12 Days 'til Christmas ✓

chapter three

"Are you seriously going to reject my very generous offer just to avoid, you know, liking Christmas?"

"No. That's not what I was going to say." He scratches his neck, his eyes drifting from me back to the tree. "I was going to say that considering my choice is between here or the street, or some overpriced hotel that will bankrupt me in a week, I'm very grateful to you. And it would be really nice to stay."

"Oh. Well, that's great." I give him my softest smile. "I know we don't have a particularly traditional friendship, but maybe this just an untraditional way to start."

"What d'you mean?" He tilts his head, a sweet look of innocent confusion on his face. It suits him a lot better than his grinchiness or tears. "We're friends, aren't we?"

"Well, yeah, of course, but this isn't, like, a normal friendship." I'm sticking my foot in it, I'm sure. Shut up, Beth. Learn when to stop talking. I try to cut myself off, but I can't stop there. "You know what I mean. It's kind of a platonic situationship."

He laughs and says, "I've got no idea what you're talking about, Nazareth. But here I am not realising there are apparently multiple degrees of friendship."

Am I overcomplicating it? Is this yet another example of my brain taking a simple situation and overthinking it until it hardly resembles what it once was? I genuinely can't tell.

"For what it's worth," Casper continues, "I consider you to be a friend. Aside from the Java Tea crew, and you-know-who, I see you more than anyone else. I wouldn't have come here if I didn't think we were friends. So if you're worried that I don't think we're friends, you can stop."

Part of me wants to try to explain myself further; part of me knows I'll only dig a deep and weird hole. A short battle rages before I plump for the second, for the sake of ease, and remind myself that yes, I do have a tendency to overcomplicate. "That's good to know. I guess we're both on the same page now," I say.

He gives me a wry smile. "I didn't realise we weren't before."

"Well, if anything, this is a good opportunity for us to get to know each other better," I say, "and for you to come to terms with the fact that if I'm in the house and it's cold outside, I'm probably wearing a onesie."

"I gathered." He laughs.

I head into the kitchen to put the kettle on and he follows me, perching on one of four chairs at my table as I take out a couple of mugs and find coffee and milk.

"I don't have anything fancy, I'm afraid." I hold up the pot to show him. "Basic coffee only, unfortunately, none of this fancy schmancy freshly ground stuff that I'm hopelessly addicted to. Or tea. I have a lot of tea."

Casper eyes the off-brand instant coffee as though it might infect him. Something tells me he's a coffee snob, which I am most definitely not: I can't tell the difference between any kind of coffee, no matter how much I love it or how much time Casper and Julio have spent trying to explain the differences between their various blends. My blind taste test results vary wildly, no consistency to my palate, so it has never made sense to splash out unless I'm in a cafe.

"What tea d'you have?" he asks, once he's deemed the coffee unworthy of his attention.

"Whatever you want pretty much." I cross the kitchen to a miniature chest of drawers beside the sink, each one holding a different flavour of teabag. "Okay, I've got builder's; chai; Earl Grey; Lady Grey; Masala chai; peppermint; hibiscus; ginger ... um, probably some chamomile somewhere."

When I hear nothing, I turn around to see a shocked Casper staring at me, his eyebrows raised. "Wait. Are you telling me that, after all these years, you're the kind of person who has shitty coffee and a thousand types of tea? You're a tea person?"