Chapter 4: A Christmas to Remember

The Armstrong home was alive with holiday spirit. The air was thick with the rich scent of roasted turkey and cinnamon, the windows dressed in sparkling lights that cast a warm glow on the snowy world outside. It was Christmas Eve, and the cozy living room was filled with laughter, warmth, and the rustling of wrapping paper. Christmas music played softly in the background, blending with the hum of family chatter.

Freen and Becky stood in the doorway, their cheeks rosy from the cold. Freen carried a small bag in her hand, a gift for Becky's parents, while Becky carried a large, homemade pie wrapped carefully in a dish towel.

"Mom! Dad! We're here!" Becky called out, her voice filled with excitement as she crossed the threshold.

Mrs. Armstrong was the first to greet them, pulling Becky into a tight hug. "Oh, darling, it's so good to see you!" She kissed Becky's cheek and then turned to Freen, giving her a warm embrace as well. "And Freen, always a pleasure to have you here. You two are welcome anytime."

Freen grinned, a little awkwardly, but still feeling the warmth of Mrs. Armstrong's embrace. "Thank you, Mum. It's always lovely to be here."

Mr. Armstrong, who had been in the kitchen, wiped his hands on a towel and came over to greet them both. "The turkey's almost ready. How are you two doing? Still managing to squeeze time for each other amidst all the work?" he asked, a playful glint in his eyes.

Becky rolled her eyes, "Oh, you know, just barely," but Freen quickly waved her hand dismissively. "I've been busy with campaigns and shoots, but we always make time for each other." she said with confidence and a hesitant smile.

Mr. Armstrong raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "That's good to hear. And what about the future? Are you two thinking about making it official anytime soon?"

Becky, who had been watching Freen's face carefully, saw a flicker of something in her expression—something like hesitation. She bit her lip but didn't say anything. The teasing continued.

"Dad!" Becky exclaimed, trying to deflect. "Can we just enjoy the holiday without talking about the future for once?"

But Mrs. Armstrong jumped in, her voice teasing and light. "Oh, sweetheart, we've all been wondering. You know how much Freen takes care of you. You've been talking about her since you were a little girl, just 16! Always telling us how much you adored her."

Becky blushed, glancing at Freen. She could feel her face heating up, but Freen just raised an eyebrow, clearly amused.

"Oh, don't remind me of those days," Freen said, trying to lighten the mood. "I was just the poor, unsuspecting girl you had a crush on."

Becky laughed, nudging Freen with her shoulder. "You were the one who would always tease me about it."

"Oh, I was just helping you figure out your feelings," Freen said, smirking playfully. "You were so obvious. I mean, how could I not notice?"

Mrs. Armstrong, ever the storyteller, grabbed the nearest photo album from the shelf. "Look at this," she said, flipping it open. "There's little Becky just 16 at her first Christmas party in thailand—she's wearing glasses and this ridiculous oversized sweater. I swear, Freen, she used to talk about you every day, and there was always a sparkle in her eye when she said your name."

Becky groaned, her face now as red as the Christmas tree ornaments. "Oh, God, Mom, don't tell that story."

But Mrs. Armstrong continued, much to Becky's embarrassment. "She was with you in acting classes, and every time you came to the house for the party, you couldn't tear her away from you. I don't think she even noticed anyone else existed."

Becky hid her face in her hands, but Freen was laughing now, and it felt good to hear her laugh like that. "You know," Freen began with a teasing glint in her eye, "I was definitely the one who had to reel her in when she started getting all emotional and dramatic. And let me tell you, she never stopped talking about me. Ever."

Becky shot her a look, and Freen grinned, reaching out to take her hand. "It's true, though," Freen said, voice warm. "You were always so sweet, so caring. I was just trying to figure out how to not fall for you."

"Yeah, well, you did a good job of pretending," Becky shot back with a smirk.

Mrs. Armstrong chuckled, flipping to another page in the album. "And look at this one! Becky's first-ever acting shot on a set of scoy. And guess who's there in the background? That's right—Freen, helping her out with her shoe laces. You were always there for her, even when she didn't know how to ask."

Freen could feel her cheeks warming, though she kept the smile on her face. "I've always been there for her," she said softly. "And I always will be."

Becky glanced over at her, her heart swelling with something soft and beautiful. But she didn't say anything right away, just settled back on the couch, resting her head on Freen's shoulder.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of laughter and family warmth. They all ate together, with Mrs. Armstrong telling more embarrassing stories about Becky, while Mr. Armstrong made sly jokes about Becky's "adoration" for Freen. And all the while, Freen kept teasing Becky back, making sure to kiss her forehead now and then, leaving a trail of soft, fleeting touches that made Becky's heart race every time.

Later that night, after all the dishes were cleared, the Armstrongs gathered by the fireplace. The soft glow of the fire danced across their faces, casting everything in a gentle, golden light. The air was filled with Christmas cheer, with the smell of pine and cinnamon lingering in the background.

Becky and Freen stood under the mistletoe, caught in a brief, tender silence as their families exchanged knowing glances.

