Territorial | On Hold

Chapter 1

If you only carry one thing throughout your entire life, let it be hope. Let it be hope that better things are always ahead. Let it be hope that you can get through even the toughest of times. Let it be hope that you are stronger than any challenge that comes your way. Let it be hope that you are exactly where you are meant to be right now... Because during these times, hope will be the very thing that carries  you through.

-Nikki Banas

...

"How's the head?"

The Christmas festivities begin early in the Naturals household. While it may only be December first, and the temperature has only just begun dropping below thirty two degrees, Sloane insisted we make gingerbread men cookies. Our statistician spent all last night making icing from scratch with Lia, and now that all of our different reactants were gathered, we were prepared to get our bake on.

"I don't think we crushed this one," Lia murmurs to Michael, the tip of her tongue poking out of the corner of her mouth as she pipes a strand of a hair onto the cookies chin.

"Hey— I wanted to make Mister Miyagi," Sloane whines.

"We can have two Miyagi's."

"No we can't!"

"Fine, then mines... Winana," Lia annunciates slowly.

"Who's that?" I ask with a small grin.

"An Olympic swimmer from Ukraine." The lie flows effortlessly off her tongue, though the blonde beside her does enjoy a good old teaching moment.

"There are actually nine Ukrainian Olympic swimmers. Seven men, two women, and none of which are named Winana. Perhaps you got it confused for a different country?"

"Perhaps I did," Lia sighs thoughtfully, never raising her eyes from the snack in front of her.

"There are seven total countries whose names begin with the letter 'U.' Aside from Ukraine that leaves the United States, United Emirates, Untied Kingdom, Uganda, Uruguay, and Uzbekistan."

"Gotta love the U countries," Michael chides, leaning his forearms on the marble countertop. I chuckle, carefully crafting a red dress onto the cookie laying before me. "Who's that?" He asks. I shrug.

"No clue, why don't you give her a name?"

He cocks his head to the side, narrowing his eyes in thought. "She looks like a Becky," he says at last, and after glancing at my little gingerbread woman I can't help but agree.

"She really does, doesn't she?"

A pair of cold hands sliding beneath my shirt makes me jump, an abrupt squeal exiting my mouth as I drop the piping bag. Whipping my head to the side I find a very pink Dean standing behind me.

"Dean! Your hands are freezing."

"Are they now? I didn't notice." There's a playful lilt to his voice as his hands glide even higher along my flank. I twist in his grasp, sucking in a breath when he presses the tip of his nose to my pulse, the cold of his skin burning me like a match.