Vicki Thompson - The Nights Before Christmas

While he cleaned up his supper dishes, Matilda paced the tiny apartment waiting for him to finish. He took a moment to add water to the metal stand holding his Christmas tree, a slightly larger one than Suzanne’s. His wasn’t decorated yet for the simple reason that he had no decorations. He’d bought the tree on a whim because he loved the smell of evergreen. One of these days he’d pick up some ornaments and lights, but for now he had a nice foresty scent in his little basement apartment.

Come to think of it, he was in the mood for some Christmas music. He picked out three holiday CDs from his collection and loaded them into his stereo before falling into his overstuffed reading chair. With a little prrt of pleasure, Matilda jumped to his lap and curled up, purring happily.

He scratched under her chin, using the exact motion she loved. With his free hand, he picked up the book he’d left on the table beside the chair. For the past couple of weeks he’d been on a Dickens kick.

Reading was very nearly his favorite occupation, but because he was a healthy thirty-one-year-old male, making love to a special woman still ranked first. Tonight, no matter how much he tried to concentrate on the trials of Oliver Twist, he kept thinking of how great it would be to snuggle with Suzanne.

Finally he gave up, put down the book and leaned back, closing his eyes and stroking Matilda while he thought about Suzanne. The top of her head came to his chin, which made her about five-seven, a height he happened to favor. With his eyes shut he could imagine standing close enough to catch the scent of her rose-scented shampoo. How he’d love to bury his nose in those wild curls of hers before eventually hooking a finger under her chin and tilting her face to his for a kiss—an under-the-mistletoe kiss.

She had a wide, generous mouth, and he liked that in a woman. Or maybe he just liked Suzanne’s mouth, especially when she smiled. In his fantasy she would be smiling, waiting eagerly for that first meeting of lips. Her eyes, which could crackle with blue fire, would be soft and dreamy in anticipation of the pleasure to come.

Taking his time, he’d lower his head, watching how her lips parted as he drew near. Because this was his fantasy, he imagined her wanting this kiss more than any she’d ever had. Her heart would be beating as fast as his, and her hand would steal around his neck, her fingers warm, her touch reminding him that this kiss was only the beginning….

When his doorbell buzzed, Matilda jumped from his lap and loped into the bedroom. He didn’t have many visitors, and she wasn’t crazy about socializing with those he did have. He wasn’t wild about the interruption, himself. His fantasy of kissing Suzanne had come to the good part.

He wondered what emergency had brought a tenant to his door. Nearly everybody used the telephone to summon him upstairs for whatever repair was needed, an arrangement that was fine with him. This basement apartment was his refuge, and besides, he wasn’t supposed to have a pet. The fewer people who knew about Matilda, the better.

Whatever had happened upstairs, he hoped it could wait until morning. Having a handyman on the premises meant that, technically, people could call him twenty-four hours a day, but he still considered the hours between eight at night and six in the morning as his, unless someone had a major flood or wires shooting sparks across the room.

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