Hey Guys! Just a little Christmas-themed story. At the moment its a one-shot, but I think it has the potential to extend it if people would like me to :D let me know what you all think, please!

The usual, please." I smile politely, completely oblivious as I dig around in my coat pocket for the correct change.

"Sorry?" He stares back at me with a blank expression, and I sigh. Of course. You're not in Manhattan now, Santana. They don't know your order here. Not that they know my order in my local Starbucks either, actually. Which is frankly ridiculous, seeing as I go in there every single day. And yet I keep trying. You know what they say, 469th time's the charm. The barista looks uneasy, and I take pity on him. Christmas spirit and all that.

"Medium skinny latte with skimmed milk and an extra shot, please. Oh, in a take-out cup, please. But I'm sitting in." The acne-ridden pre-pubescent rolls his eyes and I have to refrain from pointing out that the amount of money I spend in Starbucks could fund a casual drug addiction, and that I was here first. Figuratively. Instead I narrow my eyes and glare at his name badge. Kolin.

Kolin? What kind of a name is Kolin? I could understand Colin, it's dorky I suppose but at least it's a real name. Kolin. What the fuck is Kolin? Jesus. I hand over the change and my loyalty card, and nod knowingly as 'Kolin' points out that I have over 1300 points on my card and don't actually need to pay. "Yeah, I know. It's fine, I'll uh...save them."

"What are you saving up for?" he chortles, "Trying to buy the place?"

Yeah. With $13.00 I'm going to buy Starbucks. I laugh politely, although it sounds forced even to my ears, and move along to the end of the counter to wait for my drink. I know it's stupid that I always pay, even though I could totally have at least four free lattes, but I'm saving them for a rainy day, I suppose. Maybe one day I will be fund-less and craving coffee for example; it's not that outlandish and if that day ever came and I had frivolously used my points on days when I could have paid in cash, rendering me coffee-less, well I'd feel pretty bitter. So I never use my points, it's just a thing. I'm saving them for an emergency.

I collect my coffee and turn to face the seating area, scanning for a free table. I like to sit far enough away from the door so that there's no draft from people walking in and out; it is Christmas Eve after all and New York is Baltic right now. I don't need Jack Frost nipping at my nose every other second, thank you very much. I spot the perfect table for one, near the back and tucked away in the corner where people won't walk past and somehow defy all of the laws of physics to trip over my scarf/coat/bag, and mentally congratulate myself on the find. Smiling inwardly, I slowly start to push past the queue of people, side-stepping around old ladies and toddlers. Suddenly, I'm pulled up short by a sharp tug around my midriff. While I make a loud and rather embarrassing gagging noise, my bag, once casually slung round my shoulder, tightens against my neck. Turning quickly, I take a step back as a blonde in the queue apologizes profusely, unhooking the catch of my bag from her scarf as her face begins to burn red.

"That's fine." I cough, blinking quickly as my eyes begin to water, refraining from sticking my tongue out dramatically and rubbing my neck, "No really, don't worry."

"I'm so sorry." She repeats, shaking her head guiltily and staring at the ground, "I'm so clumsy, I'm sorry."

"No, don't worry. It's not your fault, it's my bag." I reply flippantly, "I got him on sale and he's a little bitter. You know, thinks he's worth more, makes a bid for my life on a daily basis."

"That's awful." The blonde nods seriously and I shrug humbly, "What a rogue."

"Homicide Department are looking into it." I'm relieved when she chuckles, and I shrug, "Anyway, don't worry about it."

"Okay, sorry. Thanks." She smiles, still blushing, and I grin as I turn to carry on through the coffee shop. My gaze falls on the table for one and I curse under my breath as I see an elderly lady firmly seated at the table with a pot of green tea and some knitting. She glances up and catches my eye, a self-satisfied smirk plastered on her leathery face as she turns back to her pattern. What a bitch.

I sigh heavily and turn on my heel, craning my neck to glance around a column, and spot another table for two by the wall. I immediately make my way over to it, warning off any passers-by with a beady glare. Stripping off my death-bag, coat, scarf, hat, mittens and hoodie, I silently curse winter and take my seat, leaning down to pull my book out of my bag and opening it on a well-thumbed page, enjoying the quiet cracking of the creased spine.

