David Handler - The Snow White Christmas Cookie

“A certain resident trooper wouldn’t like it very much if I stayed.”

“Who, Des? She’ll be fine with it. Lots of people will. Dorset is changing fast. This isn’t the same place it used to be. She’s living proof of that. We’re living proof of that. Besides, you can’t keep running away your whole life. You have to put down roots.”

Josie shook her head at him. “No, you don’t.”

“Where will you go?”

“Somewhere warm. Anywhere warm.” Josie let out a mournful sigh. “Anywhere but here.”

It was starting to snow again as Des eased her cruiser across the causeway, a huge bag of groceries riding on the seat next to her, along with Mitch’s Christmas present. Eight inches of fresh white powder were expected overnight. Happily, Mitch’s concussion symptoms were starting to ease off. Des knew this because tonight he’d placed his first highly specific dinner order-her smothered pork chops with home fries and sauteed collard greens. If Mitch had his normal appetite back then all was right in his world. And in hers, too.

He had a bottle of Chianti Classico open when she got there. A big fire blazed in the fireplace. Neil Young was on the stereo. And that wasn’t all.

“Mitch, how did my little yellow bikini end up on that Christmas tree again? ”

“I can’t remember,” he replied, beaming at her. “I’m still concussed.”

“You know what I was thinking while I was driving over here? This is going to be my happiest Christmas ever. Would you like to know why?”

“Because I didn’t freeze to death?”

“Well, yeah.”

“I’m kind of happy about that, too.”

As soon as they got comfy in front of the fire with their wine she handed over his present.

“Hey, I thought we were going to wait until Christmas morning to exchange gifts,” he said.

“Hey, I changed my mind,” she said. “Open it.”

He tore open the wrapping to reveal an old book. But not just any old book. It was a signed Random House 1941 first edition of his all-time favorite Hollywood novel, What Makes Sammy Run? by Mr. Budd Schulberg, who also wrote the screenplays for two of his favorite films, On the Waterfront and A Face in the Crowd . It was in perfect condition, dust jacket and all.

Mitch drew in his breath, awestruck. “Do you have any idea how rare this is?”

“Pretty good idea.”

“You shouldn’t have.”

“And yet I did. Nothing’s too good for my boyfriend.”

“Wow, girlfriend … Thank you large.”

“You’re welcome large.”

Now he fetched a mailer pouch from his writing table and handed it to her. “I haven’t wrapped yours yet. And it’s going to seem like a dog biscuit in comparison. Promise me you won’t laugh?”

“I promise.” She opened it to find a navy blue wool beret inside. A hat? He bought me a HAT? Wait, there was something else tucked in the pouch. A letter-sized envelope containing … a pair of open-ended first-class tickets from JFK to CDG-as in Charles de Gaulle International Airport in Paris, France.

“We still haven’t spent time together in Paris,” he explained as she stared at him with her mouth open. She was not laughing. “It’s something we’ve just got to do. And we have to do it in April. No other month’s nearly as glorious. I figured we’d spend a couple of weeks there, then rent a car and get lost down in the Loire Valley until we max out your vacation time. Sound okay?”

“Sounds incredible . I can’t wait.” She tried the beret on for size, adjusting it this way and that. “How does it look?”

“Saucy,” Mitch replied. “And I happen to be a major fan of saucy.”

“Guess what I’d like to do tonight after we eat.”

“I’m hoping I have a pretty good idea.”

“No, not that. I mean, yeah. But first I want to watch Palm Beach Story .”

“I must be drifting back into la-la land. It sounded like you just said you want to watch Palm Beach Story .”

“Can we?”

“I’m afraid not,” he answered grimly. “I have to soldier on with my Danny Kaye Film Festival. I made it all of the way through The Court Jester this afternoon and tonight I intend to endure The Man From the Diner’s Club .”

“Mitch, you don’t like Danny Kaye.”

“That’s not entirely accurate. I loathe Danny Kaye.”

“So why are you watching all of his movies?”

“Because I have to.”

Des peered into his eyes. “You sure you’re feeling okay?”

“Never better.”

She gazed into the fire, sipping her wine. “You know, you were babbling about some pretty strange stuff when we found you on that beach.”

“That doesn’t surprise me. Like what?”

“Kids.”

“ I was talking about kids? Boy, I don’t remember that at all. What did I say about them?”

“That we never had any. You seemed awful sorry about it, too.”

He got up and put another log on the fire, poking at it. “Are you sure? Because that really doesn’t sound like me.”

“Oh, it was definitely you. The only other man there was Casey and he wasn’t doing much talking.”

“Des, I must have been delirious.”

“So you didn’t mean it?”

“Mean what?”

“That you want to have kids.”

“I honestly don’t know what I meant. Can’t even imagine what I … Why, do you want to have kids?”

“Who, me? Maybe someday. But not right now.”

Mitch nodded his head. “Not right now. I agree a hundred percent.”

“Are you sure?”

He took a long time before he answered her. “Honestly? I’m not sure about much of anything anymore. But as long as I’ve got you and your little yellow bikini on my side I’m okay with that.”

“I guess that means the bikini stays on your Christmas tree.”

“Has to. Unless you want to, you know, model it before dinner.”

Des looked up at him through her eyelashes. “If I do that we won’t be eating dinner until ten o’clock.”

“Actually, it might be after midnight. I’m still concussed. I may have forgotten some critically important moves.”

“Not to worry, wow man. I’ll refresh your memory.”

“You’d do that for me?”

“Happy to,” she assured him. “For starters, do you remember where my tattoo is?”

Mitch got that dreamy look on his face. “Oh, yeah…”

Des showed him her smile. “Then I think you’re going to be just fine.”