Auraylia answered his knock within seconds of him arriving and smiled as he passed the tray over to her.
“I know you said you didn't want to celebrate Christmas with us, but I thought you might like the food and all that. He pointed to the cracker and present.”
“Thank you. Is this all for me?” she asked, barely able to get the sentence out. He nodded and followed her into the room. Since the day before she'd rearranged the bed slightly and laid out her spare uniforms so they wouldn't crease. The covers showed wrinkles where she must have been lying and Trell's book was open on her pillow.
As she sat back down on her bed and balanced the tray on her lap, he noticed the odd creation, pinned to a metal support girder for the floor above. He came closer and inspected it for a moment before he realised she'd used discarded gun parts to make a metal version of mistletoe.
“You made this?” he said, and sat down on the bed beside her. She nodded.
“You said it was Christmas and mum used to hang it up, so I thought I would too. It's part of a happy memory.” She shrugged.
“Do you know its tradition?”
“No?”
“Well,” Dylan stalled for time to think, wanting to phrase it right and not imply anything that might frighten her. “Traditionally if two people find themselves under mistletoe, they're meant to share a particular display of affection. A kiss in particular. Often women, or men, hold it above their heads and approach someone they've been interested in for a while, to let them know. The person being invited for a kiss, in theory, can't say no.”
“Oh, that would explain why mum and dad disappeared into the bedroom for a few hours whenever she hung it up.” She stared up at it, her tray forgotten. He laughed.
“Well, traditionally it is only a kiss.”
“So it doesn't have to lead to sleeping with someone?”
“No, it's not meant to,” he replied, wondering where she was going with her question.
“That's a relief. I've never had a kiss but I think it would be more pleasant than sex.”
Before his brain could think about what he was doing, Dylan leant over and pressed his lips to her cheek. When he pulled back he smiled.
“Merry Christmas.”
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Jess Mountifield was born in the quaint village of Woodbridge in the UK, has spent some of her childhood in the States and now resides near the beautiful Roman city of Bath. She lives with her husband, Phil, and her very dapsy cat, Pleaides. During her still relatively short life Jess has displayed an innate curiosity for learning new things and has therefore studied many subjects, from maths and the sciences, to history and drama. Jess now works full time as a writer, incorporating many of the subjects she has an interest in within her plots and characters.
website: www.jessmountifield.co.uk
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/jess.mountifield.author/
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The Kiss: An Anthology About Love and Other Close Encounters Page 41
