Page 14 of Holiday Situationship

The warmth of Sam’s grip grounds me. As I straighten to stand, my chest presses against Sam’s and the frosty air between us swirls like fairy dust. My eyes flit from the deep recesses of his to his pale pink lips. I resist the urge to act on impulse and inhale an ice cold breath instead, realizing that no matter what happens tomorrow, next week, or next year, I want today to be as carefree as the day we met. Today I won’t worry about fibbing to my boss, overthinking her job offer, or Sam’s leggy supermodels—and definitely not miserable morning afters and botched kisses.

“Let’s make the most of today,” Sam says, as if reading my mind. I nod and squeeze his hand.

“I’d like that,” I say, still reeling from the way my body reacts to him, tickling and tingling in all my nooks and crannies.

“Let’s show them how this is done, shall we?” Sam grins. “Can you balance?”

“I think so,” I say as I clutch his jacket in my fist. “Just don’t let go, okay?”

“I’ve always got you, Annie.” He places a light kiss on my forehead, and I swear the heat that shoots through my body is enough to melt a hole in the ice.

***

Sam

Annie and I took a few spills on the ice, but each tumble was a chance to hold her close, to laugh together and leave the world behind. The sound of her laughter still rings in my ears and plays on my heart as we leave the rink behind, along with the worries we carried to the farm today.

We walk through the bustling crowds, taking in the picturesque winter wonderland surrounding us. Hannah and Gary walk hand in hand alongside Julia and Ryan in front of us. Julia glances over her shoulder every now and again, her eyes crinkling as she smiles. Annie and I have pulled off the charade of being a couple, but I want the dream to be real. If life were anything like this farm and its fairy tale imagery, the fantasy of the two of us would be a reality.

Winslow Farm is straight out of a dream, with twinkling lights illuminating snow covered paths, and elves straight out of the North Pole making the whole farm run like a well-oiled machine. Children, bundled in bright scarves and mittens, build snowmen with carrot noses and pebble smiles.

“I haven’t made a snowman in years,” Annie says as we pass by a curly-headed little girl with a toothy smile. She pats her gloved hands along the surface of a snowball she’s rolled into the size of her head.

“Winter of freshman year,” I recall. “The winter festival fundraiser event.”

“Yes!” Annie turns into my side, grinning ear to ear with pink cheeks and a red nose as bright as Rudolph’s. “If we hadn’t gotten carried away, we would have won first place.”

If I hadn’t insisted on making the snowman so tall, it wouldn’t have ended up top-heavy. When I hoisted Annie on my shoulders to place the top hat on its head, I didn’t steady myself. Annie wobbled, I overcompensated, and the whole thing came crashing down on us both, burying us under a pile of snow. Losing was my fault, but it’s nice that Annie always counts our wins and losses as a group effort. We’ve always been a team.

“But we had fun and helped raise money for the children’s toy fund.” Win or lose, there’s always a bright spot when Annie and I tackle things together.

“That we did.” Annie squeezes my hand as we continue behind the others.

Everywhere I look, couples stroll hand in hand, their faces lit with the kind of happiness that only the holiday season can bring. Wreaths adorned with red ribbons, pinecones, and holly berries hang on every door, fence post, and window, offering an explosion of festive color against the snowy backdrop.

As we near Santa’s Workshop, the scent of pine, cinnamon and sweetness fills the air. My mouth waters thinking about the famous sugar cookies Gary mentioned from the brochure. I can’t wait to hit the cafe for lunch and a sweet treat. I glance at Annie, and a pang of hunger rumbles low in my gut. It’s funny how happiness can make a man ravenous for the woman holding court in his heart. But now’s not the time to reveal those desires. Annie and I agreed to make the most of today, and I intend to keep my word. There will be time for a heart-to-heart when everyone turns in for the night.

I spot an elderly couple near the workshop entrance dressed in full Santa and Mrs. Claus regalia. Santa’s snowy white beard flows to the collar of his red and white suit, trimmed with the whitest fur that appears impossibly soft. His cheeks are rosy and full, glowing with a warmth that captures the magic that swirls around us. He grins our way, his eyes twinkling with a mischievous glint behind the round, steel-rimmed spectacles perched on his nose. His frames shimmer with a polished gleam, framing glittering eyes with a thousand secrets—eyes that seem to see straight into the heart.

Mrs. Claus’ silver hair is pinned beneath a bonnet adorned with holly berries, the epitome of holiday cheer. She wears a festive dress made of red and green plaid with layers of lace. Her apron’s dusted with sprinkles of flour as if she’s come straight from baking in the kitchen.

“Well, what have we here?” Santa’s deep, mirthful voice draws me in and stops me in my tracks. Annie hesitates while the others continue inside. Santa’s gaze flickers between Annie and me, a mysterious smile playing on his lips. “And what would you two like for Christmas this year?”

Annie blushes, her cheeks turning pinker than before. “Oh, we’re too old for Christmas wishes,” she says, her voice shy and uncertain, like she’s suddenly ten years old again. It’s endearing and a reminder of one of the reasons I fell in love with her so long ago.

Santa chuckles and waves away the idea of forsaking Christmas wishes. “Ah, but wishes don’t have an age limit, my dear. The magic of Christmas is alive in everyone who dares to believe.” He reaches for Annie’s hand and folds both of his hands around hers. “Wishes can only come true if you wish for them.”

He winks, and years of laugh lines crinkle around the outer edges of his eyes and mouth. His forehead crackles into a thousand tiny lines, etching his face with years of timeless wisdom. There’s something about him, something that makes the air around us feel a little more enchanted and full of mystique.

I glance at Annie, and for a moment, the world slows down. The crowds, the lights, the snow—it all fades into the background. I hardly notice that Santa’s released Annie’s hand until the scent of freshly baked cookies tickles my nose.

“A little something sweet for the both of you,” Mrs. Claus says, her voice as comforting as a grandmother’s embrace. Her gentle hands cradle a tray of cookies, each one perfect, inviting with the scent of cinnamon and sugar wafting around her. “It’s said that whoever shares a cookie from Santa’s batch will share a bond that lasts a lifetime.”

Annie and I reach for a cookie, our fingers landing on the same one. “You take this one,” I say.

“You must share it,” Mrs. Claus says. “The magic is in the first one you choose.”

Annie gives Mrs. Claus a gracious smile, then breaks the cookie in half. It’s soft and warm, warmer than it should be outside in the cold. I take a bite, and the cookie is worth every bit of the hype. It carries the perfect blend of sugar and spice with its crumbly, cake-like texture. As I savor the bite, I swear it tingles in my belly like magic’s casting a mischievous spell.

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