I know it might seem a little pathetic to be reading, alone, in a Starbucks, on Christmas Eve, but it's kind of a tradition for me. My parents live in the super-suburbs of Ohio, and I live in the big city, so every Christmas I come stay with them for a few days either side of Christmas Day. And with both of my parents, two sets of grand-parents, my sister, her husband and two kids running around the house, by Christmas Eve it's always nice to take some time out for myself. So I take an old favourite novel (usually Christmas-themed), head into town, finish any shopping and then settle in this exact Starbucks for a few hours before going back home just in time for dinner. And every year my mom complains and asks where I've been all day and every year I tell her the exact same thing and every year she rolls her eyes and we carry the paella through to the dining room where everyone is already seated and, usually, arguing.

"Hi. Can I sit here?" I look up, startled slightly, and stare straight into the eyes of blonde scar-girl from the queue. What? Why does she want to sit here? There's an empty table right there. What is wrong with her?

"Um...okay." What is wrong with me?

"Thanks." She starts to unwrap her scarf, and I attempt not to stare at her suspiciously. I'm not sure if I succeed, to be quite honest. Who asks to sit with a stranger in a Starbucks in New York? Okay it's not like we're in the ghetto, this is the suburbs after all, but still. This is how people get their faces slashed by psychotic introverts. Oh God, maybe she's a psychotic introvert! Maybe she's going to slash my face. Should I leave? I might leave. My drink is already in a take-out cup, aside from having to collect my various layers, I could get away pretty sharpish. "Is this weird? I won't sit down if it's weird." She bites her lip sheepishly, looking self-conscious. Do face slashers get self-conscious? Do they worry about being weird? I feel like they don't.

"No. No it's not weird. I don't mind." I smile politely, confident in the theory that she is not, in fact, a serial killer.

"Okay cool." She smiles and pulls off her coat, sitting down quietly. I turn back to my book, flicking a page with a small frown until the blonde pipes up once again, "I'm probably just going to sit and read like you are, so I figured I would just sit here. I feel like it would be unfair to sit there in case a couple comes in together and have nowhere to sit."

"That seems fair. Otherwise one of them would have to sit with me and one with you and that would be super-awkward for them." I nod seriously and she giggles. I decide I like her giggle face. Her nose scrunches up and she shows lots of bright teeth.

"Yeah, and they'd be talking to each other across the aisle and we'd both be trying to read and I'm incredibly nosy and not at all subtle. So they would totally know I was listening." She replies with a guilty shrug and I can't help but let a chuckle escape.

"I feel like I would just sit and sigh loudly and exasperatedly as they talk to each other too loudly and I try to read but can't concentrate because they're talking about Aunt Mabel's bath salts and whether they bought wine gums for cousin Harry." I can't help but sneer a little, while the blonde girl frowns suspiciously.

"Hold on, what kind of couple are you picturing?"

"Hmm. Early thirties couple, maybe a couple of kids that they never see because they have a live-in Au Pair. Both something big in the city, she wears boots that are completely useless in frosty, icy conditions and he always wears a shirt. Even just for shopping. And ironed shirt. With cufflinks." I grimace against my will. Was that too much information? Am I the weird one here, even though she asked to sit with me? Maybe I shouldn't have imagined this so thoroughly. Oops.

"Huh. Interesting. I pictured more of an elderly couple, who grew old together. Three kids, five grand-kids and an old faithful sheepdog. Finishing their Christmas shopping and ending with a cup of coffee. He tries to pay but she demands to treat him. He rolls his eyes but secretly feels special. She knows that. When they leave, he helps her into her coat and picks up her gloves, holds them out for her to slide her hands into each one. She can do it herself but he helps her anyway. Just because. He also insists on carrying all of the shopping bags, and when they reach the door she tightens his scarf so he doesn't get cold, and he makes a joke about her trying to strangle him and she says 'Sir if you were my husband I would poison your coffee.' and he says 'Lady, if I were your husband, I would demand tea.' and it's not that funny but she chuckles anyway and they go out into the cold, all wrapped up and jolly."

I can't help but allow a slow smile to spread across my face as she talks, beginning to stare off into the middle-distance at some point through her imaginings. She paints quite a picture; a much sweeter one than mine if I'm honest.

"Sorry!" She chuckles, "I got a little lost in that one." She bites her lip again and my gaze flickers down to her lips. They're very pink. Like her nose and rosy cheeks, but I suppose that's from the cold. It's still cute.

