It all started innocently enough. We just put up the mistletoe more out of habit than anything else. I hung it in its usual place, over the archway between the open plan living room and dining room.
As was our annual tradition, my husband’s best friend came over to have our pre-Christmas celebrations, knowing that we would soon spend our limited spare time with our respective families, and we would see considerably less of each other.
We’d already finished the board games segment of the day, and were eagerly feasting on a takeaway.
Once we’d had our fill, my husband ventured upstairs, presumably to get out of clearing up. However, his friend Chase kindly helped me escort the dirty plates and food wrappers into the kitchen.
I was heading to the kitchen as he returned from it, and we crossed paths underneath the mistletoe. “Uh-oh, careful.” He said, glancing upwards.
Assuming that he was joking, I shut my eyes and leaned closer to him, pursing my lips. Before I could pull away, his warm lips contacted mine.
“Oh!” I yelped, surprised.
He merely smiled and continued to help tidy away the remnants of our meal.
It was just a brief peck of a kiss, and yet it excited me greatly. I couldn’t help but want another.
