The 12 Dates of Christmas

The One With the Mistletoe (feat. Tom Hiddleston)

She rifled through the box of old Christmas decorations, struggling to find something- anything- to bring a bit of cheer to her sterile office. Old, haggard looking bows in red and green. A posable elf who was, frankly, creepy as hell and not coming within a mile of her desk.

Tinsel. Where the hell would she put tinsel? Fake plastic mistletoe. Same problem. Maybe she could pin it above her ass. That would send a clear message. Sadly, she was HR, and had to set an example.

She settled on taping some long, ribbony bows from either side of the nameplate on the door. Red, Doreen Murphy, green. She hated the name and cursed her parents for giving it to her.

“Doreen!”

Ah. There it was. The name that always sounded like it was being shouted at an old woman. At least it had been shouted in Tom's voice.

Tom Hiddleston. Marketing. Tall, thin, sparkling blue eyes, infectious grin. Damn good at his job, an asset to the company, and about the only good thing about working there.

She hefted the box, propping it on her hip. “Hi, Tom. Something I can help you with?”

“Didn't realize you were on the decorating committee this year,” he quipped, grimacing at the contents of the box.

“Pitiful, isn't it? Hardly enough to make anyone feel holly or jolly.”

“If we let Joel near the punch again this year, he's bound to at least try to feel Holly.” His blue eyes sparkled.

The office party was set for later that night. Hence the hasty decorating of her office door; and now she was expected to whip up holiday magic all over the office with that one pathetic box.

“Poor Holly,” she sighed. “Something I can help you with, Tom?” God help her, there had better not be trouble with the expenditures from his underlings again.

He must have sensed her dread. “Sorry! No. No, actually, I was just hoping I could help you. Seems like you could use a hand.”

“If you can work your magic with this dreadful assortment of crap, then yes, please.”

She handed the box to him and their hands touched. He let them linger just this side of too long to be professional. It was nice. Very nice. Then he sort of jerked away.

“I'm sorry. Uh, let's start with the cubicles, shall we?” He turned and headed away from her. She did her best not to look too obviously at his backside.

Row by row, cube by cube, they fought to fool the eye. This wasn't a corporate hell. This was the goddamned North Pole. If the elves staged a walkout. There wasn't much to work with.

Doreen stood on a desk, reaching to the ceiling to tack up some streamers. Tom held a hand to the small of her back to steady her. The contact was light, but warm, and definitely made her aware that her ass was eye level.

He very politely looked away when she glanced down to check her footing, but she knew where his gaze had been.

“You shouldn't be up there. What if you fall?”

“You'll just have to catch me.”

“There would be a scandal. Can you imagine if anyone saw you in my arms?”

She bit her lip and climbed down. “Good thing I didn't fall then, huh?”

Pickings were slim by the time they got to the last cubicle. The box was sadly empty, just a few more things littering the very bottom. Doreen turned to survey the space they had to work with, and when she turned back around, Tom was closer than she'd anticipated. She rocked back on her heels on surprise, nearly losing her balance.

Tom reached out, his hands going to her hips. He pulled her forward towards him to keep her from falling backwards and away from him. This further threw off her equilibrium. She wound up gathered against his chest.

Tom gave her the tiniest squeeze, releasing butterflies in her stomach. She cleared her throat and set herself upright again.

“Sorry, darling. Just trying to keep you on your feet.”

Honestly, she'd rather be swept off them.

“Thank you,” she managed. She was flustered. “Let's see what we have to work with here.”

They both reached into the box, hands brushing against one another. At this point it was like he was trying to have a “Lady and the Tramp” type moment at work over mass produced smiling Santa cutouts and ribbon.

“There's the mistletoe,” he pointed out.

She chuckled. “We are not putting up mistletoe in the office. It shouldn't even be in that box.”

“Spoken like the head of HR,” Tom said.

Doreen shook her head. “One not employed by Santa's workshop,” she replied. But there was a smile on her face.

Hours later and the box had disappeared. So had all thoughts of the work week. Music and loud conversation filled the air. There was even a little dancing here and there. And non-alcoholic punch, much to the relief of poor Holly. Doreen did her best to mingle. It was good to encourage a bit of friendliness with her coworkers, given her position. They needed to feel comfortable with her, even if she did sort of want to escape the depressing job.

Tom could be seen here and there over the course of the evening. He was hard to miss, tall as he was. She did her best not to let him, or anyone else, catch her eyes lingering on him too long. It wasn't her imagination that he was stealing looks at her too.

Two hours and seventeen forced conversations later, she was glad to be home. She stepped out of her heels, and took out her earrings. The apartment was cozy. Done up properly for Christmas. A tree, garlands, fairy lights, the whole shebang. It felt warm and almost magical. Though she supposed anywhere that wasn't the office would feel that way.

She sighed and turned the lights that covered the tree on. She ran her hands along the shelf where stockings hung. She wound the key on musical snow globe she'd inherited from her Nana. Home was so much better. Her mood lifted.

She didn't hear the key turn in the lock or the quiet approach of feet behind her. She jumped a little when an arm wrapped around her middle and a gentle kiss was planted on her temple.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you.”

She turned and wrapped her arms around the lean torso of the man she loved. “Home sweet home.”

“Finally. It's lovely. But...missing something, I think.”

Doreen looked around. Nope. Looked good. Felt right. “If you say so.”

A large hand dug into a deep pocket, pulling out a bit of artificial mistletoe that looked a bit worse for the wear. “Inappropriate for the workplace. Perfect for home.”

Tom held it over their heads and kissed her soundly.