"Happy Christmas Mr. Chance," Isla said. She watched as he took another shot. She'd lost count of how many they'd had while sitting next to the dang tree.
"Merry Christmas Mrs. Pucci," Chance said. She took another shot effectively clouding her mind.
"Really," she pondered, "how long are we going to keep this up? Do you think we've effectively drowned our sorrows?"
"Well, I don't know. Are you still sad?" he asked.
She thought about it for a moment. Was she still sad?
No, she realized. I'm not sad.
"No," she said aloud, "I'm not. Perhaps it's the alcohol," she joked.
"Or maybe it's healing," he murmured. She wasn't even sure if she'd heard him right.
She wasn't sure if it was the alcohol or maybe it was the man she was with, but either way, she wasn't sad anymore. Sure she missed her husband—she had loved him—but she realized that he was gone and that he wasn't coming back. She had a new life now, and it was high time that she embraced it. Impulsively she leaned toward him; she didn't know why.
Later, when she was alone and trying to rationalize her action, she would tell herself that it was the influence of the alcohol, and she would pretend like she didn't remember it—he would do the same. But in the moment, she wasn't thinking about that. She wasn't thinking about her late husband. She wasn't thinking about the consequences or the repercussions of her actions. She wasn't thinking rationally about anything in that moment except how it would feel to kiss him. She wasn't thinking about anything more than how good he was; that no matter what he'd done in his past, he was good.
She wasn't thinking at all; she was just acting. She acted on the thoughts she wasn't having and she leaned in and kissed him. She was surprised that he didn't pull away, but she couldn't wonder at the reason because she still wasn't thinking. Even if she'd tried, it would have been impossible. In that moment she forgot about anything but him.
It was like nothing she had ever felt before. It was pure and sweet and demanding all at the same time. It was everything she had dreamed about as a girl but had never experienced. Sure she'd loved her husband, but it had been a gradual love. A love grown out of fondness and friendship. But, again, she wasn't thinking about that right now. All she could think of was this good man who was holding her in his arms and kissing her.
After a while she pulled back and looked into his eyes.
"Merry Christmas Mr. Chance," she whispered.
"Happy Christmas Isla," he returned softly.