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It’s the cold that wakes me, and I open my eyes to the blinding white glare of sunlight pouring through the bedroom windows. Someone drew back the heavy lined curtains, giving the perfect view of the pristine white snow-covered tree branches outside, some of which have already begun to melt. I lie awake for a moment, watching tiny droplets accumulate at the tips of bare branches before falling to the ground below.
While I don’t enjoy the cold or the inconveniences that come with winter, I love the overall effect, the way the world seems to be insulated, as if wrapped in a heavy blanket in which sound doesn’t penetrate. It’s this that I luxuriate in, that I take time to absorb and allow to comfort me…because it’s Christmas Day.
Eventually, my growling stomach and curiosity as to where the guys have disappeared to pull me from bed and I get dressed in more borrowed clothing that I find in Niles’ dresser—a simple long T-shirt that falls to my knees and a pair of black boxers that threaten to fall from my hips—and a thick robe that I find on the back of the bedroom door.
My bare feet tell me that the heat is still off, the house bitterly cold, especially with the wall-to-wall hard flooring that ranges from wood to tile. The moment I reach the bottom of the staircase, I hurry toward the kitchen and living room area where I know there is a small swath of carpet to sink my toes into. As I get closer, I hear the collective male voices in the kitchen, chatting casually, along with the savory smell of food cooking.
“What are you guys up to?” I ask as I emerge into the kitchen, clutching the robe tight against my neck in a vain attempt to ward off the cold. My nose is already feeling the winter’s frigid kiss.
“Hey, good morning, sleepyhead!” Dean is once again behind the island cooking up something that smells heavenly.
It’s Shane that steps up to me with a warm smile and an even warmer embrace. “More like Sleeping Beauty,” he says as he kisses my cheek and steps away again to rejoin Dean. It appears they’re cooking breakfast together.
It’s Niles’ turn to approach me next, and he does so with a familiarity that heats up far more than my skin when he touches me. His gaze meets mine as he steps into my personal space and he cups my face in his large hands, then he bends and gives me a lingering kiss. When he pulls away again, he murmurs, “Merry Christmas, Elle.”
My knees feel weak and I’m no longer cold as Niles steps away and resumes his stance a few feet away with his buttocks pressed against the counter and his arms folded across his chest. He’s observing rather than participating, which leaves me to decide if I want to chip in, stand beside Niles, or curl up on the couch in the living room and wait for everything to get done.
As nice as curling up and relaxing sounds, I feel strange with the idea of leaving the room and the guys to make breakfast alone, as if I’m behaving entitled. I’m not, so staying put seems like the only sensible and courteous thing to do.
“Merry Christmas, guys,” I say as I prop myself up against the counter beside Niles, who looks down at me with a faint smile that lights his eyes more than his face as he looks me over. I hope he’s okay with me wearing his things. I hadn’t asked, since he’d been okay with it before and I have no change of clean clothes of my own. My concerns are washed away when he lifts his arm and hooks it around my shoulders, pulling me up against his side and tucking me against him.
I smile, enjoying the welcoming feeling and greedily soaking up his warmth.
“Merry Christmas,” Dean and Shane say in unison.
Shane sticks his head in the refrigerator and emerges with a bottle of real maple syrup and a carton of fresh, plump blueberries. “Breakfast will be ready in a minute.”
I lift my chin toward the stove and the pan Dean is standing over. “What are you making?”
“French toast.”
Nice. I love French toast. My mom used to make it every Sunday, along with a pitcher of fresh squeezed orange juice. I wonder if she did that this morning for her and Dad. Maybe even Grandpa and Grandma, who weren’t strangers to staying over for the holidays.
Who am I kidding? I know they’re enjoying a delicious meal together, and I wish I could be there. It’s just not Christmas without tradition, and as much as I’m grateful for these guys including me in theirs, it isn’t the same.
“There’s that look again.” Dean is surprisingly observant, and I duck my head and bite my lip in a vain attempt to hide my face and the hurt showing there.
“Are you thinking about your family?” Niles’ tone is filled with concern, and he gives my shoulder a little squeeze.
“Yeah, but I know there’s nothing I can do right now to change the situation.” I lift my head and draw in a deep breath. “I’ll just have to make up for it later.”
“If there’s anything we can do to help, let us know.” Shane’s offer is sweet, and I smile at him.
“Thank you. That’s very generous of you.”
“I mean it. I think we all do.” He glances around at his friends and Dean and Niles nod their agreement.
I pat Niles’ stomach. “What do you say we shelve the depression stuff and enjoy this day?”
“I couldn’t agree more. Food is on!” Dean shouts as he piles the last of the toast onto a serving platter and turns off the stove’s burners. “Shane, bring the coffee!”
Niles breaks away from me and starts gathering the dishes, and I join him, taking the tub of butter, syrup, and silverware. We gather around the dining table that’s positioned in the area between the kitchen and living room and set out everything before taking our seats.
“This is quite the spread,” I admire. “You really outdid yourself, Dean.”
He beams with pride. “Thank you.”
Everyone grabs a plate and helps to serve each other, Shane pouring coffee while Dean piles each plate with toast, I add a pat of butter, and Niles pours the syrup. It feels like a true family meal as we dig in, quiet ensuing as we each enjoy our first bite.
