In which a romantic sort of Christmas evening goes awry quickly for the sour team captain and his visiting girlfriend.
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Front Porch Kisses
Rizzo's favorite dress of hers was the one she was wearing that night. Of course, he says that about every dress she wears...but there's just something about that one. The color matches her complexion. The fabric shimmers in the dim restaurant lighting nearly as bright as the glint in her eye.
He hadn't seen his love in months. He tried to convince himself that he was doing alright. He tried to tell himself he wasn't missing her as much as he was, but one look in those pretty sparkling eyes and he was so wrong. He loved hearing her voice, but there was so much more that he was missing.
Her soft skin. That comforting scent. The way her smile would cross her whole face. She was beautiful under the twinkling Christmas lights, but the gleam of her smile shone brighter than any star in the New York sky.
"Mikey? You okay?" He blinked himself out of his trance. His cheeks flushed an embarrassed red. He watched as her fork danced over the dessert she'd chosen. She chewed slowly, suspending her utensil between her thumb and forefinger absentmindedly. Her elbow on the table, the other arm folded beneath the plate, she spoke again.
"I thought I lost you there for a second."
Her boyfriend chuckled as he adjusted his relaxed position in his chair. He picked up his fork, reaching across the table to steal a bite off her plate.
Herb never said he couldn't have a little taste.
"I wasn't lost. I knew where I was," he teased, sliding the fork between his teeth. An explosion of flavor, nearly as tasty as she, delighted his tongue.
She rolled her eyes - one of his favorite things she'd do. "You're a mess," but she was smiling. He wished he could take that blissful smile and frame it forever. Her eyes twinkled beneath soft white string lights. Basking in the glow of the Christmas tree - with its lights wrapped loosely in lazily adjusted branches - he thought she was the perfect present. She'd been at the top of his Christmas list even before he knew her name.
"What?" She asked as she nervously dabbed at her face with her napkin. He sat up, taking in a breath through his nose as he did so. He reached across the table and caught the dangled edge of her napkin. When he pulled it toward himself, her hand followed. He pried the fabric from her fingers, and settled her hand beneath both of his. Content, he went back to that same lounge position - massaging her palm.
"Mikey, what?" She said again. But her mannerism weren't so nervous this time. She was used to his beating around the bush. He took his time trying to find the words to say. It was abnormally difficult with her taking his breath and stealing his mind with every glance.
