When I woke up in the morning, I smelled the strong, spicy scent of pine. You were already up and I could hear you clunking around downstairs. You already had your boots on from the sound of it, so I wondered if you'd been out fishing, but I also wondered about the pine smell. 

I got dressed and went downstairs to find the cabin had been transformed. There were little paper angels strung on streamers and hung across the beams of the ceiling. There was a string of Christmas lights tacked up around the the entire room and the glow they gave off was yellow and warm. And then I saw the tree – a full and fat fir tree, propped in a bucket filled with stones. It was lit with delicate strings of white snowflake lights and adorned with golden angels and stars. 

I walked closer and inspected the angel at the top of the tree. It was a stunning capiz shell angel blowing into a golden trumpet. It was rather simple, but so elegant. 

“She reminded me of you,” you spoke from behind. 

I spun around, my eyes wild with delight. “It's so beautiful, Zayn! How did you know I loved angels?” 

You smirked and said, "I didn't. Just a lucky guess."

Then you pulled me closer to the fireplace and I saw two small burlap stockings tacked to the fireplace mantle. 

I rushed to find my makeshift calendar and realized it was December 22 already. “Christmas is so close!” I exclaimed, not quite believing that I'd been with you for almost a month. 

I looked around the small cabin, delighted with each glance at the cozy warmth of the place. I was homesick in a new way, knowing I'd be missing the most special time of year with my family. But even stronger was the feeling I had about the transformed cabin. And the feelings I had about you. And about the roses you sent me on my 18th birthday. And about the fact that you loved me more than anyone had ever loved me in my entire life. 

And without thinking, I flew into your arms, kissing you soundly. 

You were shocked, I could tell, especially when I had been planning to leave just two days ago. But you kissed me back and it seemed so right. So perfect. I no longer doubted my feelings. You had been misguided, yes, but your love for me was so pure, so profound, that I knew my own feelings were true. 

I pulled away from the kiss and looked into your incredible golden brown eyes while your arms stayed securely around my waist. My arms were still looped around your neck, but I moved one hand to your face, cupping your cheek and speaking what felt like the most sincere words I'd ever spoken. 

“I love you, Zayn.” 

Your eyes went wide and you just stared at me for several moments, clearly trying to process my words and to gauge whether or not I was telling the truth. 

“I never thought you would say that,” you finally admitted to me. “I mean, I hoped you would. But...are you sure? I...I don't know what to say...” 

“Say you love me, too,” I said with a grin. 

“I love you, River.” And then you kissed me again, igniting a new passion in my heart for you. I couldn't believe that things had turned out this way, but I didn't care how it happened anymore. It happened, and that was all I needed to know – I was absolutely, completely, truly in love with you. 

We stood there for a long time, basking in our new revelation. I didn't think I would ever tire of having your arms around me. 

Finally you asked, “Do you want some breakfast?” 

“I'd love some, but let me help.” 

We pulled out some eggs and a slab of bacon that you had taken from the freezer the night before. There was no microwave, so we had to let the frozen foods thaw the old-fashioned way. You put water into the tea kettle and set it on the stove top. 

It was nice, working alongside you, both of us comfortable with the silence.

We had breakfast and then we sat by the fire, reading poetry again. We had decided that we would wait a while before trying to go fishing again since we were both sufficiently traumatized by the previous day's events. 

I began with another Longfellow poem. It was no secret he was my favorite. 

“The Day is Done

The day is done, and the darkness
      Falls from the wings of Night,
As a feather is wafted downward
      From an eagle in his flight.

I see the lights of the village
      Gleam through the rain and the mist,
And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me
      That my soul cannot resist:

A feeling of sadness and longing,
      That is not akin to pain,
And resembles sorrow only
      As the mist resembles the rain.

Come, read to me some poem,
      Some simple and heartfelt lay,
That shall soothe this restless feeling,
      And banish the thoughts of day.

Not from the grand old masters,
      Not from the bards sublime,
Whose distant footsteps echo
      Through the corridors of Time.

