by Kris Calvert
“They’d be jealous as hell.”
I couldn’t help but smile. “I won’t tell if you won’t tell.”
“I won’t tell if you won’t tell,” he repeated with a twinkle in his eyes. “I have another surprise,” he said, reaching for a remote control on the table in front of us.
“I don’t know if my old heart can take much more, Cecil.”
“Sure it can. You’re one of the toughest girls I’ve ever known.”
A sound system awoke around the room. I recognized the first few bars of the tune right away. Bing Crosby began singing White Christmas.
“As much as I’d like to, I’m afraid I’m too old to dance, Cecil.”
“I don’t need to dance with you, Mimi.
“What do you need?” I asked with a girlish giggle.
“What do you say to a weekend of nothing but honesty where nothing leaves this lodge and everything we do or say is just between the two of us—now and forevermore.”
“I’d say, you just described a perfect scenario for one of my last Christmases,” I said, smiling from ear to ear at the familiar comment. “Shake on it?”
Cecil pointed above our heads without looking and raised one eyebrow. “Kiss.”
I looked above us, and hanging from the old chandelier was a sprig of mistletoe tied with a blue ribbon.
“You old dog, you.”
Cecil Winterbourne leaned into me for a kiss and just as I closed my eyes, I saw the snow begin to fall outside the window.
“Merry Christmas, Mimi”
“Merry Christmas, Cecil.”
Kris Calvert is a former copywriter and PR mercenary who after some coaxing, began writing novels. She loves alliteration, pearls and post-it notes. She’s married to the man of her dreams and lives in Lexington, Kentucky. She’s Momma to two grown children and is also responsible for one very needy dog. When she’s not writing, she’s baking cupcakes.