"No, I really don't mind. I prefer your story to mine. I'm going to go with that one from now on. Screw the city couple, they sucked. Let's stick to your cute old couple." I nod convincingly, "Yeah it's a good job you sat here, then when they come in they can sit there and we can both sit here swooning over their adorableness."

"Sounds like a plan." She giggles again and holds out her hand, which I shake, before she reaches into her bag and pulls out her own book. We sit in silence for a little while, both of us engrossed in our books, until the girl looked up again with a small sigh, gazing around the seating area until she spoke once again. "What are you reading? A Christmas Story?"

I look up, finding her eyes trained on the blank cover of my book. I close the book, keeping one finger inside to keep my place as I turn the book on its side to show her the spine, "No, sadly. It's called The History of Love."

"Oh my God! The History of Love!" She exclaims in recognition, and my eyes grow wide in delight as I grin excitedly.

"Oh my God, you've read it?!"

"No." She sighs, shaking her head sadly. "Sorry. Is it good?"

I roll my eyes with a small chuckle, "Yes. I mean, I think it is." I shake my head self-consciously with a shrug and she nods interestedly.

"So what's it about?" She folds the corner of her page over and I try not to wince, placing her own book down and resting her elbow on the table, her chin in her hand, and I can't resist giggling at her avid interest.

"Well...I guess it's about an old Polish writer, who's kind of reminiscing about his lost love, while a little teenage girl tries to find a guy for her widowed mom. It's quite a sweet story, and obviously there's more to it that just...that..." I trail off and she nods, raising her eyebrows with interest.

"Cool. Well I'm reading The Wind in the Willows. Have you read it?" She smiles, lifting her book off the table to show me the illustrated cover, and I nod knowingly with a fond smile.

"Yes, I definitely have. I read it to my niece sometimes when she was younger and lived closer. My sister and her family used to live just around the corner so I used to go over at bed time; water fight and bath time then tuck her up, read her a story and leave once she was all settled. It was pretty awesome, to be honest, but then my sister's husband got a promotion and a transfer so they moved away, then I moved into the city and...you know how it is." I shrug, trying to hide my disappointment. "It's a shame actually, since they moved I barely get to see them and they've had a son since then, and I never got to bond with him like I did with Sophia. That's my niece. Sophie and Luke." Oh God, how long have I been talking for? She didn't even ask, I just started rambling. Oh God, I am the weird one. She's probably sat wondering why I'm telling her my life story. Oh God. "I'm sorry. You probably don't care at all, I must be chewing your ear off, I'm sorry. All that just from 'Have you read The Wind in the Willows?'" I blush and avert my eyes, staring at the tabletop and apologizing again.

"Stop apologizing!" She laughs, and it sounds light and breezy. It's a little like music to my ears, but my ears, like the rest of me, are currently full of burning embarrassment. "It's fine, I like stories. Yeah, I wish I had that kind of bond with my sister's son, Jeremy. They don't live too far away from me, out here in the suburbs, but any time I talk of bedtime stories my sister just goes," the blonde imitates a high, shrill voice, "'Pssh! Books are a waste of time. What kid reads books these days? He doesn't care about books, he just likes games and DVDs' and rolls her eyes." I raise an eyebrow and she nods knowingly, "Yeah my sister's kind of an ass."

"Is your sister also Janice from Friends? Because otherwise that was a terrible impersonation." A snigger and she glares at me playfully, and I can't help but giggle under her scrutiny.

"Whatever, you've never met her, how do you know that's not exactly how she talks?" she points her finger at me accusingly and I roll my eyes.

"Because that's not how anyone talks. Ever." I mimick the girl's earlier pose, my chin on my hand and elbow on the table, and lean towards the blonde. "So what's your book about? I told you mine." I wink cheekily and she frowns.

"What? You just said you read it to your niece when she was little!" She grimaces in confusion and I shrug,

"Yeah, I just like how you tell stories." I lower my voice slightly as I reply, hoping I haven't over-stepped the mark, but she giggles again, folding her arms and hooking her ankles round her chair legs. Pulling her chair closer to the table and leaning in, she takes a deep breath. "Okay so it's about this little mole, and he's doing his spring cleaning one day when he decides he's kind of bored and goes for a walk. (Bare with me, I'm paraphrasing.)" She winks back at me and I chortle softly, my breath catching slightly as her tongue swiftly licks her lips before continuing, "And he goes to the river and meets this rat, who takes him for a picnic down the river in his rowing boat."

