December 2018
Leominster, MA, USA

When Ariana invited me to spend Christmas with them, I couldn't say no. She's like a sister to me and the only family I have left. Now that I'm finally debt-free again, I can visit my best friend without guilt.

Besides, Ian and I have decided to meet. After daily online dating, it's time to see if our spark, carefully tended to for the past few weeks, can turn into a wholesome fire.

More than anything, though, I'm glad to return home.

Ariana and Brady's giant bedroom looks like a tornado has whipped through it at high speed, strewing dresses everywhere. I hate all this fuss. If it were up to me, I'd wear stretchy polyester hiking pants and a semi-formal cotton shirt like I do every other day of the week.

It's not like I'm trying to impress a stranger—Ian and I knew each other for three years in college. Yet here I am, worried about impressing him like some kind of major-league donut.

After an hour, I choose a dress where Ariana gasps and her eyes light up like the family Christmas tree. "Holy fuck! That's the one!"

"Ya think?" I ask, twisting at different angles in the mirror.

"That dress will kill him." Her voice is muffled by her hands, both of which are covering her mouth in glee. "It will slay him. Bury him six feet under. And reincarnate him as a zombie."

Through the mirror, I pull a full-face grimace. "Is that a good thing?"

"No, it's a fucking amazing thing."

"Are you sure it isn't too much?" I hike up the bodice half an inch. "Is it too revealing?"

"Only if you're Amish."

"I'm serious. I don't want to look like a floozy."

"Whaddya think this is?" She scoffs. "We aren't dressing for your grandma's Christmas party, may she rest in peace. This is Ian we're trying to impress."

"He's pretty conservative." When I swallow, it feels like razor blades. "It might scare him away."

"Vee, shut the fuck up!" She sighs in frustration. "First, conservative guys are wound up so tight that they're the most horniest fucks on the planet. Second, you ain't going anywhere unless that dress is on your fabulous curves. End of statement."

A faint blush crosses my cheeks. It's been a long time since I've considered myself pretty or cute, much less fabulous.

It wasn't that Marcus made me feel inadequate per se. But I could infer from random bits and pieces that he preferred tall, blonde equestrian types who dressed with style and moved with grace.

Women like Helena.

Women like his ex.

Not that I could fault him for clinging to the past. Glass houses and all that. Still! If Marcus had wanted a classically beautiful wife, why the hell did he marry me?

In contrast, I'm short and stocky with a long torso, broad shoulders and stubby thighs. Most designers do not make clothes to cater to women like me.

To add insult to injury, I've got a round face that looks a little bit chubby even when I'm the right weight. Because my dark hair is thin yet plentiful with a healthy dose of waviness, it frizzes at the first sign of humidity and at the first drops of rain.

Basically, no one like me stands on the front cover of a fashion magazine.

But I do have one saving grace. My boobs.

Maybe that's why Marcus married me.

God blessed me with boobs so ginormous, I haven't met a single guy that could hold one of them in one hand. No joke. Hell, even I like to bounce them around sometimes just for fun. They float when I swim, and no sports bra can curtail these precious ladies. Oh, hell no. They're always in ya face.

Literally.

On my short frame, they invariably draw the male gaze. That includes Ian, who is a pure gentleman through and through the rest of the time.

And this dress? Holy shit!

It's tailored to fit my form almost exactly, hugging every beautiful curve while minimizing the less desirable ones. It falls just low enough to give a hint of cleavage, but also leaves lots to the imagination. It exposes some of my back without showing my bra. It's tapered to show off a medium waist but flares out to give off the air of femininity. For once my tiny thighs are a blessing because the dress ends barely above the knee to give the optical illusion that my legs are longer and thinner than they actually are.

Best of all? It's the color of burgundy, which suits my dark hair and eyes while not making my pale skin too sickly. It's beautiful.

I'm beautiful.

And it makes me confident as hell with these opaque black tights and black leather boots that reach just below the knee with a dainty, conservative heel. Finding an outfit that suits me this well is my second Christmas miracle, and it ain't even December the Twenty-Fifth yet.

"Good God, girl. I almost wanna kiss you, and I don't even swing that way!" says Ariana, her usual effusive self. "Go show Brady. He'll drool as much as Baby Alex after his snack."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?"

Making Ariana's husband lust after me is not the Christmas gift I had in mind.

"Hellz yeah. Let's go!"

When I head down the stairs, Brady's cradling Baby Alex and talking in the kind of voice people use only with babies and pets. It's freaking weird to see the formerly rough and tumble quarterback acting so gentle and kind.

