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The delights continue as we each put on our paper crowns and then take turns telling the terrible jokes.
“Hey, Annalise,” says Mike. “What do you get when you cross a snowman and a vampire?” I shake my head as he pauses for effect and then announces in an exaggerated voice, “Frostbite!”
We all fake laugh, but my smile is more than genuine. As is my “ohhhh” that escapes when Nancy emerges from the kitchen with what looks like an enormous pie.
“Tourtière,” she says with a perfect Quebecois accent as she spoons the steaming meat pie onto plates.
I lean in toward Mackenzie. “Are you French Canadian?”
He shakes his head. “Not even a little bit. Pretty sure the tradition began years ago when Grandma Beauchannen overcooked the ham, and tourtière was the only thing left at the Foodland.”
The tourtière is delicious. The pastry is buttery and crisp, and the meat is perfectly spiced. I almost ask for seconds until Nancy mentions the gingerbread we will be having for dessert.
I help her bring the cookies out on a giant platter shaped like a candy cane.
“I made this one for you.” I hand Mackenzie one of the regular-shaped cookies. “Check out his hair and his little leather bracelets.” Mackenzie squints to read the cookie’s shirt. “I write songs, not tragedies?”
“Get it?”
He laughs, and when his smile settles, there’s something quieter left behind that sends a flutter through me.
“Well,” says Nancy after we’ve all cleared the table and finished cleaning up the kitchen, “you kids are welcome to do what you want, but I have a date with a dashing duke.”
Aaron and Clive head out to the loft. Mike grabs his book and says good night. Mackenzie waits until we’re alone before wrapping his arms around me and asking, “Do you want to watch for a bit or come out to the loft?”
I can hear the crackling fire in the living room. “You know how I feel about dukes.”
He laughs and kisses me on the forehead. “I’ll go make the hot chocolate.”
When we get to the family room, Nancy is fully wrapped in a blanket, reclining on a La-Z-Boy with a mug of tea in her hands. She has left the three-seater couch open. It has an ideal view of both the television and the Christmas tree, and as I sink into the oversize cushions, I think I get another rush of happiness.
“Do you like Christmas movies, Annalise?” she asks as I tuck my legs under me.
“Yes. I’d go as far as to say they are a defining part of my personality.”
She opens her mouth to say something else but stops as Mackenzie walks in. He hands me the mugs while grabbing a blanket from the arm of the couch, then fluffs it out and pulls it over both of our legs as he sits.
“You’re watching with us?” Nancy says to him.
Mackenzie slings an arm around my shoulders. “I am.”
Nancy smiles, glancing from him to me. “He must really like you, honey.” She shakes her head. “I used to beg my boys to watch my Christmas movies with me, and they denied their own mother. This one even said he’d rather walk barefoot in a gas station bathroom.”
I look at Mackenzie, shocked.
“That was Clive,” Mackenzie says to me, then, noticing the arch of my eyebrows, leans in so only I can hear. “I may have stretched the truth that first night. But I have grown to love them.”
I shake my head. “But why watch with me in the first place?”
He looks at me like he’s surprised I don’t know the answer. “Because I knew they made you happy.”
About an hour into the movie, Nancy falls asleep in her recliner until one of her snores gets so loud that she wakes herself up.
“Oh.” She looks around as if unsure of where she is for a moment. “I’m going to head to bed. Good night, you two. May you have visions of sugarplums dancing in your head.”
“You too!” I grin a little too wildly at the mention of sugarplums, then even wider as Mackenzie’s hand slides beneath the blanket and squeezes my thigh.
“Want to head upstairs?” he says when we hear the closing of her bedroom door.
