Christmas (1)

RYAN

Violet was wrong when she said the only thing she knew how to make were the cookies her father taught her. In fact, she didn’t learn anything.

Correction: Violet couldn’t even make good cookies.

“I don’t understand,” she muttered, staring down at the tray of burnt, rock-hard cookies in dismay. “I could’ve sworn I followed the recipe exactly. That’s how Dad taught me!”

She flopped onto the kitchen stool in her ridiculous reindeer-print sweater, her pout exaggerated and adorable. Despite the unfortunate cookies, I couldn’t stop the grin tugging at my lips. She looked so defeated it was almost comical.

“Violet,” I teased, suppressing a chuckle, “I think you might’ve forgotten a few key details. Like, oh, I don’t know, not doubling the salt and forgetting the sugar entirely?”

“I didn’t forget!” she protested, glaring at me as I added a heaping pile of marshmallows to her mug of hot chocolate and slid it over to her. “I just… miscalculated.”

“Sure,” I said, smirking as she took a sip of her drink, clearly trying to drown her defeat in chocolate. “Is it really that bad?”

Yes. It was horrendous. Sweet things weren’t supposed to taste like sea water. But there was no way I’d admit that. No amount of teasing was worth bruising her pride more than her cookies already had.

“It’s… edible,” I replied diplomatically, stirring milk into my tea. “But hey, it’s Christmas. We should be relaxing, not cooking. Why don’t I order food instead?”

She sighed, her shoulders slumping. “That’s probably a good idea.”

I quickly placed an order on my phone, relieved to avoid any further culinary disasters.

“Make sure to get something for Ashley and Kyle, too,” she added, her voice perking up.

Ah yes, Ashley and Kyle. They’d insisted on spending Christmas with us this year, much to Violet’s delight and my annoyance. I didn’t exactly love sharing my time with her, but Violet had this infuriating way of making me tolerate things I wouldn’t usually stand for.

I placed the order quickly, and we migrated to the dining room. The space was decked out in its holiday best, with a massive flocked Christmas tree dominating the corner and sleek gold wreaths hanging above the mantle. White marble reindeer and velvet stockings lined the shelves, adding to the cozy, festive atmosphere Violet and I did yesterday.

Our food arrived faster than expected, a welcome relief after Violet’s cookie debacle. After some playful back-and-forth about whether to binge Netflix or play a game, we ultimately decided on a spirited match of Jenga. Snacks—cinnamon roll pancakes and champagne donuts—were served on the side, as per Violet’s insistence that the real meal would wait until Ashley and Kyle arrived.

“Careful…” Violet whispered dramatically as I slid another block from the precarious tower with ease.

She leaned forward, biting her bottom lip in concentration as it was her turn. With painstaking precision, she tried to pull a block from the middle of the stack, but her fingers trembled ever so slightly.

“Got it—” she started, just as the entire tower wobbled violently before crashing down.

“Are you kidding me?!” she groaned, throwing her hands up. “How are you this good? This is rigged!”

I smirked, leaning back in my chair as I stacked the fallen blocks into a new tower. “It’s not rigged. It’s called skill, Violet.”

“Skill, my foot.” She crossed her arms and glared at me. “You’ve won three games in a row! Nobody’s that good at Jenga.”

“Maybe it’s because I have steady hands,” I teased, holding them up for effect.

“You’re cheating,” she accused, narrowing her eyes.

“Violet, how exactly does one cheat at Jenga?”

“I don’t know,” she grumbled, crossing her arms. “But you’re doing it somehow. There’s no way you’re this good at pulling blocks.”

I laughed, the sound echoing in the room. “Maybe you’re just bad at it.”

Her jaw dropped, and she picked up a marshmallow from her drink, chucking it at me. I caught it effortlessly, tossing it into my mouth with a grin.

The game ended with Violet coming close to winning, but ultimately, I pulled off yet another victory.

“I was so close!” she exclaimed, tossing her hands in the air, though a wry smile tugged at her lips. “I think you cheat. Somehow, you cheat.”

“Or maybe I’m just better than you,” I said, smirking as I leaned back in my chair.

She stuck her tongue out at me but took the loss in stride, a soft laugh escaping her lips.

After we finished our snacks and cleared the table, she leaned forward with a smile. “I have something for you.”

I raised a brow. “For me?”

She nodded and reached into her bag, pulling out a small brown paper-wrapped package. The label read To Ryan. Merry Christmas!! in her signature loopy cursive. Tiny red hearts dotted the n's perfectly matching the bright red bow tied around the gift.

The sight of those hand-drawn hearts hit me in a way I hadn’t expected, a pang of something sharp and soft settling in my chest.

“I know we didn’t say anything about presents,” she said, her voice a mix of nervous and excited, “but I saw this and couldn’t resist.”

I took the package from her hands. “You didn’t have to, Violet.”

“I know,” she replied with a shrug, her cheeks turning pink. “But I wanted to.”

I unwrapped it methodically, taking great care not to rip the paper or disturb the delicate bow. Violet watched me, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her sweater, her anticipation palpable.

The wrapping fell away, revealing a sleek, state-of-the-art easel with adjustable angles, complete with a built-in storage compartment and an attachable light for precision work. Alongside it was a small booklet filled with high-quality textured canvas sheets, perfect for any kind of painting.

“It’s for painting,” she said quickly, noticing my silence. “I saw it at this art store downtown, and the salesperson said it’s supposed to make everything easier—like the angles and the light? I thought it might help since you always mention how you struggle to get the right setup sometimes.”

I ran my hand along the smooth wooden frame of the easel, its polished surface cool to the touch. The attention to detail was incredible, and it was clear she’d gone out of her way to find something meaningful.

“You remembered that?” My voice came out softer than I intended.

“Of course,” she replied, her cheeks tinged pink. “You’re always muttering about how awkward your old one is. I figured…” She trailed off, biting her lip nervously. “I just thought you’d like it.”

“Like it?” I glanced at her, unable to stop the smile spreading across my face. “Violet, this is… perfect. You didn’t have to go this far.”

She shrugged, her eyes darting away as if embarrassed. “I wanted to. You deserve to have something that makes it easier for you.”

I shook my head, marveling at the thoughtfulness behind the gift. “This is the best Christmas present I’ve ever gotten.”

Her eyes widened. “Really?”

“Really.” I stood, leaning the easel carefully against the wall, then turned back to her. “Thank you, Violet. Seriously.”

Her lips curved into a soft smile. “Merry Christmas, Ryan.”