This Christmas by Katlyn Duncan Page B

night after I finished decorating, sweeping up the pine needles and stashing the boxes in the panty.
    Will runs his hand through his hair and plops down on the couch.
    I sit up. “Good morning.”
    Will admires the tree. “Mornin’. When did you go to bed?”
    I stifle a yawn. “Maybe around 1?” I scan the room, which has turned into a Christmas wonderland overnight. I’d put the presents from my parents and my solitary one for Will under the tree, looking as if Santa had already visited.
    “You could have left some for today…”
    “No way,” I say incredulously. “I wanted it to be—”
    He cuts me off with a kiss. “Perfect. I know.”
    I preen.
    “Looks good,” he says, finding his stocking hung above the fireplace. Mabel has stuffed the stocking to the brim.
    I pick up my phone and check the time. “It’s almost noon!” I say.
    Will stretches his arms over his head. “I think we’re both catching up on some much needed rest.”
    My head falls against the arm rest of the couch. Admittedly I could fall back asleep for another few hours, but there’s work to be done.
    “Let me make you something for breakfast, then I’ll start on the turkey.” I head over to the speaker and turn on the Christmas tunes.
    Will whistles along to ‘A Holly Jolly Christmas’ and I can’t help but smile. My efforts have not been wasted getting Will into the spirit of Christmas.
    ***
    After a quick breakfast of egg sandwiches, I shower and put on the only red sweater I took to school with me. If I’m the only one in the house who’s excited for Christmas, I better dress the part. As I come back down the stairs, I inhale the scent of fresh pine needles mixed with a lingering scent of baking cookies from the day before. The Christmas music is louder than where I left it and I can just hear Will’s humming coming from the closet with the water heater. I grin to myself and head to the kitchen.
    I had an idea on how Mom usually made the turkey but I scan a few recipes on the internet. I find one that seems easy enough. I chop some vegetables and fill the turkey. Mom always made the stuffing separate but added the vegetables to keep the turkey moist. I snap a quick picture and send it to my family in a group text. Mom sends back an encouraging thumbs up. While Ethan asks that I don’t burn the cabin down.
    Jerk.
    I place the turkey in the oven and start peeling potatoes. I’m already exhausted by the time the five-pound bag is peeled but thankfully Will offers a hand just as I finish.
    “Cut up the bread and place it in this bowl,” I instruct, pointing at the loaf of bread.
    Will takes my hand and presses the backside to his mouth. “We made enough stuffing at work around Thanksgiving that I’m pretty sure I can do it in my sleep.”
    I stick my tongue out at him. “Fine, show me how it’s done.”
    Will leaves the room and comes back a few minutes later with a handful of herbs and takes one of the apples that we bought as a snack.
    I watch him from the corner of my eye as I quarter the potatoes.
    His hands move expertly over the apple, slicing it into small pieces and tossing them into the bowl of bread he cut up. He crosses the kitchen to the refrigerator and grabs an egg. He cracks that and adds numerous herbs to the mix.
    I can’t hide my surprise any longer. “Is there a reason you’re not cooking for me more often?”
    The corner of his mouth quirks devilishly, making me want to forget cooking and get right to dessert. “You never asked.”
    I turn back to the potatoes and place them in the pot of boiling water. “When we get back, I’m asking. Like every day.”
    He brushes past me, his hand slipping over my hips, sending a fresh wave of tingles in its wake. He grabs the casserole dish and spreads the stuffing inside of it. I cover the pot of water and potatoes and place the dirty dishes in the sink.
    “This may sound gross,” Will says, helping me pick up around the kitchen. “But Ralph made this