In high school, we barely talked because the two of them hated each other.

This kid—sorry, this man—stands as tall as Ian at six-three. In contrast to him, Brady's a freaking oak tree. He's gotta be pushing two-twenty or two-thirty. And it's mostly muscle. He hasn't let himself go at all since playing football in college. It isn't my preferred aesthetic choice, but I admire him for his dedication to health and fitness. Especially when he's raising a baby on paternity leave while Ariana brings home the bacon.

When does he find the time?

His Anglo-Saxon good looks are the perfect complement to Ariana, who's one hundred percent a beautiful Greek goddess. Short, curvy, and feisty as fuck.

"Hey, hon!" Ariana calls out to her husband. "Check out Vee's dress!"

"Hold on, babe," Brady says before putting Baby Alex in his crib. "I'll be right—"

He stops on a dime when I descend the last few steps. Believe you me, that has never happened once since I met him in our freshman year of high school. Not even at our senior prom. And I was gorgeous back then. Slender-ish. Wrinkle-free. Not a single gray hair in sight.

Brady doesn't say a word, but he doesn't have to. After a brief second, he stares intently at my face, and I know why.

"Isn't she gorgeous, hon?" gushes Ariana as she clasps my shoulders. "Tell her! Tell Vee she's gonna slay Ian in his sleep, drink his blood, and make him beg for more."

"Damn, Aria!" I grimace. "First I'm a rampaging zombie, and now I'm a bloodsucking vampire?"

Brady barks out a laugh. "Vee can pull off any supernatural creature she wants to be, and Ian would be a fool not to steal her away."

Smooth, Brady. Real smooth.

"See?" She grins at me. "Told ya. Ian'll be howling at the moon."

"And now he's a werewolf," I mutter.

"Any. Supernatural. Creature," Ariana insists. "Trust me, if anyone knows what's sexy, it's Brady. And me, of course. I'm an excellent judge."

"Hell yeah!" He grins at her. "I chose you, didn't I?"

"Hell no!" She gives him a playful slap. "I chose you."

At that she gets on her tiptoes while he bends down to give her a lingering kiss. It warms my heart to see them together. Opposites attract, am I right?

When Brady deepens the kiss, I start to wonder if they're gonna try to make Baby Alex Two-Point-Oh. "Uh, guys? Should I take a walk?"

Ariana breaks away from the kiss almost as flustered as him. "Sorry! Let's do your makeup and get you all ready. We've got a reunion to organize."

Eek! No pressure then.

My heart flutters in my chest as Ariana and I drive toward Holy Cross, our alma mater. The place where I've buried all my memories of Ian. The college on the hill rises into view, an aesthetic combination of pristinely manicured gardens and ivy-covered classic brick buildings, complete with ivory columns. A flood of nostalgia rushes over me, temporarily blocking out the nerves.

Ariana has already called Brady once to check up on Baby Alex, but by the time the half-hour drive is over, she's already thinking of calling again.

"Don't you trust him?" I ask. "He's wonderful with the kid."

"It's not that—" A faint blush comes over her cheeks. "Brady's perfect. But it's like a nagging itch in the back of my brain. And I can't relax."

"Why don't you call him again?"

"Do you mind?" she says in a contrite tone. "It'll only take a sec."

"Go ahead. I'm just glad we get to hang out."

When Ariana talks to Brady, he actually takes the phone and shows her a picture of him sleeping. "He's down for the count, babe."

Her shoulders visibly relax. "Aww, I just want to hold him."

"Would you like me to keep the cam on for you?"

"Would you mind?"

"Not at all." He grins. "Who knows? If you're lucky, I might turn on the other cam too and you just might catch a glimpse of me shirtless." He pauses. "Not to mention—"

Ariana flushes crimson and whispers, "Hon, we're not alone."

"Oh, yeah. My bad." He pauses before adding in only a slightly softer voice. "Still might do it though!"

Cupping my hand over my mouth, I stifle a chuckle. Their relationship is so wholesome that a little devil on my shoulder is starting to get envious. Which is ridiculous because ninety-nine-point-nine-nine percent of me is happy as hell that my best friend and her husband are beyond happy.

After parking, we descend the hill all the way to the St. Joseph Memorial Chapel where Ian will be performing on the organ along with the choir.

As soon as I enter the chapel, a warmth comes over me that I don't fully understand. Is it the nostalgia that comes from revisiting my first home away from home? The place where I went from being an awkward teenager to a young woman with a bright future? Happiness fills me from the inside out as I gaze up at the familiar cathedral ceilings.

