Saturday, January 6, 2018


(Photo credit here)

"It's too cold," she says. "I can't bear the thought of those sheets on my skin."

"Or these hands," he says.

"Or those hands."

"A simple kiss, then?" 

"Your kisses are never that simple."

He sniffs. "Somebody's awfully full of herself, wearing seven layers of clothes, a bunchy robe and some indeterminate number of socks."

"I thought all that just made me more mysterious."

He thinks for a moment. "Depends. Is that an invitation?"


"Ah. Then no, not mysterious. Just bunchy."

"Come on. Let's lie down, side by side in the dark, with our warm, lovely layers on. We can wait for the new year just like this, before going to bed like proper middle-aged people."

He turns off the bed stand light. Her breath catches. Glow-in-the-dark stars appear on their bedroom ceiling, coursing with a gentle light. 

"When did you—?" she asks, turning on her side to face him.


"Right before lunch?"

"Just after."

"Huh. Well. I like this quite a bit."

"I thought you might."

"I like it so well I may have to kiss you."

"And what if I don't want your kiss? What if I just want to lie here, wait for the old year to die, and then go to sleep like the boring middle-aged person I am?"

"Oh, don't worry. You don't."

"I don't?"

"No. In fact, this was your plan all along."

"In fact," he says, turning to face her. "It was."

She leans in to kiss him. He is warm and lovely and deeply good. She wriggles the toes inside her two pairs of socks and slings a leg across his.

"You make me happy," she says into his ear, before catching his mouth with her own.

A star drops from the ceiling and lands atop her cheek. She brushes it away—hopes for more.


This is the first piece of flash fiction I've written in quite awhile, and continues my "New" series, begun back in 2008.

Happy New Year to all of you. Let's all endeavor to stay warm, and open.