12 + 1 Days of Christmas (A Very Syverson Christmas)

Day Four: Christmas Baking

You don't bake much for Christmas, it's too hot. When you were growing up, Christmas desserts usually consisted of Pavlova and berry trifle. Your grandparents used to enjoy fruit cake, and custard and sometimes your Nan would make one. However, you always bake a special treat for Sy.

When you met Sy and moved to the US with him, you learned how to make a Chocolate-Bourbon Pecan Pie. You don't love baking, but you love making this one pie for Sy. His mum had taught you how your first Christmas with him. You weren't married yet and were uneasy about meeting her, partly because Sy seemed so nervous too. From speaking to his sisters, Brooke and Caroline, many years later, you learned that she had often been pretty harsh on the girls he had brought home, only one girl since high school had met her approval. You had been surprised when she took a liking to you, you don't know exactly why she liked you, but you had a sneaking suspicion that she knew you were going to stick around.

You had been genuinely saddened when she died. You hadn't even known her a year, but she had definitely made an impact on you. Sy was as bad as you expected in his grief, the vulnerability he showed as he laid his head in your lap tore at your heart. You saw him cry for the first time; he didn't sob, his voice barely wavered, but tears flowed down his cheeks that he didn't bother to wipe away. For some reason, that's what you remember most, that he wasn't ashamed of his tears.

In honour of Sy's mother, every Christmas you baked the pie she taught you to make, and you kept up the tradition after moving back to Australia. This year Tilly was helping. At five years old, she enjoys helping around the kitchen, especially if Sy is cooking. She is his little shadow these days, following him everywhere, wanting to do everything he did. Pippa at three isn't so interested yet, so she plays while you and Tilly get to work.

"You know this is Daddy's favourite pie, right?" you ask her. Tilly nods sombrely. Anything Daddy likes has to be taken seriously. "Do you know why?"

"Cause it's yummy?" She guesses.

"Yes," you smile. "But it's also a special recipe. Do you know who taught Mummy how to make it?" Tilly shakes her head. "Your Nanny. Daddy's mummy taught me how to make it the first Christmas I spent with her."

Tilly's eyes go to the collection of photos on your wall. You know which picture she's looking at without following her gaze. It's the one with a Sy as a toddler, all fat legs and round cheeks with a head full of dark, chocolate brown curls. He is resting on the hip of his mother, and his father has his arm around her.

As the two of you baked, you tell Tilly about her Nanny, how she would have loved to have met her, how much she loved Daddy, and how good a cook she was. By the time you put the pie in the oven to bake, she no longer refers to her grandmother as Daddy's mummy, instead, she calls her Nanny.

"Where's my girls?" Sy bellows as he gets home from work. You grin as Tilly squeals and runs to him with Pippa on her heels. They meet in the doorway of your open plan kitchen and lounge room, and you smile as the girls crash into Sy. He groans exaggeratedly, begging them for mercy, as he falls on his back and they climb all over him, giggling.

Picking both girls up, one in each arm, he carries them to the lounge dropping each one onto the soft cushions. Then he looks at you, he has that hungry look in his eye, like he's already undressing you, and you bite your lip as he approaches. He breathes in deeply before he wraps an arm around you, tugging you close with a firm jerk.

"You made Momma's pie today, didn't ya, Sugar?" he asks. He runs his hand over the curve of your arse, squeezing your cheek with a hum.

"Tilly helped," you tell him.

"Did she?" Sy says absentmindedly, his fingers sliding over your lips.

You grin, recognising his mood. You could tell Sy you had spent all your savings on magic beans right now, and he probably wouldn't be perturbed.

"I missed you today, Baby," Sy murmurs, lifting your chin with his fingers. "Couldn't hardly concentrate on a thing." He kisses you then, his desire made plain by the way his tongue makes its way over yours. He pulls away quickly before he gets carried away, and you pout as he grins and drops his head into your neck. His voice is rough as he whispers in your ear. "Kept thinkin' 'bout that pretty li'l pussy o' yours. Then I come home to the smell of you bakin'?" He growls lowly, pressing his hips into you. "You're so gettin' fucked tonight."