Page 117 of Dropping the Ball

“Especially because it’syourbreakfast.”

We sit across from each other at the starling table, the amber flecks looking festive with the red and gold place settings I chose. He gives his report from Christmas Eve at his uncle’s house, and I smile the whole time, even at the parts that aren’t funny.

“Are you laughing at me?” he asks, half smiling back as he finishes his story.

“No. I’m . . . happy.” Getting to spend all day with him, that’s the gift.

“Remember you said that when you’re enduring it next year,” he teases.

My heart gives an extra thump like it does anytime he says things like that. Like mentioning us and next Christmas together in the same sentence.

I didn’t think I was someone who needs to hear “I love you.” It was nice when my last boyfriend said it. I even said it back. But Icraveit from Micah.

This is so very, very different.

When breakfast is done, we clear the table and wash our plates, and I smile again at how much I enjoy doing simple things with him.

“What do we do now?” he asks as he dries the last plate. “Watch some football?”

“You want to watch football on Christmas?”

“Those men are giving up time with their families. The least we can do is honor that.”

“Are you being serious?”

“Nope.”

I pop him with the dish towel, a skill I didn’t even know I had. “You’re about to go on the naughty list. I guess we aren’t doing presents next.”

He grabs the dish towel and wraps it behind my back, pulling me in. “Yes to the naughty list.” He gives me a kiss that tastes like French toast and pomegranate. “But also yes to presents, please.”

I kiss him back. “Or maybe this for the rest of the day.”

He drops the dish towel and boosts me up on the counter. “Definitely yes to this.”

Eventually, we get to the gifts. I’m beard burned and my lips are swollen, but it’s a new tradition we’re definitely keeping.

I sit in front of the Christmas tree and Micah settles across from me, two wrapped gifts beside him. Daisy Buchanan makes her appearance, arriving out of nowhere like a Christmas ninja as she pounces into the cradle of Micah’s crisscrossed legs.

“Merry Christmas, Daisy,” he says. “Maybe we should do your present first?”

She flicks her tail.

“She’ll allow it,” I interpret for Micah.

“All right, Mrs. Buchanan. I got you this.” He unwraps the smaller gift to reveal a cat collar bejeweled with rhinestones, art deco style.

I’m the one who purrs. “Flawless.”

“Should I put it on her?” he asks.

“Not if you want to keep your hands.”

“I’ll let you do it when she’s in the mood.”

“My turn.” I reach for his gift under the tree, sure he can figure out by looking that it’s a watch box.

He unwraps it, his eyes widening when he opens it to reveal a classic TAG Heuer, a steel three-hand style with a black face. “This is really nice.”

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