cinema [h.s.]

chapter twenty seven.

December 24, 2020.

"It didn't make a candy cane!" Ivy huffs, crossing her arms over her chest and pouting her lips. I look down at the cookie cutter she sat on top of the dough and smile.

"That's because it's upside down." I respond smiling widely. I flip the cookie cutter right side up and press it into the dough, making a candy cane. "See, it made a candy cane!"

Ivy's face lights up and she smiles, clapping her hands together. "I make one now?" I nod and help her push the cookie cutter into the dough.

This year will mark my first year spending Christmas with Rory and Ivy, my two favorite girls. And I can't wait for them to see what all I have planned.

First on the list is making homemade cookies for Santa. I called my mum and asked for her sugar cookie recipe, so that Santa gets the best cookies from the best little girl.

Rory and I have already established that I'll be the one playing Santa tonight and eating all of the cookies. Rory's job is drinking the milk because I absolutely refuse to drink cold, watery milk all by itself.

"I think mumma is home." I smile, hearing a car door shut.

Rory ran to the store to get some last minute ingredients for tonight's dinner. We're hosting a little get together with some of the cast with Mila and her boyfriend and Drew.

"Mama make a cookie?" Ivy's eyes light up and smiles up at me.

"Mumma can make a cookie." I nod, dusting the flour off my hands to go help Rory with the groceries.

"Hi." She smiles, handing me a few bags. I lean down and peck her on the lips, kicking her car door closed.

"Did you get everything you need?" I hum, pushing the front door open with my shoulder. Rory nods, setting the bags down on the kitchen floor.

"I got something for you, well us." Rory smiles, digging through a bag. She pulls out three matching pairs of plaid pants with shirts.

My face falls and I shake my head. "Absolutely not."

"Harry!" Rory whines, dropping her arms to her sides.

"Rory, I'm not wearing those!" I press, pulling ingredients out of the bag.

"You have to!" She huffs, throwing her head back. "Baby please. Ivy and I always wear matching Christmas pajamas."

"Rory, I hate plaid." I groan, "It's so ugly."

"Are those Christmas jammies?" Ivy gasps from behind us, hopping off the stool and running over.