Under the Mistletoe [n.h.]

chapter 3

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"...for years to come we'll only know one thing,
That's the love that Christmas can bring."

"That's Christmas to Me" -Pentatonix

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"Wait, don't put that one there!" Niall lightly pushes me out of the way, laughing at the squeak that leaves my lips upon impact.

I cross my arms in front of my chest, rolling my eyes, "Angel, it would've looked perfect there."

I couldn't fight against Niall's insistence that we do something to decorate the tree, his face lighting up like a fireworks show the moment I caved. We'd bantered back and forth on different ideas, Pinterest helping the best she could to win him over with my ideas. But, in the end, Ni won, already running to the front desk to ask for white paper.

Which is how we ended up surrounded by paper scraps like fallen drifts. In typical Niall fashion, cutting out our paper snowflakes became a competition all on its own. He built up a pillow wall on the floor so that I "didn't steal his work," and I caught his tongue peeking out from the corner of his lips in concentration on more than one occasion. He talked up a real big game for someone who ended up with fat triangle flakes and at least five failed attempts.

"Fine, darling, you win. But mine still get to go on the tree." He pouted, leaning across the pillows to gently press his lips against my cheek.

I hang up my snowflake on an empty branch, watching as Niall picks up his last two to finish off the tree. It's simple, maybe even a little boring, but it's perfect to me. It feels like us. A little haphazard, and perfectly messy, and a secret sign of cutthroat competition...and my own victory.

"Here, and..." he mumbles, "here!"

"It looks beautiful, angel." I smile, tilting my head to take in the tree.

Niall nods in agreement, "I still think we should put you on top. But you're right. Your snowflakes look a hell of a lot better than mine."

"I know!" I poke my tongue out at him, jumping as his hand smacks against my ass.

"Watch it, smartypants."

Niall and I spend the rest of the morning holding onto each other on the couch while the tv mumbles in the background. I'm too caught up in him to care about anything else - the smooth curve of his cheek and the little patch of hair on his chest poking out the top of his hoodie. The way his thumb traces against any skin it touches and the way a faint grin dances across his face every time I kiss his hand, shoulder, nose. A smile of my own is sketched on my cheeks as I lazily dig my head into his chest, bathing in the warmth of the sun rays pouring onto me and feeling a heaviness drop down against my eyes.

"Nat, babes," Niall shakes me awake gently, "We've got a gingerbread competition to win."

It could have been twenty minutes or three hours from the time I closed my eyes, but the sun is still streaming against the side of my face, pulsing and warm. And Ni is still tracing patterns into my thigh with his thumb.

"Mmm, you look like a goddess." Kiss. "With the sun all bright on ya." Kiss.

I laugh, pushing his lips away with my hand when he goes in for another kiss. He makes a noise of protest, pecking kisses against my palm while I blink my tired eyes open, "Let's go kick some gingerbread ass."

The inn kitchen is transformed into something resembling a baking competition show,  tables shoved together to create work spaces, with a gingerbread house box in the center of each station. Just like the snowball fight, groups of parents sit in chairs spread throughout the room, while kids huddle around the tables sketching out their plans. And then there's Niall and me. The only two participating who aren't with someone under the age of 12.