"Home sweet home," whispers Ariana.

It fills me with relief to know I'm not the only one.

When I turn around and glance up at the choir loft, I gasp.

There he stands, surveying the mostly empty pews beneath him. And everything else fades away.

Ian...

Standing tall and proud, he grips the wooden railing in front of him, his arms extended to either side. If Ian has noticed me, he doesn't show any indication. So I take the liberty to observe his sleek physique, rendered more impressive by his white-tie tux and organist cloak, the ensemble reminding me of the garb of a Victorian era gentleman. My fantasy.

Until Ian catches me, staring at him.

My lips part. And I avert my gaze. But that does nothing to ease the heat that has spread across my cheeks.

When I brave a second look, his head is a fraction higher and slightly turned to the side as he converses with one of the choir singers, his damned jawline sharper than ever before.

My hand rests above my bodice. Keenly aware of every breath, it feels like I can't get enough air inside me. Especially when he finishes speaking and directs his dark gaze to me once more, burning into me.

With his stern expression, what is Ian thinking right now? Is he thinking of all the stories we've shared over the past few weeks? Or has seeing me here brought back all the bad memories?

The truth will probably remain a secret forever.

Ariana rests her hand on my shoulder. "Vee, you're staring."

Only then can I tear my eyes away from him, my heart pounding. My face, on fire. Using all my willpower, I turn around and stare resolutely in front of me, but whether it's reality or my imagination I can still feel his presence.

Burning, burning, burning.

When I glance behind, sure enough, he's still there although he's averted his gaze. God, let me mesmerize him until he can never look away again.

Once upon a time, I would never have dreamed of coveting a man inside this hallowed space. But now? Tingles trace across my skin. Warmth spreads further and further until my body is set aflame. And damn! Electricity crackles between us until I can almost feel his fingertips on my skin.

"What did I tell you?" she whispers when we sit down in the pew. "You've slain him. I swear he'll never let you leave here as a single woman."

When I turn again, Ian's gone. Of course he's gotta focus on his upcoming performance tonight.

Using the program, I fan myself even though it's winter. Ariana sits beside me with a knowing smile.

"What?" I give her a nudge and she can barely contain her mirth. "What?"

"You've got it bad."

"I do not."

"Keep telling yourself that. Maybe you'll start to believe it."

Once the concert begins, Ian plays the organ with such precision and grace that it almost moves me to tears. As his music always does. Through the musical notes, he speaks and conveys emotion with ease in a way he rarely finds with words.

When we dated, he would often serenade me to share the depth of his feelings. Though he's only playing the classics, every song feels like an embrace. Like he's saying, Welcome home.

Is it only my imagination? Or does Ian want to guide me to him?

Though I try to divert my attention to the beautiful stained glass windows and the wondrous classical architecture, the sight of him in that glorious organist attire flits across my mind's eye. I imagine him descending from those choir steps, striding purposefully down the aisle, and sweeping me in his arms. Granting me absolution from all my sins.

Foolish, I know.

But a girl's allowed to dream.

Once the concert ends, the audience erupts into thunderous applause before milling around in small cliques. I take a moment to gather myself. To plan how I'm going to approach him. If I can work up the nerve.

Ariana's wise enough to leave me to my thoughts, heading up to the loft by herself and praising Ian and the singers. Part of me wonders if the two of them are conspiring. Afterwards, she excuses herself in order to check in once more on Brady and Baby Alex.

"Don't you dare leave here before you talk to him, you hear?" Ariana insists. "I'd better hear a juicy story on the way home or you—are—toast!"

I chuckle and shake my head. "We'll see."

"Who knows?" She curls her lip. "I might have a juicy story of my own."

"Aria!"

"What?" She leans down and whispers. "Just 'cause I'm a mom, doesn't mean I don't get horny anymore. Especially with the tension between you two."

"That's enough!" I hiss under my breath. "We're in church, for heaven's sake!"

Ariana cackles before she makes her way to the exit.

After a good ten minutes, the choir mingles until everyone begins to file out. Apart from Ian. He stands tall, surveying the last remaining stragglers like me.

Our eyes lock once more.

This time, my long-lost love beckons to me with the subtlest gesture of his hand. Like the Phantom calling soundlessly to Christine.

Come to me, he seems to say.

And a thousand butterflies rush to take flight.

___

Word count: 2,589
Total word count: 30,805/40,000