I used to think a candy cane tasted the best on Christmas, until I kissed your lips on wine.
The day you handed me that candy cane, I felt a warmth in my chest that rivalled the chill of the winter air outside. We'd gotten closer, hadn't we? It was no longer just the quiet exchanges of avocado toast and coffee. There were now words, smiles, and a certain familiarity that made me look forward to your visits in a way that was different from before.
You walked into the café that morning, the usual air of calm confidence around you. I greeted you with a smile—one that now came more naturally than it used to. You ordered your usual, and, as always, I turned away to brew your favourite cup, the rhythm of this ritual comforting, familiar. When I turned back, ready to hand you your drink, I noticed something small in your hand.
"What...is that?" I asked narrowing my eyes.
Your eyes held mine for a moment, a soft gaze implying something I couldn't comprehend—like there was a secret they wanted to share. Then, with a quiet smile, you placed what you were hiding, gently in my palm.
It was a small candy cane, wrapped in that clear, crinkly wrapper.
"Merry Christmas," you said, your eyes twinkling with that playful light I was beginning to recognise.
Your fingers brushed against mine—just for a moment, lingering longer than necessary, but enough to send a warmth up my arm. I looked up at you, surprised, my heart stuttering slightly at the unexpected tenderness in your eyes. I took the candy cane from you, feeling its cool surface against my palm, and for a moment, I was at a loss for words.
"Thanks," I finally managed, my fingers curling around the peppermint-striped treat, the cool plastic crinkling beneath my touch. "I, uh... I didn't get you anything."
You shrugged, that easy smile tugging at the corners of your lips, teasing but warm. It was as if you had anticipated my awkwardness, the way I always seemed to fumble when you were near.
"How about a free coffee, then?" I offered, trying to match your casualness, though my heart was still caught up in that brief touch.
Your eyes sparkled, and you leaned against the counter with a kind of effortless grace, the light catching in your hair, making the moment feel like it was suspended in time. "I was thinking more along the lines of showing me around the city," you said, your voice low, almost conspiratorial.
The request caught me off guard, my breath catching for just a second. My mind raced, but my body betrayed me, nodding before I even had the chance to fully process what was happening.
"Sure," I said softly, meeting your gaze and feeling that familiar pull between us, stronger now, more undeniable. "Why not?"
We spent the day wandering through the city, the crisp winter air nipping at our cheeks as we walked side by side. The streets were bustling with people, wrapped in coats and scarves, moving in that holiday rush, hurried steps crunching on the light dusting of snow beneath their feet. Christmas decorations adorned the buildings—garlands, twinkling lights, and wreaths that added a festive glow to the cityscape.
We talked about life, the kind of conversation where time feels like it slips away unnoticed. I learned so much about you that day.
You were new to Ravenwood, having come through a transfer program to the art university. You played piano—that was your passion, the thing that made you come alive. Your eyes lit up when you talked about it, the same way they did when you mentioned the kids you taught in your free time.
YOU ARE READING
In Black And White, I'm Blue ✔
Storie d'amore"Outside, in the harsh light of day, the lines between us are too stark, too defined. Here, we can pretend that your world is black and white, and I am the blue that fills the space between. In black and white, I'm blue. And when I dance to your mus...
