Angel laughs. "I love beets, but I know they're not for everyone. But don't worry, I'm not making any beets tonight. Green beans, mashed potatoes, a roast, and we are doing a pumpkin pie for dessert. That's maybe more Thanksgiving than Christmas, but..." Angel smiles. "I hope that'll do."
Grandma grins. "It's perfect, darling. And what about tomorrow? What time will we be headed into your parents' house?" she asks.
I run a hand over my jaw, not having considered her Grandma joining us.
"Oh…" Angel looks over at me. We hadn’t talked about this.
But her grandmother catches on. “You know, I'll just stay here by myself. It's not a problem. I guess I didn't think about that. Your parents might not have room for little old me. Oh no, that was so rude of me. I must've slept on the wrong side of the bed. I wasn't even thinking. That was so presumptuous. No, no, no. Of course, you two go along tomorrow and have Christmas with your folks, Andrew. I'll just stay here and I'll be fine by myself."
Angel's eyes widen. "No, Grandma, I'll stay here with you. Andrew can go to his family. It's fine."
Her grandmother, though, has her eyebrows knit together in concern. "You can't leave your fiancé at Christmas. That's the least romantic thing I've ever heard in my life. And of course they're going to want to meet you and get to know their soon to be daughter-in-law. Oh Angel, that would be ridiculous. No, no, no. The only thing to do is to leave me here."
I clear my throat. "I'm sure my parents are expecting you both."
Angel's eyes widen. "Both of us? Andrew, maybe we should talk."
"No, I'm sure that is the plan," I say, stammering. “I can just give them a call now to confirm and set you at ease.”
"You want us both to come to your parents’ for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. That's what you're saying?" she asks.
I shrug. "It would be strange to split up on Christmas. And we're not leaving Grandma Sue here all by herself. That would be heartbreaking."
Her grandma smiles. "Oh Andrew, you're such a sweetheart. Now, I can just sleep on a couch or something. I'm really no imposition. And I'm a little old thing. I could even sleep in an armchair."
"Grandma," Angel says, laughing, "you're not sleeping in an armchair at Christmas."
"No, my parents have a guest room. I'm sure it's fine. I'll just give them a call right now. It's no big deal, I promise."
I leave the girls, and call my father, wanting to do whatever it takes to keep Angel by my side for as long as possible. She is more than my fake fiancée – she is the woman I have wanted for years.
Later, when the house is quiet and Grandma is in bed, Angel and I stand at the end of the hall, face to face. It's pitch dark outside, the night before Christmas Eve.
The day has been long, and I'm overdue for sleep. But this is the moment I've been waiting for, to be alone with her like this.
"My grandma only made up one bed. She assumed that we were going to be sleeping together. So," she swallows, "I can of course sleep on the floor, or..."
I open the door to the bedroom. We step inside. Our bags are already set by the bed. The queen-sized bed is nicely made and the floor is covered in a little carpet. We both look at it, and then one another.
"You think I'm going to let you sleep on the floor?" I laugh. "I mean, I can sleep on the floor if that's what you're trying to suggest. But I have other ideas," I say, closing the door, locking it.
"What kind of ideas?" she asks. Soft moonlight filters through the window, and it's the only light in the room.
She looks so damn beautiful, soft and golden. Like a gift, a package I want to open, but am scared to break. Her heart is a fragile, beautiful thing and much too sweet for me.
I swallow. "Angel, I could share the bed with you."
"You'd want to do that?"
I run a hand over my jaw. "You have no fucking idea."
"That kiss then, it wasn't just to pretend you're my fiancé? You wanted to kiss me?"
"I wanted to do more than kiss you, Angel. I wanted..." I shake my head again. "I wanted to do all sorts of things to you, with you." I step toward her and I wrap my arms around her waist. "I don't usually hit on women. I don't pick up girls. I don't say what I want."
"Are you trying to offend me or turn me on?"
"I'm trying to let you know,” I say softly, "that I'm not used to telling someone that I care about them. I'm not used to opening up and saying what I want."