“Nah. They’re sweet,” Isaac says with that casual confidence I find so attractive. “I told them a bunch of stories about the tree farm. Mostly about my latest angry customer encounters. They ate that shit up.”

They would, is what I want to say, but I don’t.

Instead, I just smile and nod, listening as Palmer and Isaac start talking about the football playoffs too. I hook my arm through Isaac’s, proud to be standing next to him, listening to him. Knowing that this man came for me, came in support of me because he likes me. He cares about me.

More than anything, he respects me, and that’s huge.

We end up staying at my parents’ house long into the night, Isaac complimenting my mother’s cooking over and over, the aunties plying him with desserts, the kids running around the house, still excited that it’s Christmas. A lot of the time, I end up feeling sad on December 25^th. All that build up leading to this day, only for it to feel as if it’s over in a matter of hours, if not minutes.

To me, there’s nothing sadder than a gorgeous, twinkling and decorated tree with nothing underneath it on Christmas night. The gifts have all been given, the holiday is over.

Tonight, I don’t feel sad. The evening—the rest of the year and the new one coming too—is full of promise. This man sitting next to me, smiling at me, watching me with his careful gaze as my mother asks if he wants another piece of pumpkin pie while he politely turns her down, he’s the reason for that promise.

And I plan on telling him exactly that once we return to my apartment too, not about to hold back.

That’s my vow to myself, my New Year’s resolution, to be forthcoming and tell someone how I feel. I probably won’t always keep that vow because this sort of thing is still new for me, but I’m going to work my hardest to make it happen.

“I’m glad you came to my parents’ house,” I say to Isaac long after we’ve come back to my apartment, when we’re wrapped up around each other and naked in my bed.

He drops a kiss on my forehead, his lips lingering. “I had fun.”

“Did you really?”

He nods. “Yeah, for sure. I enjoyed getting to know everyone. Your family is all really nice.”

“They’re all right,” I murmur, closing my eyes when he starts running his fingers through my hair.

I really love it when he does that.

“They’re pretty great. And they’re pretty supportive of you,” he says.

“They were?” I sound surprised, and I guess I sort of am.

“Oh yeah. They all talked about how smart you are, and dedicated. What a great niece or daughter or sister you are. Or cousin. I kept hearing it again and again,” he explains.

“They were just talking me up,” I say, embarrassed.

“I don’t think so,” he says, his fingers slipping beneath my chin to tip my face up so our gazes meet. “They meant every word they were saying. And they were asking me all sorts of questions. I think they like the idea of us together.”