by R. S. Lively
At this moment, I can't really fathom why something like that even exists, much less what it would be like to light it.
"So, it's the king because it's big? Not because of anything else? There was no tradition or legend? No deeper meaning going on here?"
Piper looks at me through narrowed eyes.
"You sure do know how to take the fun out of something," she says.
"I'm sorry," I say with a shrug." I just don't understand the need for a candle that's bigger than a grown man. And why is it red? Does that symbolize something?"
"Why would it mean something?" she asks. "It's just a big candle. That's it. No other reason, no deep meaning, no tradition. It didn't have a coronation. It's just... a silly thing."
The oddity of the conversation we're having is not lost on me. Listening to her ramble on about a scented candle is nothing short of absurd, but I'm aware I probably sound ridiculous to her as well. She tried to show me a tourist attraction she visited when she was little, and I turned it into a study on ritual and minutia.
"Let's just move on," I say. "What's next?"
Piper shrugs.
"The flagship Candle Store always took all day when I was little. I kind of figured it still would. So, it looks like we have the rest of the day open. Is there anything you want to see in particular?"
I look out the window at the bright blue summer sky.
"No," I say. "Not really."
"There's a butterfly garden not too far from here."
I slide my eyes over to her.
"A butterfly garden?" I ask. “Really?”
"Alright. No butterflies." She tilts her head to look at my face. "Is something bothering you? You look upset."
She hadn't asked me again about why I was upset when she came home from eating dinner with her stepmother, but I know she can tell I'm distracted today. Fortunately, this distraction is far less serious than before.
"I'm just feeling a little homesick," I say. "In Cambria, the Summer Festival starts today. It's always been my favorite time of the year since I was a little boy. This is the first year I haven't been able to go. Being out of the country and knowing everyone at home is celebrating while I’m not there is strange. Have you ever felt like that? Like something shouldn't happen if you aren't there to experience it? I guess that’s incredibly self-centered."
"It might be," Piper says. "But I understand. It's like if you're not there to celebrate it, or experience it, then it can't really be happening."
"Exactly," I say.
"That's how I felt my first Christmas away from home," I say. "I had been traveling and working for years and I was always able to make it back home for Christmas. Even if it was just for a few days, I was here. But that year, I had the opportunity to extend one of my trips. I was incredibly invested in that project. It meant so much to me, and we had been making unbelievable progress. I knew if I stayed there a few more weeks, we could accomplish even more."
"Was your family upset?" I ask.
"They were," she says. "But they tried to understand. I've been obsessed with doing humanitarian work my entire life. By the time I was old enough to understand that I would be able to choose my career when I grew up, I knew I wanted to help people. Starting to travel and working on all these groundbreaking projects, helped fulfill that dream. They didn't want to take it away from me or discourage me from my goals. They even offered to postpone celebrating until I was able to make it home from that trip. But I told my dad not to."
"Why?"
"Because I didn't think they should have to wait to celebrate Christmas. It's not like celebrating a birthday, or an anniversary, or some other special occasion that can easily be pushed back until it's convenient for everybody. Christmas is a season. It's an experience. My father adored Christmas. He looked forward to it the entire year, and it was all Tabitha could do to stop him from putting up decorations before Halloween. I didn't want him to miss out on that special feeling, and being a part of the whole season, just so he could wait for me."
"But you hated thinking about them celebrating without you, right?"
"I feel like a selfish brat admitting it, but yes. I was in Africa for that trip, and I remember sitting there on Christmas Eve, and it was so hot. I was sweaty and miserable and all I wanted were my fuzzy socks and a big mug of hot chocolate with peppermint. Maybe some schnapps sneaked in. I knew my father and Tabitha were at home hanging up their stockings, and baking cookies. My father was one of those men who should have had a lot of kids. He only got me, though. When I grew up, he just didn't. He stayed the father of a young child, even though I wasn't anymore. Stockings still hung by the chimney, Tabitha baked cookies and set out a plate of them before bed on the 24th. One of my strongest memories of my father is him sitting in his favorite recliner by the Christmas tree, munching away at the cookies he set out for Santa the night before."