For, like strains of martial music,
      Their mighty thoughts suggest
Life's endless toil and endeavor;
      And to-night I long for rest.

Read from some humbler poet,
      Whose songs gushed from his heart,
As showers from the clouds of summer,
      Or tears from the eyelids start;

Who, through long days of labor,
      And nights devoid of ease,
Still heard in his soul the music
      Of wonderful melodies.

Such songs have power to quiet
      The restless pulse of care,
And come like the benediction
      That follows after prayer.

Then read from the treasured volume
      The poem of thy choice,
And lend to the rhyme of the poet
      The beauty of thy voice.

And the night shall be filled with music,
      And the cares, that infest the day,
Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs,
      And as silently steal away.

You smiled while I read and you kept smiling after I finished.

“What?” I asked, pretending to be offended. “You don't like that one?”

“No, I loved it. And I think Longfellow would have loved it, too. You've lent to the rhyme of the poet the beauty of thy voice.”

I blushed with your compliment.

Then you chose one that, once again, demonstrated your love for the sappy and romantic, but I loved it anyway.

"Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate.
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer’s lease hath all too short a date.
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimmed;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature’s changing course, untrimmed;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st,
Nor shall death brag thou wand’rest in his shade,
When in eternal lines to Time thou grow’st.
        So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
        So long lives this, and this gives life to thee."

We spent the next two days sharing stories of family Christmases from when we were very young, before our lives had been destroyed by our parents' poor choices. I told you about my family's ski vacation at Frost Fire when I was seven, just before my dad left. It hit us all out of nowhere that my father abandoned us because that family vacation had seemed so perfect. It was more likely that since I was only seven, I didn't notice the subtle nuances of a family falling apart.

You told me about the best Christmas you ever had, when your mum and dad took you to see a movie on Christmas afternoon. It was such a simple thing, but it seemed to represent the happiness you once had with your family.

"Let's try to remember the good things from now on, okay?" I said. "It doesn't do us any good to dwell on all the tragedies in our lives, now does it?"

You came to me and slipped your arms around my waist, pulling me very close. You leaned in to to whisper in my ear, "You're the best thing that's ever happened to me."

On Christmas Eve, I made some cookies, but since we didn't have any cookie cutters, I cut out designs with a butter knife and baked them on a small cookie sheet. You helped me frost them with the icing I made.

I watched you while you put extensive detail into a rather large and fat snowman. We didn't even have any food coloring, but you used a toothpick to create a face and textures and buttons.

“Why don't you have any art supplies here?” I asked.

“I didn't bring anything with me from England,” you explained.

“Do you have anything in Grand Forks?”

“No. I never got around to buying more. I was kind of preoccupied,” you said with an embarrassed little smile.

"Have you kept any of your work? I would love to see it," I enthused.

Your eyes lit up. "Yeah! But it's all at my apartment."

“When we go back, you can show me. And you should definitely buy more paint and brushes and whatever you like to use. You shouldn't shut that part of yourself off.”

You looked at me with a very serious expression and I wondered if I had said something wrong.

“What's the matter?” I asked.

“You still want to leave?”

I was blindsided by your naivete. Of course, I still wanted to leave. I had grown to love the cabin, but I couldn't spend my whole life there.

“Zayn,” I said with a little irritation in my voice. “We can't stay here. I thought you realized that. It's too dangerous, and it's too isolated.”

You kept looking at me as I spoke and the expression on your face was hard to read, but it almost looked like you were going to cry.

I wiped my hands on a towel and walked around the small counter to where I was standing right in front of you. I took your hands in mine and told you, “I said 'when we go back,' meaning you and me together. I'm not leaving you, Zayn. I just don't think I can live here.”

“How do I know you're not just saying that? What if you change your mind when we get back there?”

“Well, you're just going to have to trust me,” I said with a wink. And then I kissed you because I wanted you know that I was serious. I wanted to stay with you when we went back to Grand Forks. I wanted to be with you.

