That’s exactly how I feel as I walk down the stairs. I stop with one step to go when Diego comes out of the living room, splinters of wood clinging to the fabric of his sweater. He freezes mid-step and stares up at me, wide-eyed.

I reach for the largest chip of bark on his chest and pull it off. “Be careful,” I say. “You’ll ruin your sweater.”

“The only thing in ruins by the end of the day will be my sanity. Are you trying to kill me with those lips?”

“I thought you liked the red?”

“I like it too much.” He pulls me closer and brushes his nose against mine. “I want to kiss you.”

“You can’t; it took forever to apply, and I don’t have time to re-do it.”

“See?” He kisses my forehead instead. “You’re killing me.”

“I’ll make up for it later,” I whisper.

He throws me a burning stare, which promises he’ll hold me to my word.

My knees go weak under the intensity of his gaze, and I smile wider and brighter than ever before… My transformation from Grinch to Santa Baby is complete.

Seventeen

Rocking Around the Christmas Tree

The first, and least-welcome, guest arrives at noon: Aunt Betsy. As I hug her, I do my best not to wince at her usual smell of dust and mothballs.

“Nicola.” She’s the only one of my relatives who in thirty years has stubbornly refused to let go of my full name. “You’re almost unrecognizable this year; what happened to you?” Then she delivers the first jab. “Have you finally decided it’s time to find a man?” And the second. “Has Julia’s engagement lit a fire under you?”

I force my eyes not to roll. “Actually, this is my boyfriend.” I give Diego a slight push forward.

Earlier, after a brief moment of shock at my merry and bright appearance, Mom decided that this year I looked Christmassy enough to be in charge, together with Diego, of answering the door and welcoming the guests in. Julia is still helping her in the kitchen—more supervising nothing contaminates her precious vegan food. And Paul and Dad are tending the fire.

“Diego, this is my aunt Betsy,” I use the diminutive she hates on purpose. “Aunt Betsy, this is Diego.”

“Elisabeth Appleton,” she corrects, throwing me a displeased look as she shakes Diego’s hand. “Nice to meet you, young man.”

“Diego O’Donnell. The pleasure is all mine, ma’am.”

They shake hands and, even at the ripe age of ninety, I can tell the woman in Aunt Betsy is not insensitive to Diego’s sex appeal.

Unfortunately, she recovers quickly enough from her initial stupor. “So, Diego, what is it that you do?”

“Acting is my calling.”

“Oh.” An evil little smile plays on her lips. “And does that pay the bills?”

“Not much. I work mostly as a server to make ends meet.”

“I see.” Turning to me, she adds, “Your parents must be thrilled to have both their girls settled down.” The malicious glint in her eyes sends a completely different message. In two seconds sharp, she’s nailed the one thing my parents don’t approve of about Diego: his job.