I listen to Piper talk, sharing her memories with me in a way she hasn't before. It seems like she's beginning to open up to me, and I realize I want more of it. I want more of her.
"We don't do that in Cambria," I tell her.
She looks at me strangely.
"Do what?" she asks.
"We don't set out cookies for Santa," I say. "I've watched enough Christmas movies set in America to know families here put out cookies and milk for Santa for when he visits, but we don't do that at home, so I've never done it."
"You've never set out cookies and milk for Santa?" she asks, sounding genuinely distressed at the idea.
I shake my head.
"No," I say. "We have other Christmas traditions. The most important traditions, at least to me, take place during the Summer Festival. Just like your father and Christmas, people start preparing for the Summer Festival weeks ahead of time. It's all anyone talks about, and people go to huge lengths to plan the celebrations. Schools are on vacation the entire week-long Festival, and most businesses take several days off, or at least have shortened holiday hours."
"Christian, if you love this holiday so much, why did you leave Cambria for an extended trip, knowing you'd miss out on it? If it's so important to you, why did you come here now? Why didn't you go home so you can be there?"
It's a question I don't know how to answer. At least not truthfully. I can't tell her who I really am, or what's waiting for me back in my country. Meeting Piper was an unexpected bright spot in a dark and confusing time, in the middle of a trip that was rapidly spiraling out of control. I can't risk losing that bright light. I don't have long left in the States, and I'm not willing to give up any of my time with her trying to explain myself, my family, or my future to her. Piper is my right now. She’s all that matters.
"To be completely honest with you," I say, "I didn't really think about it. I know that sounds ridiculous, but there was just so much going on, I didn't think to look ahead or plan. I knew I needed some time away from it all, but it didn't occur to me I'd be gone during the festival."
"I'm sorry you're missing it," she says. "I can tell how much it means to you."
"It's alright," I say. "It was my choice to come here. I'm so glad I did."
"So am I," she says quietly.
She's silent for most of the rest of the drive back to her house, and I wonder what she's thinking about. When we get there, though, Piper looks at me with a wide, shining smile.
"Tell me about the festival," she says.
"I did," I say. "It's the Summer Festival, it lasts a week…"
"No," she says, shaking her head. "Tell me about what you do. Why do you love it so much? What are your favorite memories of it?"
"Why?" I ask.
I'm suddenly extremely protective of my memories of home, and this favorite holiday.
"Because I want to be able to celebrate it with you. Right here."
"In Massachusetts?" I asked.
She laughs and nods in agreement.
"In Westover, Massachusetts," she confirms. "I know it won't be exactly like it is in Cambria, but just
think of it like if I was over there for Christmas, and wanted to put out cookies for Santa. It might not seem exactly right, or the same as at home, but it would matter to me. Tell me how I can help you celebrate here."
My chest swells unexpectedly, and I push down the emotions I feel growing there.
"One of the central parts of the festival is the bonfires," I tell her. "Everyone gets together in the middle of villages, or neighborhoods, or pretty much anywhere they can gather, and set huge bonfires. In Cambrian tradition, they're meant to take away the final chill of the winter, wake up the forest, and ward off the naughty little magical creatures who might take advantage of people still moving slowly from the cold weather."
"Naughty magical creatures?" Piper asks.
I laugh, nodding.
"Yes," I say. "Tiny magical creatures who can be very helpful and kind, but are also mischievous, and can be downright spiteful if provoked."
"So, kind of like elves? Only I've never heard of one of Santa's elves being spiteful. I can see it happening, though. That is a fucking high-stress job."
"Exactly," I say. "That's the thing, whenever people start talking about their traditions, it initially sounds bizarre to other people. In the end, though, there are so many similarities between cultures. We’re more alike than we think.”
