24th of December

"Charlie?"

He watches as she hangs the last piece of tinsel, appreciating how she spaces them all perfectly so that each bit of the tree glistens just a little bit more.

"Hm?"

Elsie bends to plug in the lights on the tree and then backs away a bit to check her work, giving a bit of a nod of approval at the overall appearance. She turns to him and shoots him a look that he finds quite endearing.

"Do you mind? It is Christmas Eve, and I know it's not nighttime yet, but we'll be gone until morning."

He shakes his head slowly, a soft look of love on his face. "I don't mind," he replies quietly. "Would you like to open your gift?"

Elsie furrows her brow. "I already have, haven't I?" She waves at the tree, perplexed, but then her eyes spot a small box below the tree, tucked just far enough behind the horse for young Johnny that she hadn't noticed it before. "Where did that come from?"

"I'll actually answer that, because it's a rather interesting story and series of events." He points to it, indicating that she should retrieve it. "As you said, we won't be home this evening."

"I need to eat first," she says, ever practical - and quite hungry, being used to rising two hours earlier and already being full of a light breakfast by this point in the day. Ducking into the kitchen, she returns with a small tin.

"A wholesome choice," he teases, reaching for one of the gingerbread biscuits. "But appropriate, I think."

"You would." She kisses his cheek and sets her biscuit on his plate, then fetches the small box and returns to her seat by his side. Their legs are touching, and she reaches over and squeezes his knee and leans into him a bit, grateful that the settee is rather small for the two of them.

"I feel rather spoilt," she confides quietly. "Hot tea upon waking, Christmas music in the cottage, new lights and tinsel on the tree ..."

"We're making new traditions," he summarizes, resting his arm across the back of the settee just over her shoulders. "And I'd say that after two lifetimes of being hard-working people who've had very little of our own, we deserve a bit of spoiling."

"I hope you feel the same when you see your gift," Elsie replies quietly.

He hears apprehension in her voice and is desperate to quell it, to not allow anything whatsoever to ruin the peaceful, sweet atmosphere in which he now sits.

"I'm sure it'll be wonderful," he reassures. "Now - unwrap that. Please."

She's so curious as to what can be in the beautifully wrapped box. And who wrapped it remains a mystery as well, for she's certain it wasn't her husband. The paper is a muted cream color with printed holly leaves and berries. The ribbon is securely tied and forms a neat bow on the top, and its color is red like the berries with a bit of golden thread on the edging.

She pulls one end and the entire length slides off with ease. With a sweet look at Charlie, she slides her fingertip under the paper and pulls it off, revealing a hinged box. It's the wrong shape to hold any type of jewelry, but it's lovely; in and of itself, it would make a beautiful gift. She slowly lifts the lid.

Charles watches her face as she opens the box. He wishes he could capture every second, every change in her expression, every bit of the gasp as she spies what lies inside.

"Charlie ... Ohhhh," she breathes, trailing her fingertip over the one that lies on top. "Where in the world did you find these?"

"Do you like them?"

She turns to him and he sees her eyes full of emotion. "They are exquisite," she breathes, and a tear slides down her face. She doesn't even seem to notice.

"Oh, no," he murmurs, brushing his hand over her cheek. "We'll have none of that."

Inside the box rests a set of two hand-carved hairpins. At first glance they appear to be tortoise-shell, but upon closer examination she sees that they're made of burled wood. She lifts one out, examining it more closely, and just turns and stares at her husband, speechless.

"They're the color of your hair," he explains quietly. "That's what drew me to them. I wanted something unique, functional but not just functional - although that wouldn't bad necessarily, but I'd already gotten you the tinsel, which is also functional and also not useful all year, so this needed to be ..." He stops, breathes, realizes he's rambling. "Beautiful," he finishes. "Like my wife."

"Charlie," she whispers, her hand now over her heart. She leans in and kisses him tenderly. "How in the world did I ever end up with someone as completely romantic as you?" A laugh bubbles up from within her. "When did you become this romantic?"

He pulls her closer, kissing her again, deeply. "Don't ever tell," he whispers back. "Not that anyone would believe you anyhow."

"You said there was a story to go along with the gift?"

Elsie sets the box on the coffee table and cuddles up to her husband, and the sound of his voice fills the room as he spins the tale involving a suggestion from Mr. Mason, a charming, tucked-away shop, and the shop's seemingly magical owner. The sun begins to shine through the window, the lights are on the tree, and there's a small fire in the hearth.

In that moment, Elsie knows without a doubt, her life is positively, beautifully perfect.

"Your gift isn't here," she says after a while. "I'm sure I don't need to explain that; it's clearly not anywhere under the tree."

"Well, now I'm curious, I'll admit. But I can be patient."

"You have proven that in the past, dear. Anyhow, it's at the Abbey."

"Do I get to open it this evening, then?"

She leans back and turns to him, her lip beneath her teeth. "Are you excited, Mr. Carson? For your Christmas surprise?"

"Well," he replies, trying not to sound impatient, "it is Christmas, I suppose. I'm curious, certainly."

She continues to stare at him, amused.

"Fine! I'm excited. I cannot wait to see what you came up with, and I'm completely baffled as to why it's not here."

"Oh, that's easy," she says. "I couldn't carry it all the way here by myself, so I had it delivered there because I knew we'd be there all day and quite likely exhausted by the time we're back from midnight mass."

"My wife. Ever the planner."

"Plotter," she counters with a smile.

He leans over and kisses her on the cheek.

"Elf," he whispers.

Elsie, for once, doesn't correct him.

Thanks again for all of your steady reviews, particularly to the guests to whom I cannot reply individually (including C4E, John, and suzie, whose names pop up in that little review field). I'm so happy for each and every one. This story is definitely full of romantic overtures by Charlie, but in the next chapter, he gets to UNWRAP his gift from Elsie. Whatever could it be? xxx