The Kiss: An Anthology About Love and Other Close Encounters(134)

“You don't celebrate Christmas? Why ever not?”

“My parents were too poor and slaves don't really get days off. I've only got one or two memories of Christmas. There was this plant, with white berries, mum used to hang on her bedroom door and we sometimes got to eat a turkey, but not every year. It was the only time mum and dad wouldn't argue with each other.”

“The plant was probably mistletoe,” he explained, but he didn't get to explain what it was for. A buzz sounded from the door and Trell called out from the other side.

“Auraylia, can I come in?”

“Seems you have your first visitor.” Dylan got up, and when Auraylia nodded he opened the door, leaving as Trell bounced in. In her arms was her favourite novel.

“I thought you might like to read this. It's the only one I've got left that you've not devoured, but it's my favourite,” he heard her say as he walked off. He grinned and it gave him an idea for the perfect Christmas present for Auraylia.

He yawned and hurried off to wrap up hers and everyone else's. With all the events of the last week he'd forgotten to prepare for Christmas. Glancing at the time on his pocket watch, he realised he would be cutting into his sleep to get his task done but it couldn't be helped.





*


“I'm about to burst,” Dylan said, as he put his knife and fork together. The paper hat on his forehead fell forward once more and this time he took it off rather than readjusting it. Around him sat the rest of his officers, each with various amounts of food on their plates, and around them was strewn the wreckage of wrapping paper, cracker remnants, and spray on snow.

As soon as all of them had finished eating he excused himself and grabbed the made up tray. It held another plate, piled high with the traditional Irish Christmas dinner and beside was his present for Auraylia, wrapped in the same snowflake covered paper already littered about the room.

“I'll be back in a few minutes.” Dylan nodded at his officers and Trell jumped up to get the door for him.

“Say Merry Christmas from us.”

He grinned at her enthusiasm as he walked along the corridors. On the way to the lower deck's engine room he passed the main canteen and heard the laughter and noise as the rest of the crew also celebrated the season, which only widened his grin further.

Auraylia answered his knock within seconds of him arriving and smiled as he passed the tray over to her.

“I know you said you didn't want to celebrate Christmas with us, but I thought you might like the food and all that. He pointed to the cracker and present.”

“Thank you. Is this all for me?” she asked, barely able to get the sentence out. He nodded and followed her into the room. Since the day before she'd rearranged the bed slightly and laid out her spare uniforms so they wouldn't crease. The covers showed wrinkles where she must have been lying and Trell's book was open on her pillow.

As she sat back down on her bed and balanced the tray on her lap, he noticed the odd creation, pinned to a metal support girder for the floor above. He came closer and inspected it for a moment before he realised she'd used discarded gun parts to make a metal version of mistletoe.

“You made this?” he said, and sat down on the bed beside her. She nodded.

“You said it was Christmas and mum used to hang it up, so I thought I would too. It's part of a happy memory.” She shrugged.

“Do you know its tradition?”

“No?”

“Well,” Dylan stalled for time to think, wanting to phrase it right and not imply anything that might frighten her. “Traditionally if two people find themselves under mistletoe, they're meant to share a particular display of affection. A kiss in particular. Often women, or men, hold it above their heads and approach someone they've been interested in for a while, to let them know. The person being invited for a kiss, in theory, can't say no.”

“Oh, that would explain why mum and dad disappeared into the bedroom for a few hours whenever she hung it up.” She stared up at it, her tray forgotten. He laughed.

“Well, traditionally it is only a kiss.”

“So it doesn't have to lead to sleeping with someone?”

“No, it's not meant to,” he replied, wondering where she was going with her question.

“That's a relief. I've never had a kiss but I think it would be more pleasant than sex.”

Before his brain could think about what he was doing, Dylan leant over and pressed his lips to her cheek. When he pulled back he smiled.

“Merry Christmas.”



*


Jess Mountifield was born in the quaint village of Woodbridge in the UK, has spent some of her childhood in the States and now resides near the beautiful Roman city of Bath. She lives with her husband, Phil, and her very dapsy cat, Pleaides. During her still relatively short life Jess has displayed an innate curiosity for learning new things and has therefore studied many subjects, from maths and the sciences, to history and drama. Jess now works full time as a writer, incorporating many of the subjects she has an interest in within her plots and characters.

website: www.jessmountifield.co.uk

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/jess.mountifield.author/