"Of course," she says. "It's how people explained what they couldn’t understand a long time ago. If something happened, good or bad, and they couldn’t find a logical explanation for it, they would just say it was magic."
"So much of that magic has disappeared," I say. "People don't follow their traditions anymore. They’ve forgotten them."
"But not you?" she asks.
Even though she doesn’t realize it, that’s a heavily loaded question. Piper has tapped into something about me, but she doesn't know and could never understand. Even when I’m being forced to sacrifice so much for the good of the country, my loyalty to Cambria never waivers. Particular traditions are still difficult for me to swallow, however. Especially the one that demands I must be married before my father dies, leaving me the throne.
I don't want to think about that now. I can't think about that now. I just want to lose myself deeper in Piper.
"Of course, not," I answer her question. "I always make sure to go to a few bonfires, eat the traditional foods, and leave out a few crumbs."
"For the elves?" she asks.
I chuckle. "Yes, but it’s more than that. My favorite bonfires are the ones on the beach. It's so beautiful how the fire reflects off the water. It's an incredible sight. As we eat, we toss bits of our pastries and crackers into the waves, just in case any of the creatures live in the sea."
"You don't know where they live?" she asks.
"They're magical," I say by way of explanation. "They can do any number of things."
Talking about this side of my home warms my heart. It's been many, many years since I actually believed that tiny little creatures would come eat the crumbs during the summer festival. Yet, talking about it like this makes it almost feel real again. Sharing this with Piper reminds me of so many happy festivals when I was younger.
"What kind of food do you eat?" she asks. "What kind of pastries and crackers?"
"Most of the pastries have berries in them," I say. "Children will go out into the fields and collect wild berries to bring back to bake into fluffy, delicious pastries. Usually, the town will bake for days leading up to the festival. They want to make sure there is enough for the whole week, so they don't have to do any baking during the festival itself. It's a time of celebration and rest for every citizen. That's why it takes so much time and effort to prepare for."
"That sounds amazing," Piper says. "Is it different there?"
"Different?" I asked. "Oh, from here? Yeah. It's different. I love both places, though. One is my home, the other is what I always thought life should look like. Poppy seeds too."
"Poppy seeds?" Piper asks.
"In the crackers," I explain. "You asked about the pastries and the crackers. The pastries have berries in them, and the crackers have poppy seeds."
"I think I can make this work," she says. "It might not be exactly right, but I know a beach near here that allows bonfires. Let's try to make some of the pastry and crackers."
"You don't have to do all that," I tell her. "It's just a festival. It’s silly. I'll get over it."
"But you don’t have to just get over it. They might be there celebrating without you, but that doesn't stop you from having a festival of your own. At least, it shouldn't."
Piper
Later that night, I’m standing close to the edge of a raging bonfire, watching its orange glow reflect on the ocean waves, just as Christian described earlier. I've been to a few bonfires on the beach, but I've never paid much attention to the scenery before. Now, however, I feel mesmerized by it. The light from the flames dancing on the dark edges of the water that rush up onto the sand, only to slide back, is almost hypnotic. After a while, I manage to tear my eyes away from the water, and turn to face Christian. He's nibbling at a strawberry toaster pastry in his hand.
"I'm sorry it's not as good as a homemade pastry," I say. "I really did try."
"I know you did," Christian says. "You gave it a truly valiant effort."
"I think it has to do with the children collecting the berries."
"So, if you had a bunch of children running around collecting berries for you, you would have been able to bake a decent pastry?" he asks.
"Yes," I say. "And because you have no other frame of reference, and no other opportunity to test me, I'm going to stick with it."
Christian laughs and takes another bite. Earlier I had attempted to spear one of them onto a marshmallow stick and hold it in the flames, thinking it would have the same warm, toasty flavor they get when they're toasted at home. It turns out, the only way to really get that flavor is with an actual toaster, because that one tasted of nothing but charcoal and fire.
