Page 26 of The Winging It Holiday Special

“But I’m—he’s so happy. And Talia is great. I thought it would be harder, but I just want him to be as happy as I am.”

Dante surged forward in the dark to press a firm kiss to Gabe’s mouth.

It lasted longer than he meant it to, because Gabe’s cheeks were a little cold and Dante felt the need to warm him up.

Eventually Gabe said, “What was that for?”

“I’m proud of you.”

Gabe leaned their foreheads together on the pillow. “Sap.”

“Look who’s talking.”

“Hmm.” Gabe curled his fingers around Dante’s. “So what did you and Michelle talk about? I assume your mom went to bed five minutes after we left.” By now he had enough Christmas Eve experience with Dante’s mom to know.

“Oh, you know. Normal future stepsibling-in-law stuff. Who’s going to get the bigger bedroom, that kind of thing.”

“I’m not giving up my en suite.”

“Exactly. But I’m willing to shovel the driveway if she cuts the grass.”

A yawn crept into Gabe’s voice. “Mike does the driveway.”

“Michelle doesn’t need to know that.”

They fell asleep, hands still interlaced, their faces inches apart.

11. Christmas Day

ON CHRISTMASmorning Generation X staged a coup in Dante’s kitchen.

He and Gabe had a standing competition to see who could get up earliest to sneak presents into the stockings and slip back into bed unnoticed. Dante could smell coffee wafting up from downstairs, which meant he had no chance of being this year’s stocking-filler. At least not without getting caught by someone’s parents.

It was fine—he’d arranged for Mike to deliver and set up Gabe’s Christmas present while they were all skating, so he still hadonetrick up his sleeve.

Gabe was still in bed too, so that was some consolation. Dante poked him in the chest. “Hey. Wake up. Merry Christmas, someone decided to make breakfast.”

“It’s probably fine,” Gabe said, blinking sleep-hazy blue eyes. “It wasn’t me.”

Yeah, because they’d have been awoken by the smoke alarm. Dante kissed his nose. “Come on. Get up. I’m starving.”

Breakfast had indeed been provided—ham and hash browns and eggs and toast andbuñuelos. Dante reached for one of the delicious fried dough pieces without the least bit of shame. His dad smacked at his hand with the spatula, but it was worth it.

“Merry Christmas,” Gabe said, determined to prove his manners.

“’eah,” Dante said through a mouthful of sweet, sweet dough. “Mewwy Kwissmaff.” He chewed and swallowed. “You didn’t have to cook.”

“Call it an extra Christmas present.” Dante’s mom kissed his cheek. “Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”

He wrapped her in his arms and squeezed. “Merry Christmas, Mom.”

“Oh wow,” Michelle said from behind them. “It smells amazing in here. Good morning, merry Christmas. When do we eat?”

“Right now,” Chris answered. “Who’s setting the table?”

By eleven they were at the pond. Flash and Gabe tested the thickness to make sure the ice would hold, but there wasn’t much doubt; it had been ten below for a week solid.

Dante had bundled up, but the cold stung his cheeks and nose, and icy fingers of air crept in under the hem of his coat and around his scarf. The scrimmage was taking a short intermission for thermoses of hot chocolate, but the ice was still full. Chris was holding Talia’s hand as they skated slow laps, while Gabe and Flash worked on stick drills with three of the kids. Michelle hadn’t skated since grade school and was stiff in her brand-new skates, but six-year-old Dominique Fillion gamely tugged her around the ice, shouting encouragement in French.

---