Mistletoe

It was a classic “accidental meeting under the mistletoe” situation. Jamie and Susie had been friends since they were children, trading red crayons for blue in the first grade, and somehow, through the awkward years of middle and high school, their friendship had endured.

And here they were, young adults now, newly graduated from college and back in their tiny hometown, accidentally standing in the same corner of a too crowded party, underneath a sprig of plastic mistletoe.

Jamie looked at Susie, a warm sparkle in his eyes to match the Christmas lights that bedecked the room. “Hi,” he said softly, taking Susie’s hand in his.

“Hi,” Susie replied, biting her red-glossed lip and leaning into his ugly sweater adorned chest.

“Shall we?” Jamie asked.

“We shall.” And Susie stood on her tiptoes to meet his lips under the mistletoe, remembering briefly all those years when he was shorter than her.

It was a sweet, brief kiss at first, and then as he started to pull away, she tugged at his hand and drew him back down to her, opening her lips for his tongue to slip in as he put his other arm around her and pulled her tight against his chest.

He tasted like Christmas itself, like the memory of the past and the possibilities of the future.