Nicholas Ryan

I’ve never been a holiday person outside of Christmas. But now that Birdie Mae is in my life—and looking gorgeous in my bed with her fingers tapping on her laptop’s trackpad—I’m sipping coffee and wondering how in the world I can win at Valentine’s Day.

Yeah. Win.

Listen, she did this to herself. It’s not a competition, I know, but when she met me in the airport last night and said, “I have the best present ever!” I felt instantly at war.

At war with my girlfriend.

I love calling her that.

It all seems so new and exciting—mostly because it is. Christmas was only two months ago, but even with long distance, it’s felt like we’ve known each other a million years. I don’t know the last time I felt how I feel now, a type of joy that I thought only came with Christmas.

Turns out Cupid’s holiday knows how to work some magic as well.

I think I used to be a good boyfriend back in the day—I think—but I haven’t actually dated in who knows how long so I hope I’m doing it right.

This morning, I made her breakfast in bed, kissed between her thighs until she squeezed the sides of my head with her legs, and then gifted far too many gummy worms which I know are her favorite.

But, even after all that, Birdie Mae is still grinning like a cat that caught the canary.

She’s convinced she’s winning our first Valentine’s Day.

“Okay, done!”

She presses a key on her laptop like it’s the final note to a grand symphony and a second later my printer is spitting out a piece of paper.

I get up to grab it for her, but she races off the bed and snatches it from the printer feeder, folding it in half.

“No, let me do the honors,” she says, creasing the edge and finally handing it to me.

I take it and smile.

“Oh, a paper. Thank you. You definitely win this holiday.”

She pokes my bicep with a smirk. “Smart ass. It’s a scavenger hunt.”

“How did you even get a scavenger hunt done from out of town?”

“Cooper hid stuff for me,” she says with a shrug like coercing children into Valentine’s activities is totally normal. “I got in touch with his mom and was told he’s easily bribed by fake internet money on that video game he plays.”

I chuckle. “Can you even tell me the name of the video game he plays?”

“It’s…mine…train.” Her nose scrunches up and I grin wider, crossing my arms. “Mine…build…prospector…time! It’s Prospector Time!”

“MineCraft,” I say, reaching out to wrap a hand on her waist and pull her to me.

“Prospector Time was close,” she jokingly pouts.

I’ve missed her so much. I went down to visit her in January and then she insisted on coming back up here for Valentine’s Day. I didn’t care either way; I would have gone to Timbuktu if it meant I got to see her again.

Long distance is fine enough. But it doesn’t beat the real thing—the smell of her sugary scent. Her cotton candy shampoo. A living, breathing, walking Valentine’s Day sweet.

Selfishly, I wish we’d move in together. And I’d be lying if I said I haven’t brought it up. All I got in return was a little eyeroll and a smile. It was a cheeky kind of smile, like maybe she thought I was joking. I wasn’t.

I gave her a copy of my apartment’s key last night. When she asked when she would possibly use it, I simply said, “It’s symbolic.”

She proceeded to wrap her legs around me and kiss me into oblivion.

I’d move down to her if she wanted me to; We don’t have to be in St. Rudolph. Sure, I have my bar and I’ve grown to love the snow, but I would move for her. You do that kind of thing for a woman like Birdie Mae. With her, you thank the heavens every day that that type of woman exists, so you try to deal the same happiness back in spades any way you can.

I kiss her forehead again, then the tip of her nose, but when I try for her lips, she tilts her head away.

“No funny business right now, Saint Nicholas,” she teases.

I grip her waist tighter before releasing with a groan.

“Let me show you how saint-like I can be,” I growl.

She hisses out a breath before shaking her head.

“Come on, dirty old man,” she says. “Play the game.”

“Fine, yes, okay.”

So, a minute later we’re in the bookshop below my apartment and I’m finally unfolding my sheet of paper. It’s a drawing, in her little doodling style I adore—an illustration of an eggplant and a book.

I give her a sideways glance.

“An eggplant?” I ask, raising one single eyebrow.

Her cheeks flush a deep red.

The first time she texted me the emoji combination of an eggplant, a peach, and lips, I had no idea what she meant. But once she explained it, my mind went wild. I didn’t know it was possible to jerk off to a cartoon peach and yet I ended up in the shower with my hand around myself and the thoughts of Birdie Mae pressed against the tiles.

Yeah, I know what the eggplant means. Or, what it should anyway.

“No!” she says with a laugh. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Sure you didn’t.”

“Nic…”

“Okay, okay, I think I know.”

“Then go, go, go!” she coaxes.