"He's a water-rat." I interject and she glares at me playfully, narrowing her eyes. I hold my hands up in defence and she nods, placing one finger on her lips to shush me.

"He meets a water-rat, who takes him for a picnic down the river in his rowing boat."

"Better."

"Yeah. More stuff happens, more stuff happens. Mole goes into the woods, there's scary weasels and an incredibly grumpy badger. There's a crazy cross-dressing toad who's obsessed with motor-cars and planes and he's wanted by the police at one point."

"What a rogue."

"Exactly." she nods seriously, "Yeah so...it's pretty wild, I can't lie."

"It sounds it." I deadpan genuinely.

"Did I do it justice?" she asks, draining her over-sized mug.

"Yes, definitely. You truly brought it to life." I reply sarcastically, and she giggles appreciatively.

"Good. Can I buy you another coffee, or do you need to head off?" She asks, biting her lip again, and I immediately shake my head. "Oh, okay sorry. Cool, well...itwasnicetomeetyou." She trips over her words and smiles politely while her cheeks burn, but I shake my head insistently,

"No! No, I didn't mean that. I meant no, I don't need to head off. I'd love another coffee. But uh, they're on me. My order is crazy complicated." I wave a hand dismissively and move to stand, but she mirrors my actions, swiftly stepping to her feet.

"No, I insist. As payment for my scarf plotting with your bag and trying to, uh, take your life." She pulls an awkward grimace and I roll my eyes.

"Okay, but I'll have to write my order down somewhere. Did you get a reciept? I have a pen but I don't think I have any paper." I frown at the contents of my bag but she shakes her head. "Um...okay then, here." I flick open the cover of my book and start to scrawl my order down.

"What are you doing?" She snatches the book away before my pen can touch the paper, and my jaw drops open in amused disbelief. "Don't ruin your favourite book!" She looks aghast and I can't help but smile at how much she cares about a book that doesn't belong to her and that she's never read. It's quite endearing. I reach for the book in her hand, but she stretches her arm out away from me and pulls the book out of my reach.

"Don't worry, I have like six copies of this book. Some more special than others. This one; not so special." I shrug and she bites her lip again, frowning slightly at the book before handing it back to me reluctantly. "Thank you." I take it with a flourish and quickly jot down my order, handing it back with a grin. "I feel like a celebrity." I add, and she snorts.

"You wish. Am I an adoring fan, then?" She raises a sceptical eyebrow and I stretch out in my chair with a cocky nod. The blonde rolls her eyes before turning on her heel and heading off towards the counter. I take a deep breath as I watch her retreating back, before turning back to the table and letting it out in a long slow breath. Well, this is a first. I don't think I've ever sat with a stranger in Starbucks, let alone actually had a conversation with someone, and on Christmas Eve! Weird. She seems nice though. I wonder what her name is. Hannah? No. Daisy? Maybe. Lucy? No. Charlotte? Hmm. Lotte? Hmm. Charlie? Maybe. I'm going to call her Charlie, at least until she tells me her name. If she tells me her name at all. I won't ask, might seem weird. And she hasn't asked mine either. I wonder if she's given me a name inside her head, too. I doubt her name is really Charlie. And I can almost guarantee she hasn't guessed my name correctly; noone ever guesses Santana. I'm still not even sure it isn't just a name my parents made up.

"Okay, taste this and check it's right. I don't trust that barista." she shakes her head with a frown and I nod heartily in agreement as she slides the take-out cup towards me and takes her seat.

"I know right? Kolin with a K? What even is that?" I sip the drink, wincing as the boiling liquid touches my tongue, and 'Charlie' grimaces apologetically, but I shake my head quickly, "No, you got the right order! I just, I burnt my tongue." I look away, embarrassed, and she smiles fondly, making me blush twice as much.

"Yeah I know, you can't help but wonder what people are thinking when they name their kids, right?" The question is on the tip of my tongue, and I maintain eye contact, daring her to ask my name. But she doesn't ask, so I don't ask either.

"Right." I remove the lid to blow cool air into the cup, and she bites her lip.

"Want me to go ask them to put some cold water in for you?"

"No, it's fine honestly. Don't worry about it. I just suck at drinking hot drinks, that's all." I wave it off with an easy smile and she nods her understanding, pouring sugar into what looks like a gingerbread latte and stirring it with one of the little wooden stick things.

"So what bring you here on this cold December afternoon?" she smiles, before pulling a face, "Sorry! I don't mean to be nosy. You don't have to tell me."

