For lack of a better way to put it, Paul has never really done Christmas. Spirits are generally high in California, yes, but the fact that there's no snow tends to put a damper on things. To his credit, however, he has gone holiday shopping.
(Also to his credit, he's dressed very nicely today - black slacks, light blue button-down shirt, black
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Comments 15
The scarf makes her smile--she'd put it on now if she weren't such a disaster--and so do the books, although the note turns her face a pretty shade of pink. She takes one look at her clothes and bolts for the stairs.
Fifteen minutes later, she comes back down a bit more sedately. Her hair is pulled into an almost orderly ponytail over one shoulder (though it's still a little damp). She's traded in her play clothes for a green dress and silver shoes. (She isn't sure where either item came from; they were just in her closet as if they always had been. But given that the dress is modest enough for her to feel comfortable and her shoes are low enough that she doesn't ( ... )
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“Merry Christmas.”
Beat.
“You look - really nice.”
And acting before an awkward silence that was lurking nearby is able to do its job, he clears his throat, stands up, nodding at the front door.
“Ready to go?”
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Artemis resolves not to look down at her shoes, even if they are sparkly.
"Thanks."
Said resolve doesn't stop her from blushing, though.
"Just show me the way," she says, slipping her jacket on.
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A quick grin, and he ushers her to the door.
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"Was there actually confusion?" he drawls.
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He just went there.
-- He means it all in affection/jest/something, we assure you.
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"Ouch. I'm so wounded," he deadpans. "Whatever will I do."
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