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It always catches her off guard, how quickly the seasons change. Perhaps it’s a product of her hectic, unscheduled life, but she always feels like she’s never prepared for when the wind starts biting at her neck, and the frost settles in. She’s often caught woefully underdressed, having to resort to pulling up the lapels on her blazer to try and ward off the chill.
She’s meeting Red in the park this morning, he has yet to give them the name of a new blacklister to hunt down, so when he calls with the invitation for an early morning stroll, she rushes to meet him.
He spots her through the crowd immediately. She’s flushed, wearing not nearly enough clothing for the chilly morning air. Before she has reached him, he’s already unwinding the cashmere scarf from around his neck.
“Elizabeth,” he says simply, wasting no time in wrapping the scarf around her neck, pulling her in close. “You’ll catch your death,” as he plucks the matching beanie from his head and gently pulls it over her ears.
There’s nothing but stunned silence from her through the entire, bizarre exchange. His proximity and his scratchy voice rendering her incapable of thought or movement. His soft smile and the hands on her cheeks brings her back to herself.
“Thank you, Red. You didn’t have to.”
But he scoffs and hands her a hot chocolate from the tray housing two identical cups, which had been sitting on the bench.
-
It turns out he had not wanted to give them a new blacklister, artfully dodging her inquiry when she asked about it. Instead he wanted to catch up, telling her that it has been ages since they’ve spoken.
He takes the opportunity to invite her for dinner at the end of the week, telling her that he always cooks too much, and Dembe would like to have her over as well. It’s a thinly veiled excuse, but she accepts it, as well as the invitation.
It is immediately clear which apartment door belongs to him from the cheery holiday music and the smells wafting from within. A brightly coloured and intricately woven wreath hangs on the door.
Dembe answers with a grin, giving her arm a squeeze as she passes him by. She unwinds a familiar scarf from around her neck and hangs it on the coat stand, followed by her puffy jacket.
“It smells delightful in here, have you been baking, Dembe?” She asks.
He merely laughs and points her in the direction of the kitchen, where glimpses of red and white can be seen moving about.
“Lizzy!” he greets cheerily as she comes into view, her face split in the most delightfully amused grin.
“I put out for Santa, Red? Really?” she laughs, referring to his bright red apron – a cartoon gingerbread man in a provocative pose sitting above the curly words.
He looks down at himself and laughs along with her. “It was a gift,” he says in defence and she does not believe him for a second. He hugs her briefly, so glad that she has made it. She hugs him back, holding on for a bit longer than is proper, perhaps, but she has missed him, too.
A timer dings and he’s forced to break the embrace. He crouches in front of the oven and hefts out a pan with gingerbread cookies neatly arranged on it a second later. “Just finishing up with dessert, sweetheart. Care for a drink?”
-
Dinner is marvellous, but what else did she expect. Conversation flows freely, Dembe laughs more than she’s ever seen him do, and Red has countless Christmas themed stories that he shares, hands waving about, head titling this way and that. Liz hasn’t been this happy in months.
After the dishes have been washed and packed away, Dembe retires to his room and Red beckons her to join him on the couch in front of the fireplace.
They talk about silly things and things that do not matter but she doesn’t mind. She doesn’t mind when her leg comes to rest against his and he doesn’t flinch away, pressing against her instead. She doesn’t mind when, during another story, her head comes to rest on his shoulder. She sleepily tells him that she doesn’t want to go back out into the cold. He simply hums low in his throat and pulls the throw from the back of the couch to cover her. She doesn’t mind.
-
It’s late in the afternoon when she manages to sneak into his apartment. It’s quiet, boding well for her quest to drop off his gift and get back home without him noticing. She rounds the recliner, making a beeline for the sparking Christmas tree when she spots him.
He’s asleep on the very same recliner, Norman the cat having made himself comfortable on his lap. She can’t help but stare. He’s never this vulnerable in front of her. No snide words or stories to derail a conversation, no tight-lipped smiles or invisible walls. Just him, head lolled to one side, a cat in his lap, and sock feet with little candy canes on them, propped on an ottoman.