We walk down the aisle hand-in-hand, and I turn the corner to the gardening section. It’s obvious she’s been here because there’re tiny cut-outs of red hearts and a book slightly askew in the corner.

I walk closer and below it is a piece of paper that says, ‘Aloe! Is it me you’re looking for?’

I laugh and when I look at her, she’s positively beaming from ear to ear.

“Look at the bookmark!” she says, clapping her hands together.

I open the book and take out the piece of paper. She illustrated a Furby onto it. I love her drawings. I would kill to have them all over my apartment—on the fridge, on sticky notes, on the fog of the shower. I’d display them like some proud parent with little star stickers all over them.

When I look at her nodding in anticipation, I can’t help but smile.

“Is it pointing me…to the toy shop?” I ask.

“Who knows,” she says, waving her fingers around like a ghoul.

“Keep those fingers to yourself or I’ll bite them off.”

She sticks out her tongue.

The shop’s front door opens right when we both turn the corner.

Cooper stops in the threshold, sporting a page boy hat on his head and looking straight out of Newsies. Clutched in his left hand is a clear, plastic grocery bag. Digging in, he pulls out two folded pieces of paper, giving one to Birdie Mae and me. I turn mine over and see a holographic robot staring back.

“Happy Valentine’s Day!” he says.

Birdie Mae coos.

“Aw, Cooper, this is really nice!”

“Don’t get too attached to it, Miss Birdie.”

Taken aback, she holds the valentine closer to her chest.

“Oh, uhm, okay.”

“Well ‘cause the robot sometimes comes off the Valentine and it’ll getcha,” Cooper says.

I swear that kid’s imagination is a mine field.

“What the heck are they teaching you in schools?” Birdie Mae asks.

“Stuff,” he says with a shrug. “But we have three months until summer.”

I chuckle, “I guess that’s all that would matter to me too.”

The thing is, I don’t want time to go that fast. This will be the last time I see Birdie Mae until June. Her publication schedule is picking up and she’s got a bookstore tour so traveling to see me on top of traveling for work is just asking too much.

“By the way,” Cooper says, leaning in toward Birdie. “I hid the thing in the you-know-where.”

I hold my hands up. “I’m sorry—what?”

Birdie Mae nods solemnly. “Thank you, little dude.”

They do some super elaborate handshake and, what, when did they learn a secret handshake?!

“Anyway, Cupid awaits!” Cooper says. “Bye, Mr. Nicholas!”

“Cupid…awaits…?” I ask.

Birdie Mae shrugs.

He rushes out before we can question it.

We leave the bookstore to head to the scavenger hunt’s next destination. It’s not as cold outside as it was two months ago when we paraded around with hot chocolate, making out against icy brick walls and getting into snowball fights. But it is still too cold. I’ll give it to Birdie Mae, though, she has downgraded to only one coat. I’m proud of her.

We walk inside the toy shop, and I look around for five minutes—Birdie Mae biting her lip in anticipation—before I finally see a yapping robotic dog with a Santa hat.

Right below it is the words, ‘You are my pup of tea!’

“Cute,” I say, shaking my head with a smile.

Underneath it is another folded piece of paper—this time with an illustration of a snow angel.

“Santa’s Inn?” I wager, thinking of the B&B she stayed in where I made snow angels after our snowball fight.

She grins wider. “Bingo.”

I love how excited she is about this. I love spending time with her. If all we did were scavenger hunts with her little illustrations, I’d die a happy man. But we also have such little time together.

When I look at her, it’s like she’s reading my mind.

“I could only coax Cooper into helping with one more hiding spot,” she says. “But it’s worth it. I promise.”

I chuckle. “You couldn’t figure out how to give more gifts through MineCraft, could you?”

She kicks invisible dirt on the store’s floor and mutters, “No.”

We head toward the exit, but not before seeing Cooper run past the window, grocery bag full of valentines in his tiny fist as he yells, “BUT CUPID GAVE ME A JOB!”

That kid, I swear.

We walk the one mile stretch to Santa’s Inn, the place where Birdie Mae stayed back in December, where I kissed her for the first time.

Kind of.

Sort of.

I remember seeing her covered in beautiful white dust from our snowball fight, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, wanting to kiss her so bad in that moment.

I ended up kissing her forehead instead, but it still lit me on fire from the inside out.

At the time, it didn’t feel right to kiss her yet. And maybe this isn’t right either, bringing up that we should move in together. We just started dating two months ago. Was it too quick to meet her family? Was it too rushed when I told her I was falling for her on New Year’s Eve?

I look around, searching the area for a scrap of paper. Birdie Mae is stoic, not giving me any hints behind those beautiful eyes. But when they suddenly grow to the size of saucers, I look down at my feet wondering if maybe I stepped on the clue and didn’t notice.