"Come here," Christian says, holding his hands out to me. I take them, and he pulls me in for a deep kiss. We walk across the sand to the blanket he brought with us and had spread across the beach earlier. He told me that the summer festival bonfires in Cambria often featured hundreds, even thousands, of people who came out to celebrate together. This particular bonfire is just for us, however, and I find myself happier about that every passing minute. He kisses me again, and when Christian’s mouth leaves mine, I can see the desire burning in his eyes, and I know exactly what we should do with our solitude.
I lay down on the blanket and look up at Christian as he removes his shirt and tosses it aside. His chiseled abs glisten in the moonlight and I crave his touch and taste. I can’t wait to revel in his body. He looks down at me and I can tell his thoughts are the same as mine. I reach for the button of the shorts I am wearing but his hand stops me.
I look up at him and see him pulling at his own shorts. Before I can blink, they are pooled on the ground below him. His cock stands, erect and hard, waiting for my touch. I take in the beauty of him, his full form in front of me, the shadows creating little pockets of intrigue on his body that I want to explore, touch and taste. He walks closer to me and I sit up on my elbows. He kneels to one side and I know exactly what he is asking for, and am happy to oblige. I open my mouth to accept him and he thrusts forward.
I take as much of him into my mouth as I can, my lips clasping on his stiff, throbbing cock with enthusiasm. I can feel his hand on the back of my head, but instead of guiding me, he’s holding my hair back, allowing him to clearly see my face as I pleasure him. I revel in the attention, knowing how much he loves watching me worship him with my tongue. My lips slide across his delicate veins while I swirl my tongue around the head. Christian groans with pleasure above me. I look up and can see his piercing dark eyes silently demanding that I continue. My hand reaches up to stroke him as I move my lips further down his shaft, licking and sucking underneath. His moans grow louder, enough that I am sure we wo
uld be caught if anyone was even remotely near us. Christian doesn't seem to care at all, and moans louder. The sound sends shivers through me, and I can feel myself grow even wetter with desire.
Christian takes one of my hands and slowly pulls me into a standing position. I use the opportunity to lick his body as I stand, only stopping when his hands pull my face to his and we melt into a passionate kiss. Our tongues dance together as Christian reaches behind me to undo my top. I feel the strings fall loose and he reaches up and yanks it off, tossing it to the blanket on the ground. His mouth doesn't leave mine as his hands reach for my breasts. He leaves our kiss and drops to his knees before me. He takes one breast into his mouth and his tongue swirls around my nipple.
He moves his attention to the other breast now and his hand dips down my waist, heading for the warmth of my core. I reach for his hair and grab a handful of it. Christian continues to massage my nipple with his tongue, making them as tight as possible, as he drops my shorts and yanks on the strings of my bikini bottom. They open and the cool night air caresses the heat, but only for a moment. Christian begins moving his lips from my breast to my stomach as his hand traces my inner thigh. He pulls my leg up so that it rests on his shoulders and I can feel him move quickly, not hesitating for even a second, as he hungrily takes my pussy in his mouth.
I cry out in both surprise and pleasure as his tongue rolls through my slick folds and slides into me briefly before finding its way to my now aching clit. One hand grips my ass, forcing me into place while the other moves up my thigh. I feel his finger penetrate my tight slit and his tongue increases its speed at the same time. I marvel at how the feelings of pleasure are intensified as he holds me in place, one leg over his shoulder. I can’t move, not even if I wanted to. Not that I have any desire to do so. I can feel my orgasm coming. I tried to cover my mouth with my free hand, but Christian reached up and pulled it down before fucking me with his fingers once more. He wanted to hear me.
Knowing that he wants to hear me come sends me crashing into my orgasm, unable to control myself. I scream loudly, a whimpering pleasured sound that crashes and echoes in the waves. I shake uncontrollably but Christian holds himself in place, allowing me to ride the feeling before removing his mouth and standing. He bends down and pulls a foil wrapper from his shorts and tears it open. He has barely reached down with the condom before he pulls my leg back up to wrap around his waist. I lean back against the tallest rock and suddenly he is inside of me.
