Extemporaneous Mistletoe [A Christmas #OneShot]

Extemporaneous Mistletoe

"I was half in love with her by the time we sat down. That's the thing about girls. Every time they do something pretty, even if they're not much to look at, or even if they're sort of stupid, you fall half in love with them, and then you never know where the hell you are."

-J.D. Salinger

*****

"They just had to pick me. I could be on flat ground, decorating more interesting grandeurs with my imaginary boyfriend," Zara muttered to herself as she scaled the unusually high ladder as quickly as possible. She wasn't entirely afraid of heights but she wasn't a big fan of it either. "Damn it, you Christmas tree, you better grant my wish for being so unbelievably hard to decorate."

Leaning over once she reached the top, she stretched out to balance the ostentatious and heavy gold star atop the tree. Someone up there must have pitied her, for the star fell into place at her first try.

Liberated at her small feat, she grinned to herself as she descended the precarious ladder as quickly as she ascended it.

In the process of scurrying down, she completely missed the second-last rung and as she was left with nothing to hold on to, she was sent tumbling backwards, hitting the floor with a muffled thud.

She didn't hurt as much as she expected to - in fact, the ground felt suspiciously squishy - and she immediately scrambled up upon hearing a loud groan of pain from underneath her. It was unmistakably low; it belonged to a boy.

'I asked to meet a boy, not fall on one!' she fumed inwardly, glaring at the wretched ladder and the Christmas tree out of the corner of her eye.

Suddenly galvanized, she rushed to help him up, silently cursing herself for being so careless.

However, all coherent thoughts were sent flying out the window as she met the steely gaze of the blue-eyed boy. She was surprised he even felt squishy, for he was lean and muscular in all the right places, towering a good 7 or 8 inches over her.

Even hurt, she could feel the boy peruse her with mild impertinence.

"I'm s-s-sorry. I really am. Did I break anything? Is there anything I can do to help? Some ice m-maybe?" she faltered once she saw his impassive face.

He said nothing as he tried to massage the life back into his head, the muscles in his arm flexing at every motion; and she found it extremely hard not to ogle.

After a while of shameful staring and silent massaging, he let out a grunt of satisfaction.

She bit the inside of her cheek. "A-are you sure you're not hurt?" she stuttered yet again, finding it seemingly hard to talk while looking into his eloquent eyes; so she looked away. God, she thought, I feel as if I'm talking to a wall.

"What do you bloody think?" he finally intoned, ruffling his brown hair back into place.

Of course he has an accent, she thought to herself. Great job, Zara. Why don't you just go ahead and smash all the foreigners passing by.

"Geez, I don't know. Why else do you think I asked?" she said, mentally high-fiving herself for being able to speak again, so, she continued. "All that I can see is that you've sustained no visible injuries."

He rolled his eyes. "No serious one at least," he said with slight persiflage.

"Oh, don't be so sepulchral. I promise I'll make it up to you, if you'll let me. Christmas is nearing after all. We could, totally be merry together," she says.