Birdie Mae rushes forward, grabbing my elbow and hissing, “Ohmygod look.”

I glance behind me—maybe it’s on the ground there?—but that’s when I see him.

Oh god, no, Tim.

Traipsing through the snow in furry boots is Tim: our bar regular, one of our town’s reliable fake Santas, and Cooper’s grandfather. Except, on top of the furred boots, he’s also wearing fake wings strapped over his shoulders, and a diaper.

That’s it.

“Tim…”

I wish I could say more, but when you have your eyes planted on an older man’s tiny shrinking nipples that are no doubt freezing in the snow, it’s hard to say much else.

I look to Birdie Mae.

“Birdie Mae, please tell me you didn’t…”

Her head shakes feverishly.

“I swear on my life that I didn’t plan this part, Nic.”

Tim’s arms fly open, like a free soaring eagle in the sky.

“Nicholas!” he calls. He reaches for a quiver of bows I didn’t notice strapped to his back. “Here you go!”

Tim pulls back the string of his bright red bow and bolts an arrow toward us. The arrow bounces off Birdie Mae’s shoulder and onto the snow below.

“May the spirit be with you!” he says.

Her face scrunches toward me.

“I don’t think I should touch it, to be honest,” she says.

I shake my head. “No, don’t.”

Then, down the sidewalk, comes Cooper, huffing and puffing out white poofs of breaths and stopping next to Tim.

He holds up his empty bag. “I delivered them all, Grandpa!”

“Good job, Coop!”

I run a hand over my face. “Tim, what are you…”

“Now, now, Nic!” he says, waggling a finger in my direction. “No judgments from you! Every holiday needs a fantastical being!”

“I think you could have skipped this one,” Birdie Mae mutters.

“And not share the spirit?”

“Come on, Grandpa. Let’s go home.” Cooper says, shooting us a pointed glance. God forbid we don’t appreciate Tim’s efforts. “And oh, I hid the present in the mailbox, Miss Birdie!”

Birdie Mae nods slowly and sighs.

“Thanks,” she deadpans before looking at me, tilting her head to the side. “Well, you heard the scavenger hunt spoiler. In the mailbox you go.”

I laugh. I couldn’t care less if this whole event was ruined or even what the final gift is. The fact that she’s here, with me, enjoying this holiday is all I care about.

I go to the mailbox, reaching my arm inside, fumbling around to find…I look down at the object in my palm.

Squash?

A piece of paper taped to it says, ‘Oh my gourd, I love you!’

I laugh again.

I’ll miss her so much after she leaves this weekend. But at least we have now.

I unfold the paper, and a small key falls to the snow below. I bend and pick it up. It’s the key to my own apartment.

“What’s this?” I ask.

“Well, you asked me if I’d move in…”

“Right.”

“Oh my god, are you okay?” she asks.

I must look bad. I’m not sure what to think, but when your girlfriend gives you back your own apartment key, well, I’m not jumping to conclusions here but I’m also not NOT freaking out.

“I’m fine,” I say.

“You look absolutely crushed.”

“Well, yeah, because I’m holding the key I gave you,” I say, shaking it a little as she bursts into laughter.

“Oh, right, yeah. Sorry! This is me saying yes! Yes, I want to move in with you. Here. In St. Rudolph.”

I shake the loose screws from my brain.

“Wait,” I say. “So, you gave me my own key?”

“It’s symbolic,” she says with a grin, reaching up with her finger to boop my nose. “Happy Valentine’s Day?”

I don’t know what else to do. I have so many emotions coursing through me that all I can do is pick her up and spin her in a hug, filling the air with her laughter.

“What about your home?” I ask, setting her down but not daring to unwrap my arms from around her. “I’m more than happy to move where you are.”

She hits my bicep and shakes her head.

“You are my home, Nicholas,” she says. “Plus, I’m trying this new thing where I follow my heart and my heart will always lead me to you. And St. Rudolph. It just feels right to come home to you.”

Now it’s my turn to roll my eyes. Mostly because if I don’t, I might have freezing tears running into my beard and nobody wants that.

“Just wait—you’ll start writing Valentine’s Day books,” I tease.

“Ooh, sexy Cupids?”

“Please don’t fall in love with Cupid.”

“Did you see Tim?” she asks. “How could I resist?”

I pull her in for another kiss.

I’m in love with Birdie Mae. And now I get her all the time.

After Christmas gifted her to me, I didn’t think another holiday could beat ol’ Saint Nick’s. But Valentine’s Day might just give it a run for its jingle bells.