"No it's fine! Every Christmas I come to stay with my parents for a few days, and my whole family visits too and we all stay over at my parents'. I do love it, but by Christmas Eve it's pretty exhausting and I like to take time for myself. So I come here, finish my shopping and treat myself to a, well usually, quiet coffee and indulge in a favourite book before returning to the mad-house for dinner. What about you?" I replace the lid on my cup and take a sip, smiling appreciatively.

"Well I do live here. I actually work just up the street at the chocolatiers." She points towards the church with her finger and I nod my understanding. Truthfully, I love that chocolatiers. Most years I end up buying half of my presents there last-minute when I'm running around in a mad Christmas frenzy before settling right here. "Yeah, so I was working all morning, didn't really feel like going home yet so I thought I'd treat myself to a quiet coffee and an indulge in a favourite book." She parrots my words back to me with a cheeky grin and I laugh, shaking my head.

"I don't blame you. So how come I've never seen you there? I go in that chocolate shop every Christmas Eve. I've never seen you."

"Not this year." She's got me there.

"Okay. Not this year. But every other year I have." I reason, "This year I already had all of my presents bought, all I had to do was buy the biggest underwear I could find for my sister and I'm done." She raises a bemused eyebrow and I roll my eyes at my own stupidity, "Sorry. It's a running joke, every year I buy her a giant pair of panties and she buys me the smallest, tackiest Christmas-themed panties she can find. It's a beautiful tradition."

"No way, how big are we talking?" she asks excitedly and I raise my eyebrows.

"Like you wouldn't believe." I hold up one finger before leaning over, reaching down into my bag and pulling out the fabric bundle. I hold them up in the air in front of me and unfold them slowly, and she oohs and aahs in all of the right places, finally ending in a dramatic gasp, grabbing the edge of the table with both hands as I hold the giant underwear aloft, receiving a fair few disturbed looks from customers at other tables.

"Oh my God, they're huge! What even...? I didn't know they made underwear that big! I could fit my whole family in those." She stares open-mouthed, eyes wide, and I nod cockily before re-folding them and palcing them back in my bag.

"Yup. I've truly outdone myself." I give her a self-satisfied smirk, "Anyway...we were saying. How come I've never seen you in there?"

"Well a lot can happen in twelve months." she twists her mouth thoughtfully before shaking her head, "Well, not really. I just didn't work there until this year." She giggles and I roll my eyes good-naturedly.

"I see. So how long have you worked there? And where were you before then?"

"Ummm...I've worked there for just over five months, I think. Before that I worked in a bakery a few towns over." she jerked a thumb over her shoulder and I couldn't resist teasing her, following the direction of her thumb with my eyes and frowning in confusion.

"What? You worked in that corner near the bathrooms? Weird." I raise an eyebrow and glance awkwardly at the blonde, who laughs, shaking her head, and reaches across the table to slap my arm playfully.

"You know what I mean! Ass." She narrows her eyes and I smile sweetly, fluttering my eyelashes at her until she rolls her eyes, grinning at me reluctantly.

"Okay, so what's your perfect Christmas day? Tell." I smile interestedly and she takes a deep breath, blowing it out slowly with a thoughtful expression. She leans back in her chair and runs her finger around the rim of her mug.

"Hmm..." She tilts her head to the side and gazes at me, and I raise an eyebrow. She nods her decision and takes a deep breath, "Okay so either; a giant log cabin in the woods, with all of my family staying with me. We spend Christmas Eve watching old movies like It's a Wonderful Life and Miracle on 34th Street and going sledging, skiing, snowboarding in the mountains. Back to the cabin on the evening, and we would all sit around with the lights off, all the lights down except for the decorations, the tree, the garlands, etc etc. Maybe drink some eggnog, or mulled wine, watch Christmas TV shows, sing some carols. Just a classic old-school Christmas you know?"

"And your alternative?"

"Going to England for the holidays. Spending some time in the English countryside, just me and someone special. Doing pretty much the same as all of that, I suppose. Christmas movies, visiting kitsch little English villages, trudging on long walks through the snow, all wrapped up. Returning to a little cottage with an open fire, drinking hot chocolate with marshmallows and whipped cream. Reading all of my old favourite books. Making gingerbread cookies and baking fruit cake. Eating whatever I want, whenever I want. Taking long, hot bubble baths, maybe with someone special." She shrugs, smiling self-consciously, and I realise I'm biting down hard on my lip. The blonde hasn't noticed as she's staring into her coffee wistfully, and I take a deep breath, averting my eyes from her face, and smile brightly.

