12 Days 'til Christmas ✓

chapter twenty-three

t w e n t y - t h r e e

*

Somehow, the morning has shifted into afternoon in the blink of an eye, the hours whiled away between breakfast - Casper cooked up a storm when my stomach gave off an irritated rumble, and we feasted on toast and bacon and sausages; fried onions and peppers and eggs – and moments stolen to make up for the days we have spent not kissing.

I think we're all caught up now, as we sit in a tangle on the sofa in front of the heater blasting away in the sitting room, his hand on the back of my neck and my hand running through his curls. He won the genetic lottery with his hair, so soft and each curl so perfect. It's after midday but I doubt we'll be eating lunch today after our ten o'clock breakfast feast, and I'm feeling pretty damn satiated right now.

"As much as I don't want to ruin the mood right now," Casper murmurs, "because I am digging the mood right now, I feel like I need a bit of preparation for tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," I echo, my brain not catching up as fast as it should when my eyes are focused on his lips.

"Christmas Day with your family," he says, almost grimacing but managing to hold it back.

"Oh, fuck."

"You didn't forget, did you?" He leans back, his arm still around me. "Oh my god, Bee. Even I remembered – I made sure not to forget that my birthday will be spent celebrating Christmas with a bunch of people I'm a bit scared to meet."

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," I mutter, not fully listening to him. "Shit, Cas, it's Christmas Eve!"

"I'm well aware."

"I haven't done any of the food shopping!"

This is bad. Between the snowstorm that has kept us inside for days on end, and the major distraction of having Casper living in my house for the past eleven days, I've managed to do sweet fuck all for Christmas lunch and now it's tomorrow. In twenty-four hours, my parents and my three sisters and my brother-in-law will descend on my house, expecting warmth and good food, and all I can offer is broken heating and – at least right now – nothing to eat. Except the nut roast and the pudding my mother said she'd bring.

"Well, it is about time we left the house," Casper says. "It's been four days. And as much as I'd love to spend the day battling the cold with you in here"—he traces patterns on the back of my neck, fingers brushing over my skin and making me tingle all over—"I have a feeling it might ruin the day. And I don't want our first birthday together to be a let-down."

It's strangely easy to forget that tomorrow's not only Christmas Day but my twenty-fourth birthday, and Casper's twenty-fifth. I spend so long building up to the festivities, the lights and the decorations and the love that come with Christmas that I don't stop to think about my day. Our day.

"We'll just go to the supermarket," Casper says, his hand dipping under the neck of my jumper to graze my shoulder. "It can't be that crazy, right? Surely everyone else is more organised." His expression turns to one of vague concern and his hand stops moving. "Right?"

I give him a pointed look. "Shopping on Christmas Eve," I say slowly. "After a big snow storm. People have been inside for days, and the shops are about to shut until the twenty-seventh. People go crazy, acting like they're stocking a war bunker and won't be able to shop again all year."

"Oh."

I can't believe I forgot. Scooping my hair off my face, I pull it into an I-have-shit-to-do ponytail and stand up, instantly missing the feel of Casper's hand on my skin. "Come on. We need to act fast if we're gonna save Christmas."