I loved you.

You seemed hesitant to believe me, to accept my assurance in the form of a kiss, but I pressed my lips more firmly against yours, and then I opened my mouth just enough to flick my tongue across your lips. You responded by opening your mouth and returning the depth of the kiss. Soon, we were sharing the most passionate kiss that we had thus far. As you moved your mouth tenderly in unison with mine, I let a satisfied sigh slip from my throat, and it came out sounding a little more like a whine.

I finally broke away from the kiss, satisfied that I had at least begun to convince you that I truly wanted to be with you.

But I knew that you had to work through some things from your past, and maybe I did, too. “I want you to do one thing when we get back, though. In fact, I think we should do it together,” I said.

“What's that?” You asked with a new light in your eyes.

“You need some professional help to process your parents' death and being left alone to care for your grandfather all those years. You went through a devastating loss and you haven't healed. I can still see the hurt in you.”

“Do you think I'm crazy?” You asked with a scowl.

“No, do you think I'm crazy?” I retorted. “I saw a therapist for a while. After my dad left and my mom broke down, I didn't know how to handle it either. And there was no one to help me until I started talking to a counselor. And what I experienced wasn't half as traumatic as what you went through.”

You looked at me, absorbing my words.

“I love you, Zayn, and I want you to believe that. And I will do my best to love you through the healing process, but I can't be the only one to help you to get past what happened to you. So, please promise me that you'll let me find you some help.”

You cupped your hands around my face and pulled me into a slow and deep kiss, your mouth moving tenderly once more to show me how much you cared about me. Then you finally replied, “Gladly.”

We finished the cookies and cleaned up our mess. I put two small cookies on a plate and then pulled out one of the half gallons of milk that was thawing in the fridge. I poured some into a tin cup. Then I found a scrap of paper and wrote, “For Santa.”

“For Santa?” You teased.

“Yes, it's tradition in my family. We've done it ever since we were little, even though Nolan and I stopped believing in Santa when we were pretty young.”

You just smiled and hugged me.

We went to bed and snuggled together against cold wind that was assaulting the cabin. I felt so warm and content falling asleep in your arms.

We awoke on Christmas morning and kissed each other. It felt like Christmas, which sounds kind of redundant because it was, indeed, Christmas. I would never have expected it to feel like Christmas morning, being hundreds of miles from my family and not being able to exchange gifts with those I loved.

But I had you.

We went downstairs and I made another apple spice cake while you prepared some hot cocoa. You also opened a can of peaches and then we fried up the rest of the bacon that we had thawed a few days earlier. You rebuilt the fire and finally we brought the feast to the coffee table and sat down to enjoy the warmth of the fireplace.

Before you sat down, you pulled the stockings off the fireplace mantle and brought them over. You handed one to me and my jaw dropped. I couldn't believe you had actually filled the stockings. 

I peered inside of mine and saw a tiny box. I pulled it out and opened it, revealing a sterling silver necklace with a sailboat pendant. 

"Zayn, it's amazing," I gasped. "You didn't have to do this."

"It made me think of you taking sailing lessons at Leigh-on-Sea. I bought it before I left England."

I threw my arms around your neck and kissed you, touched by your gesture and grateful that I had another souvenir from my memorable trip to England.

When I pulled away, I felt sad. "I didn't get you anything."

"I didn't expect you to," you said, laughing out loud. "But there is some candy in both of ours."

I peeked inside again and saw a pile of Hershey's kisses and a few mini candy canes. "Where did you manage to hide these all this time?"

"They were in the Christmas box," you said simply.

I could have sworn I looked through that box, but I must not have dug all the way to the bottom. No matter. I was thrilled with your little surprise.

“Merry Christmas, Zayn,” I said, squeezing you in another hug.

“Merry Christmas, River.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Poems from this chapter: The Day is Done by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Shall I Compare Thee to a Summer's Day? (Sonnet 18) by William Shakespeare