Mrs. Armstrong couldn't help herself. "Oh, look! Mistletoe! You two should kiss."

Freen looked at Becky with a smile, but her eyes held a hint of mischief. "I'm not sure, Becky. Are you sure you want to kiss me now? After all the embarrassing stories your mom told?"

Becky raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a teasing grin. "I think I can handle it," she said with a wink.

Freen leaned in slowly, her heart thudding in her chest, but before their lips could meet, Becky tugged her in by the collar, kissing her fiercely, the kiss warm and full of everything they'd been holding back. It was a kiss that spoke volumes—a promise, a reminder of all they had been through and all they still had to look forward to.

The room erupted into playful applause, but neither Freen nor Becky cared. The only thing that mattered was the taste of each other's lips, the softness of the kiss, the warmth of the holiday, and the unspoken love that wrapped around them like a blanket.

When they finally pulled apart, they stood there for a moment, gazing into each other's eyes.

Becky smiled, her heart lighter than it had been in weeks. "I love you," she whispered.

Freen, her eyes soft, whispered back, "I love you too."

And in that moment, under the mistletoe with their families all around, it felt like everything was exactly where it should be—perfect, unspoken, and timeless.But not even two minutes had passed after that mistletoe moment before Freen leaned toward Becky again and whispered, "You kissed me like that in front of your whole family... now I'm doomed to want more."

Becky chuckled, cheeks flushed. "You'll survive. You're used to being starved."

"Oh no, no, no," Freen said with a low tease, her fingers brushing Becky's waist in the most innocent yet completely not-innocent way. "I'm starving now. And I've been patient all day."

Becky's breath hitched, trying to stay composed as her mother started walking toward the dining table with a tray of desserts.

"Babe," Becky hissed softly, swatting her hand away. "You're going to get us caught."

"That's half the thrill," Freen winked. "Also, your mum just told the entire living room I've basically raised your romantic standards since you were sixteen. The least you could do is reward me for the emotional trauma."

Becky tried to glare, but failed miserably at hiding the grin. Her heart was thumping wildly as Freen leaned in again and whispered against her ear, "Ten minutes. I need you. Alone. Or I swear I'll find an excuse to 'accidentally' drop gravy down my shirt so you'll have to follow me to clean it."

She snorted at that, almost choking on laughter, but then stood up, brushing her hands on her jeans.

"I'm just gonna help in the kitchen, Mum," Becky announced casually, already tugging at Freen's arm. "Freen, you wanna come with? I need an extra hand."

Freen, barely hiding her smirk, grabbed two empty glasses. "We'll be quick. Promise."

They practically bolted into the kitchen under the guise of clearing the table, but as soon as the door gently clicked shut behind them, Becky grabbed Freen by the collar and shoved her lightly against the counter.

"You're a menace," she whispered breathlessly.

"And you love it," Freen said before kissing her—hungry, slow, and deep.

Their mouths moved against each other in perfect sync, hands roaming without caution, the sound of labored breath and rustling fabric filling the warm, spice-scented air of the kitchen. Becky's fingers curled into Freen's jacket, tugging her closer, anchoring herself to the one person who made everything else melt away.

Freen groaned softly as Becky's lips moved to her jaw, then lower, tasting, teasing, trembling.

"You're not helping me stay composed," Becky muttered, her voice thick.

"You were never composed when it came to me," Freen said with a smirk, hands sliding around Becky's waist.

But then—footsteps.

Fast, firm, and unmistakable.

"Shit!" Becky gasped, pushing Freen away as fast as she could. Freen stumbled back, nearly knocking over a dish rack. They both scrambled, cheeks flushed and breathing shallow.

Just as the kitchen door creaked open, Mrs. Armstrong stepped in casually, walking to the fridge and grabbing a water bottle.

She glanced at the two flustered girls with a knowing look and sighed dramatically. "Seriously? You two practically live together... God, the kids these days."

Freen covered her face with both hands while Becky stared at the ceiling like it might swallow her whole. "Sorry, Mum," she muttered.

Mrs. Armstrong just chuckled, took a sip of her water, and left the kitchen, shaking her head. "Back to the table, lovebirds. And wipe your faces. You're glowing like Christmas lights."

Freen and Becky exchanged one mortified look before they burst into hushed laughter.

"Let's go," Becky whispered, tucking her hair behind her ears and straightening her sweater.

As they walked back to the dining table, Becky muttered under her breath, "I'm never going to hear the end of this."

Freen leaned in with a mischievous whisper, "But you will hear about it later tonight. When we're really alone."

Becky shot her a warning glare, but her smile gave her away.

And just like that, they returned to the warmth of the family table—hearts still racing, cheeks still flushed, but hands brushing secretly beneath the table like nothing ever happened.

🎶 Photo album on the counterYour cheeks were turnin' redYou used to be a little kid with glasses in a twin-sized bedAnd your mother's tellin' stories 'bout you on the tee-ball teamYou taught me 'bout your past thinkin' your future was me.. 🎶