The kettle's whistle rang throughout the kitchen. She shuffled into the room, donned with her fuzzy slippers, a big gray sweatshirt, and Harry's old pair of baggy black sweatpants.
Her brown hair was tousled unceremoniously about her face. Glamour eluded her, yet she was still naturally and unconventionally pretty, her face pinked from the cold.
She reached the stove and pulled the kettle off, and turned off the burner. She then grabbed the mug on her counter and poured herself some hot water.
The steam flowed up into her face, warming her nose and cheeks. She set the mug and kettle down on the counter and scuffed over to the pantry to get some hot chocolate mix.
As she opened the door and looked into the pantry, she sighed, blowing a wisp of hair out of her face, reaching for the Nestle mix. She slammed the door closed with her foot and walked back to her steaming mug.
Rip open, pour powder, open creaky drawer, get spoon (clink clink), close creaky drawer, stir, and enjoy.
She brought the warm mug to her lips, the warmth of it stinging her numbed fingers. She then took a sip. The heat traveled down her throat and washed over her insides like a blanket of tender comfort. So warm. So good.
"Hmmm… I can't believe it's snowing already," she mused to herself on this chilly Saturday morning, as she looked out her kitchen window. She nodded distractedly, rocking back and for on her toes. Finally she decided to go sit on her couch.
Her feet carried her from the kitchen and into the living room. She surveyed the scene as her slippers touched the carpet, holding her mug close to her.
Such a simple set up. Big windows, tan L-shaped couch, pillows strewn about, and a giant black TV facing the couch. Under the TV, the gas-powered fire burned and crackled.
She smiled and sat down, grabbing the blanket that was bunched up under the coffee table.
She set the mug down on the glass table. She felt content. Not necessarily happy, but not necessarily sad. She was okay. Alone, but okay.
She picked up her mug, took another sip and set it back down, reclining back. The TV was on, but she paid no heed, the volume on mute.
Her attention drifted, from the white pearly snow outside, to the intoxicating smell that lingered on the blanket. It was then that she realized that it was Christmas.
"Oh. Man. My bad…" she muttered. She then noticed a present under the coffee table.
"Hm," she let out, pouting with confusion.
She leaned down and picked it up. It was wrapped in all black. A little box with a purple bow on it. No card. She settled herself and crossed her legs, placing the present in her lap and opening it slowly.
The wrapping paper came off easily, and she stuck the bow onto her sweatshirt. Inside was a pair of fuzzy gloves. They matched her slippers.
"Awesome…perfect actually," she whispered under her breath and slide them on. Snug and just right.
"Hmmmmm," she smiled again. "Well thanks, Santa."
She then picked up her mug and sipped from it again, letting that warmth pour over her senses. For some reason she seemed unfazed by the fact that she just received some gloves from a random stranger.
She just kept smiling, holding her mug even closer to her.
It was then that she heard a knock at her door.
"It's open," she called out.
The door creaked open and in someone came.
"Well, what a lovely surprise," she grinned, not moving to greet her visitor. "Happy Christmas. Almost forgot that was today."
The visitor just smirked and replied, "You would forget something like that. Happy Christmas. Nice gloves."
"Oh. Thanks for noticing. Santa just gave them to me," she quipped. "Come in, come in. I would get up but it's way too cold."
"No worries," he began, placing the coat he was holding on the kitchen counter. "May I?" he asked, walking over and gesturing to joining her on the couch.
"Certainly, " she said warmly, smiling up at him.
He sat to her right, and scooted under the part of blanket she offered to him.
"Ooo. Hot chocolate. Could I have a sip?"
"Of course," she agreed, handing it to him.
He grabbed it and sipped, resting back. He held it by the handle as he put his other arm around her. He was warm despite just being out in the bitter cold.
His pale face was flushed, his dark hair shimmering with little white snowflakes, the contrast significant. She just gazed into his soft charcoal eyes and smiled that distracted smile, resting her head on his chest, safe there.
He looked down at her and smiled back.
That feeling of warmth washed through her again. She was warm. She was content.
It felt good.