“I don’t dance,” Clark said, just as she knew he would. Almost every activity she proposed received some sort of push back from him; she expected nothing less from this challenge. If he didn’t cut loose enough to know how to decorate a Christmas tree, of course he wouldn’t dance. Dance required an openness of the heart she wasn’t convinced he actually possessed.

“No?” she pressed, biting in her own confidence even as he sunk into the nearest chair and seemed content to stay there forever, if possible.

“No.”

As Clark sank into the armchair, he wondered vaguely if he could literally melt into the fabric and disappear. When that line of thought proved frivolous, he made himself a promise: You will not get up and dance with her. No matter how much she might want you to. Don’t you dare do it. You’ve made a fool of yourself a hundred times over today, but draw the line here. Dancing is a stupid, pointless activity and you’re not—I repeat, not—going to do it. Especially not with Kate.

His place in the corner of the room afforded Clark the perfect view of Kate’s preparations. Bickering words popped between them like whacked baseballs as she dragged furniture towards the walls. A few hours ago, a move like that would have earned her Clark’s annoyance, annoyance he now knew to be fruitless. She’d gotten her way all day. Objecting earned him no points with her.

This time, though, she wouldn’t get her way. Let her turn the room into a pseudo-ballroom if she wanted. He wouldn’t join her.

“Why don’t you dance?” she asked. The smug smile tugging her pink lips told Clark everything he needed to know. She thought she was going to get her way with enough prodding. Well, joke’s on her. He was in his chair and in his chair he would stay.

“I just don’t.”

“You don’t do Christmas either,” Kate reminded him.

“I’m putting my foot down at prancing around the room like a drunken reindeer.”

“Someone’s grumpy.”

“There’s no way you’re getting me to dance.”

The coda of that sentence, with you, never made it out of his mouth. In his mind, there was a distinct difference between not wanting to dance at all and not wanting to dance with her specifically.

Floor clear, Kate pulled off the little slip-on red and green shoes she’d been wearing with her pajamas, leaving her feet covered by an equally busy pair of socks covered in a pattern of Santa sleighs.

“I didn’t want to dance with you anyway. I can dance on my own.”

“Good. Enjoy yourself.”