Susan Wiggs - Candlelight Christmas

That was all it took. He kissed her then—at last—warm chocolate and heat from the fire. When he touched his mouth to hers, it felt wonderful—fresh and exhilarating, filling her with the taste of something new, something that might be hope.

“I like kissing you,” he said, lifting his mouth from hers. “I like it a lot.”

“Then you should do it some more.”

There was a part of her—okay, all of her—that wanted to peel all his clothes off and go at it all night long. The rush of desire was powerful and unexpected. She felt a huge sense of relief, because she hadn’t felt that burning hot need in so long she had started to worry that it might be gone. A thing of the past. But in Logan’s arms, it was alive and well.

She was alive and well. She’d thought she was dead inside, but here was proof that passion could come back to life in the blink of an eye, in the time it took to light a Christmas tree, in the time it took to fall into a well of snow. Thank God, she thought. Thank God.

He pulled back again and gazed down at her. “That was nice,” he said softly. “You are nice.”

She sighed and stretched, feeling amazed and excited, and surprisingly comfortable with him. “Thank you for saving my Christmas.”

“We’ve got a week to go. Still plenty of time to ruin it. But I’m not planning on that.”

“Okay. I trust you.”

He leaned in for another kiss. And it was the softest, sweetest kiss imaginable, the kind of kiss that set her on fire. She wanted more, deeper; she put a hand on his chest and was gratified to feel his heart racing even faster than hers. This thing that had initially seemed so impossible now felt exactly right.

She curled her hand into a fist and felt him tighten his arms around her. She wanted the kiss to go on forever, to lead to something more—

“Dad.” Charlie’s voice shattered the moment.

Darcy and Logan broke apart like a pair of guilty teenagers, leaving a void in the middle of the sofa.

“Hey,” said Logan, “what are you doing up?”

“I can’t sleep.” Charlie looked straight at Darcy. “I have jet lag. It’s an hour earlier in Oklahoma.”

She knew that look. It was the look of a kid who did not want to share his parent, not with anyone.

“Your dad has the perfect remedy,” she said, getting up. “Hot chocolate. Guaranteed to make you sleepy.”

“Really?”

She yawned elaborately. “It made me sleepy. I’m heading off to bed right now, as a matter of fact.” She shared a look with Logan. He was all silent apology and frustrated desire. “See you guys in the morning,” she said.

As she was going up the stairs to her room, she heard Logan say, “Dude.”

“It’s not my fault I can’t sleep, Dad.”

“I mean, dude. Really?”

Everyone has a favorite hot chocolate recipe. But this one is the best. It has a secret ingredient. No, it’s not cinnamon or cayenne pepper or anything weird. It’s just cornstarch. Don’t judge.

1½ cups half-and-half

1½ teaspoons cornstarch

Sugar to taste

3 ounces fine-quality dark chocolate, chopped or grated

A shot of peppermint schnapps or espresso (optional)

In a bowl, combine a bit of the half-and-half with the cornstarch, whisking until smooth. Place the remaining half-and-half in a small saucepan over medium heat. Bring to a simmer; don’t let it boil. When the half-and-half begins to bubble around the edges, whisk in the sugar. Whisk in the cornstarch mixture until the half-and-half thickens slightly, usually less than a minute. Remove from the heat and quickly whisk in the chocolate until very smooth. Pour into two cups. Add a shot of schnapps or espresso, if desired.

[Source: Adapted from Italian Food Forever (website)]

Charlie woke up first, just as it was getting light outside. He lay quietly in his bunk and took stock of his roommates. There were André and Angelica, spending Christmas here because their mom was away. Then there were his girl cousins, Bernie and Nan, in a bunk they’d already decorated with sparkly beads and a few ornaments.

Fisher and Goose, the twins, were in the double lower bunk under Charlie. Peering over the edge of his bed, Charlie saw that they lay in a tangled heap, as if they’d fought each other and both lost.

It was fun to wake up in a roomful of kids, like being back at camp. At the base in Oklahoma, Charlie had his own room. His mom said he’d have his own room in Japan, too, but she warned that it was going to be kind of small—everything in Japan was smaller—with barely enough space for one kid, let alone seven.

He knew both his mom and his dad would say how lucky he was to have the chance to live in two such different places. Most kids had the same house, same room, same neighborhood all the time. So living in two completely different places was lucky.

Of course, deep down inside, Charlie knew that was something parents said to their kids to help them get over Divorce.

And even deeper down inside, Charlie knew that lucky really meant he didn’t get any choice in the matter, so he might as well get used to it.

It meant waking up in the morning and missing his mom, and even his little sister, and knowing they were a zillion miles away. And it meant feeling the same way about his dad when he was with his mom. And it meant knowing things were never going to change, because this was his life whether he liked it or not.

But he felt even more sorry for André and Angelica. Their mom was away, and they had no family at all for Christmas. It must feel awful.

This morning, though, it was not so hard to feel a bubble of happiness about pretty much everything. He could look out the window and see nothing but deep snow and deep woods, the perfect picture for Christmas. And he could look across the room and see his best friend, André, just waking up and blinking in the snow-bright light.

“Psst,” whispered Charlie. “Hey.”