The fear of being discovered gazing lovingly at him spurs her into motion, and the neatly wrapped (by the volunteers at the mall) package is silently placed under the tree.
She steals another longing glance at him, his eyelashes so pale against his skin, before making a hasty exit.
His eyes open as the door closes, and he wonders what she thought as she looked at him.
-
“Lizzy,” he starts softly, their half empty glasses of mulled wine resting between them on her kitchen counter. “I know how hard it must be for you, celebrating the holidays on your own for the first time. But I want you to know that you are not alone,” he clears his throat, about to go on when she interrupts him.
“I could never be alone with you in my life, Red. I know that,” her hand settles over his, and he clasps it without hesitation.
-
He opens the door with eyes twinkling, she’s ten minutes late after assuring him that she would be on time. He’s about to comment when he notices her scarf, or rather, his scarf. His smile widens and he lets her in, taking her coat and watching intently as she winds the scarf from around her neck. It was one of his favourites, but at least he does not have to worry about her being cold anymore.
It’s just them together for Christmas eve. Dembe had left a few days before to spend the yuletide with his family.
“Please tell me you made those sweet potatoes again, Red. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it,” she gushes.
He assures her that he has, laughing at her enthusiasm.
Soft jazz music croons from the speakers, snow falls steadily outside, the apartment smells amazing, and Red is smiling at her. She feels home. She never wants this feeling to go away.
She can hardly contain herself once they’re done with dinner, pulling him by the hand to the Christmas tree and bending down to retrieve his gift.
“I snuck in the other day to put this here, but I can’t wait anymore.” She hands the gift to him, “Merry Christmas Red.”
He carefully peels back the tape, not knowing what to expect, but catching her eye to let her know he appreciates it.
He reveals a plain white box, another piece of tape holding the lid in place. His heart is racing as he opens it. Liz is watching him with a steady gaze.
Inside he finds a tiny, hand carved, wooden record player. He has to swallow the lump in his throat.
“I had it made,” she explains softly. “You told me your father had one like this, remember?”
He does remember, but that must have been months ago, during a story about something entirely different.
When he doesn’t respond right away, she takes it from his hands and shows him the lever on the side. “It’s also a music box, see?” She turns the tiny metal rod, a tinkling song filling the otherwise silent air.
He nods, overwhelmed, by his love for her, by her thoughtfulness, by the tinny song which reminds him of the only time his father ever spent time with him. He takes the box back only to place it on the coffee table, and steps into her embrace.
“Elizabeth,” he starts, “I don’t know what to say. You surprise me constantly. Thank you, thank you.”
She squeezes him back tightly, hiding her face in his shoulder – she never expected a reaction like this. “You’re welcome, Red,” she eventually manages to say. “You’re so welcome.”
-
He’s leading her in a dance around the living room. The tension from earlier having been broken by Norman entering the living room and pawing at Liz’s jeans. There’s not much space but they make it work. He hums along to the tune. She’s in love with him.
He speaks softly and asks her if she would like to stay the night. “Dembe’s room is available,” He adds, not wanting her to think he has an ulterior motive.
She pulls away from him, stopping their progression. Her head tilts as she regards him.
She does not know when or how this happened, her loving him. It caught her entirely off guard – she woke up one day and it was true, and fundamental to her every action from then on out. She takes a chance.
“I don’t think Dembe’s room will be necessary,” she says.
“Of course, Lizzy, I’ll take you home whenever you’re ready,” he replies, a soft smile playing over his lips.
“No Red,” she says with a shake of her head, her arms wrapping around his back once again.
She tips her head up and kisses him with all the longing and feelings of home he stirs in her that she can muster. The soft noises he makes could sustain her for a lifetime. He’s holding her so close she never wants to move.
Eventually he pulls away, with difficulty, and looks into her shining eyes. “Oh,” he says, catching her meaning from earlier, about Dembe’s room.
She does not wait for his brain to catch up with the rest of him and cups the back of his head to pull him into another kiss, pushing him down the hall to his room. She does not stop kissing him for the rest of the night.