybe it was the magic of Christmas or just the magic of being with him. Either way, I knew this was only the beginning of whatever lay ahead for us.