“Hey,” said André, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. His hair looked like a curly mop. André called it nappy hair and said it was on account of him being mixed race. Not biracial like Charlie’s aunt Sonnet, but really mixed. He had a grandmother from French Haiti and a grandfather from Mexico, and his other grandma was black. He said he didn’t know anything about his other grandpa.

All André had ever said about his dad was that he was white. And mean.

“What’s that smell?” André inhaled, his eyes no longer sleepy.

Charlie inhaled, too. Coffee and bacon and something sweet. “That,” he said, “is the smell of good news for us. It’s the smell of epic breakfast.”

“Yeah? What’s an epic breakfast?”

“Every kind of good food in the whole world. My dad likes to make epic breakfast before a ski day. Let’s go down and I’ll show you.”

They were both wearing their ninja pajamas, so they fell into their roles as easily as donning their cloaks of invisibility. They sneaked out of their bunks, moving as stealthily as ninja warriors on a mission. The other kids didn’t stir, for André and Charlie were as silent as the wind itself. Out the door and down the hall they went, passing the closed doors of the other guestrooms.

Charlie was still getting used to his dad’s new place on the mountain. It was definitely the biggest house they had ever lived in, even bigger than his grandparents’ place in Florida or their house in Montauk on Long Island. This house, his dad had explained, had been built as the resort’s first guest lodge, but it was converted into a house when the bigger hotel had been built.

André motioned for Charlie to crouch down to maintain their stealthy approach. Christmas carols were playing on the radio, and Dad was singing along. Peeking around the corner, Charlie spotted Aunt India and her friend Darcy. Although judging by last night, Darcy was turning into Dad’s friend. As in his girlfriend.

His dad had had lots of girlfriends since the divorce. There was Daphne, who had been cool, with pink hair and tattoos, but she and Dad didn’t work out because she declared that she was Never Having Kids. Then there was Karma, who taught yoga and was a vegan and had to leave the house whenever Dad cooked bacon. Charlie had liked Tina, who was fun and goofy but she had two bratty daughters who were mean to Charlie behind their mom’s back.

After that, Dad got busy with other stuff, like moving up to the mountain and taking over the ski area, and there was no more dating. That was probably about to change. Charlie wasn’t sure how he felt about that, but like everything else in the grown-up world, his opinion didn’t count.

He and André slithered closer. The smell of bacon lured them down the hallway. “Deck the Halls” came on the radio and all three of them—his dad, India and Darcy—sang along.

Charlie spotted the target—a tray of bacon just off the grill, sitting on a platter lined with paper towels—and they belly-crawled toward it.

“‘Don we now our gay apparel,’” sang the radio.

“I love that line,” said Darcy.

“But what’s gay apparel, anyway?” asked Aunt India.

“I think,” said Dad, “it looks like something like this.” And without warning, a large hand swooped down, grabbing Charlie around the waist and hoisting him to his feet.

Charlie yelled and started laughing. “We were trying to sneak up on you,” he said.

“Because we’re starving,” added André.

“Then we’d better feed you warriors,” said Dad.

They climbed up on a pair of bar stools at the counter and regarded the feast. “See what I mean?” Charlie murmured to André. “Epic.”

In addition to the bacon, there was a big dish of berries and a tray of eggnog pancakes, which Dad only made at Christmastime. The maple syrup was warm and served in a pitcher, and there were big glasses of cold milk to drink. There was cereal, fruit, eggs and potatoes, a tray of pastries and bright red berry juice. Charlie was in heaven.

“He said your breakfast is epic,” said Darcy.

“He’s right,” said Dad. “Try this.” He fed her a bite of eggnog pancake, dipped in syrup.

She made a funny face, eyes crossed, hand over heart. “It’s like I’ve seen the face of God,” she said.

Darcy was funny. She seemed nice. If she was going to end up being Dad’s girlfriend, Charlie figured he was okay with that. Of course if they stayed together, she would become the stepmonster. His friends who had stepmoms called them stepmonsters. It was a risk.

At the moment, he wasn’t going to worry about it because the breakfast was delicious and the day was shaping up to be a total blast.

“First,” Dad said, “we are going to hit the slopes.”

“Hit them with what?” asked André.

“Ha-ha,” Charlie said. “He means skiing or snowboarding.”

“I only had a couple of lessons,” said André. “I’m not very good at it.”

“I’ve got you all set up for Powder Hounds. They’ll help you out,” said Dad.

Finally a sport André didn’t dominate. In all other sports, he was the best.

“Later, we’re going to town for a little shopping, to watch the tree lighting and the Christmas parade. You’re all going to see Santa, too,” said Aunt India.

“Do you guys believe in Santa?” Bernie demanded.

The song on the radio switched to “Jingle Bell Rock.”

And there it was. The horrible question Charlie did not want to think about. Yet it was the one that pressed like a big invisible weight on his mind.

Here was the thing. There were some kids in his grade who claimed there was no such thing as Santa Claus. And they were always the cool kids, so if you said you did believe, then you were toast because they totally made fun of you and made you feel like a complete idiot.

But Charlie couldn’t not believe. He knew, deep down in the most secret part of himself, that Santa Claus was real.

Now he and André looked at each other. It was a stare-down. Who would blink first? If Charlie said what he really believed, he risked looking like a fool in front of his friend.

But if he said he didn’t believe in Santa, and then it turned out André was a believer, then he would be messing with a kid’s true belief, and that just wasn’t cool.