[Anthony] Christmas Eve
The days before Christmas pass quickly. I stay mostly ensconced in my tiny kitchen and cook, making liberal use of Anthony's vegetable chopping and stirring abilities. He keeps a watchful eye on me and makes paper ornaments from colored paper that I know didn't come from the warehouse. He is surprisingly deft with the paper and hangs his ornaments from every available hook and surface.
I wake early on Christmas Eve to find Anthony hanging the last of a trio of paper garlands. I stretch carefully as I look around; my tiny loft looks a bit like a giant origami monster vomited all over it, but the effect is unexpectedly charming.
"You're a wonder, you know that?" I ask him with a sudden rush of affection that I decline to look too deeply into. Instead, I contemplate the way the scar tissue across my chest pulls, that my left arm still aches a bit, and whether I want to get up to make tea.
Anthony pauses and turns his attention back to the garland he is hanging with a thumbtack. I catch the edge of a blush, but then he steps lightly down from the chair he used as a ladder and it's as if there was no blush at all. I clamber out of bed, wrap my robe securely, and go to the kitchen to put the kettle on. As I pass, Anthony rewards me with one of his sudden, true grins. "Thanks. But I'm of course well aware of how awesome I am."
I snort, but I'm pleased at his humor. "I think it's too early to be up on Christmas Eve."
"I thought it was tomorrow we were supposed to sleep in."
I widen my eyes and regard him seriously. "I was mauled by giant, magically enhanced timber wolves." I can't hold it and I wrinkle my nose, grinning. "I'm taking every excuse I can get my hands on."
He laughs deeply from the chest, bright and genuine. "Then go back to bed, lazy thing. Tea, I can make."
The swell of affection and something else besides is almost more than I can take. I take the chipped teapot off the drainboard. "I'm up now. No use for it."
With a shrug, he moves over to the bed, sitting. Then, he lays down full length on it. "Does that mean you're making breakfast?" He stretches with arms over his head and his feet and hands overhang the bed on both ends.
I stare at him and recognize the feeling stirring in the pit of my stomach and a bit lower besides. Really, Julia? Him? Now? I open the refrigerator to pull eggs, potatoes and an onion from it. "Mauled. By timber wolves, I'll have you know," I say, taking refuge for the moment in humor.
Anthony rolls up his sleeve to show his own, still-healing lacerations without getting up. "Magically enhanced. I was there."
It's all I can do to keep from blushing and so I begin making a list of pros and cons in my head while my hands wash and dice potatoes for breakfast.
I wake early on Christmas Eve to find Anthony hanging the last of a trio of paper garlands. I stretch carefully as I look around; my tiny loft looks a bit like a giant origami monster vomited all over it, but the effect is unexpectedly charming.
"You're a wonder, you know that?" I ask him with a sudden rush of affection that I decline to look too deeply into. Instead, I contemplate the way the scar tissue across my chest pulls, that my left arm still aches a bit, and whether I want to get up to make tea.
Anthony pauses and turns his attention back to the garland he is hanging with a thumbtack. I catch the edge of a blush, but then he steps lightly down from the chair he used as a ladder and it's as if there was no blush at all. I clamber out of bed, wrap my robe securely, and go to the kitchen to put the kettle on. As I pass, Anthony rewards me with one of his sudden, true grins. "Thanks. But I'm of course well aware of how awesome I am."
I snort, but I'm pleased at his humor. "I think it's too early to be up on Christmas Eve."
"I thought it was tomorrow we were supposed to sleep in."
I widen my eyes and regard him seriously. "I was mauled by giant, magically enhanced timber wolves." I can't hold it and I wrinkle my nose, grinning. "I'm taking every excuse I can get my hands on."
He laughs deeply from the chest, bright and genuine. "Then go back to bed, lazy thing. Tea, I can make."
The swell of affection and something else besides is almost more than I can take. I take the chipped teapot off the drainboard. "I'm up now. No use for it."
With a shrug, he moves over to the bed, sitting. Then, he lays down full length on it. "Does that mean you're making breakfast?" He stretches with arms over his head and his feet and hands overhang the bed on both ends.
I stare at him and recognize the feeling stirring in the pit of my stomach and a bit lower besides. Really, Julia? Him? Now? I open the refrigerator to pull eggs, potatoes and an onion from it. "Mauled. By timber wolves, I'll have you know," I say, taking refuge for the moment in humor.
Anthony rolls up his sleeve to show his own, still-healing lacerations without getting up. "Magically enhanced. I was there."
It's all I can do to keep from blushing and so I begin making a list of pros and cons in my head while my hands wash and dice potatoes for breakfast.