Page 97 of Shut Up and Jingle Me
We settle into easy conversation about some of their past Christmas’s, and it’s easy to feel like I belong here.
At some point, Jules pulls out her phone and snaps a picture of us. “Evidence,” she says, smirking. “For next year’s card.”
Eli groans. “Jules?—”
“Too late,” she says, already typing. “It’s going in the family group chat.”
I take a sip of coffee to hide my laugh. “You’re gonna haunt the internet in plaid, Starling.”
He elbows me. “If I’m going down, you’re coming with me.”
I glance over at him—at the messy hair, the soft grin, the way his parents look at us like it’s the most normal thing in the world—and I know I don’t mind one bit.
He catches me staring and nudges me with his knee. “What?”
“Nothing,” I say quietly. “Just... this is good.”
His expression softens. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “It really is.”
Jules groans into her coffee. “You two realize you’re nauseating before nine a.m., right?”
Eli laughs, looping an arm around my shoulders. “That’s what Christmas is for.”
And somehow, I can’t argue with that.
After breakfast, the house settles into that easy hum of Christmas morning—carols from the radio, the smell of cinnamon rolls still hanging in the air, wrapped presents piled like snowdrifts around the tree.
Eli tugs me down onto the couch beside him. His parents and Jules are chatting across the room, but he’s practically buzzing beside me, that restless kind of excitement that means he’s planning something.
“Okay,” he says, leaning forward to grab a small, square box from under the tree. “Your first.”
“Starling,” I warn, already smiling. “You said we weren’t doing gifts.”
“This is small, not really anything,” he insists. “Just—open it.”
I tear back the paper, expecting something ridiculous or sentimental—or both—and find a simple wooden frame inside. Behind the glass is a photo of us. It’s from the Christmas market.
We’re standing close together, heads tilted toward each other, mid-laugh, with the glow of the market behind us. His mom must’ve taken it when we weren’t paying attention. There’ssomething so unposed about it—just real. Easy. The way it’s been lately.
Eli shifts beside me, suddenly quiet. “Mom took it that night,” he says. “I didn’t even realize she had until the next morning. When she showed me, it just…felt right. Like us. So I had it printed and framed for you. I know you don’t have sentimental things in your room, and if you don’t like it?—”
My chest tightens. I run my thumb along the corner of the frame, the wood smooth and warm under my hand. “It’s perfect,” I say, meaning it. “You didn’t even have to wrap it. Just this is enough.”
He smiles, relieved, and I lean over to press a soft kiss to his lips, lingering for a moment before pulling back. “Now your turn.”
“My turn? I thought we said no gifts, Calder.” His eyebrows lift into his hairline.
“And we both know you’re Christmas cheer in human form. There was no way I was coming to Christmas at your house and not giving you something.”
I lean forward and pull out the small box Iattemptedto wrap. I’m not great at it, but the candy-cane paper doesn’t look terrible. As I hand it to him, nerves tighten in my chest. I let out a slow breath and place the box in the palm of his hand.
“Open it.”
He studies the box like it might bite him, then starts peeling back the tape with careful fingers. The paper comes off in slow curls until the small black box underneath shows through.
“Max…” he says quietly, glancing up at me.
“Just open it, Eli.”