"Sounds good!" I reply enthusiastically, "I have to admit, that's pretty close to my ideal, too. Maybe substitute in some more Baileys and less time spent outside in the snow. Maybe. Although I do love a good snowman." I reason, and her mouth drops open,

"Oh man, how can I have forgotten building a snowman?! And snowball fights. And sleeping in late. And sweaters!" She claps her hands together excitedly and I can't help but laugh with glee at her obvious excitement.

"Yes, definitely sweaters! Crazily patterned, knitted Christmas sweaters! With snowmen or Santa Claus or Reindeer on them!" She grins and I nod my agreement,

"Definitely. And visiting Santa with the kids, that's always fun. Although Sophie and Luke are a little old now, I think they both know he's not real." I pull a glum face and the blonde gasps in mock horror.

"Lies! I believe!" She exclaims, slapping her palm on the table to emphasize her point, and I laugh my agreement.

"Definitely. He's so real."

"Oh yeah. Did you know that reindeer lose their antlers and re-grow them every year?" She leans forwards again, cupping her hands around her mug and watching me expectantly.

"No I did not. Do tell, O Wise Christmas One." I raise my eyebrows, waiting for her explanation, and she grins proudly.

"Yeah totally, their antlers grow through the year, so they're like mega-big for mating season. You know, so they can get the laydees." She winks comically and I stifle a giggle as she continues, "Yeah, then after mating season the antlers kind of...fall out I suppose? I guess. And then they grow back again in the next year."

"Huh. Well there you go, you learn a new thing every day." So she also imparts wisdom. This girl is good. Funny, clearly loves Christmas, seems well-read. And I'm not gonna lie, she's pretty cute. Short, blonde hair, hazel-y green eyes, perfectly straight white teeth, cute little dimples. Yeah, I can't exactly say this coffee trip has been a let-down.

"You wanna know my theory?" She whispers conspiratorially, leaning towards me. I nod fervently and lean in, so our heads are almost touching and I can make out the green flecks in her eyes. That's distracting. I immediately look down at the lid of my coffee, allowing myself to listen without staring at her like a creep. "I think that the reindeer grow their antlers by magic, so they have enough magic to fly and pull the sleigh. Then after Christmas, when they don't need to fly for another year, they lose their antlers so they can start growing fresh ones for the next year." she nods earnestly and I gaze around the room thoughtfully, mulling over her theory.

"I love it." I decide. "That is the perfect Christmas theory. One day, I will tell my children that story. That will be a part of Christmas, as much as stockings and baubles and Santa flying down chimneys. It's perfect."

"Really?" She blushes deep red, and I nod silently, my heart hammering in my chest, "Well I'm glad you think so. That's incredibly sweet."

"Thanks. Yeah, I like it. It's a Christmas miracle." I beam at her and she looks down bashfully, so I indicate her empty mug, "Another?"

"Umm," her face contorts in thought as I get to my feet, and she looks up at me before nodding, "Yes. Please. Oh, would you like some money?"

"No, uh," I bite my lip, staring down into those bright eyes, as I dig in my pocket for my cash. Empty. "It's okay. I have a ton of points on my loyalty card."

"Oh, okay. If you're sure." she shrugs and I smile, nodding.

"Definitely."

-oOo-

I return with the drinks and we sit a while longer, sipping them slowly and talking constantly. Once our books have closed, neither of us re-open them again, instead sitting opposite each other discussing our families, jobs, hobbies and reminiscing about childhood. About half an hour later, the girl's face lights up in wonder as she stares over my shoulder. I frown, turning to follow her gaze, and my eyes fall upon a couple at the till. They must be in their late sixties, and the man is counting change into his gloved hand, the other glove tucked under his arm. The woman beside him, trussed up to the neck in a thick, tan, woollen coat, rolls her eyes good-naturedly and swiftly hands the cashier the money. The man attempts to pass his change across to her but she refuses it, and my heart melts a little. My head immediately snaps back round in the girl's direction, my mouth hanging open in a silent 'aawh'. She claps her hand over her heart and squeezes her eyes shut with a grin, and my heart melts a little more.

"They're the real thing!" She hisses under her breath, "No way!"

"They're so cute," I agree, uncharacteristically affected by the pair, "And I don't think anything's cute ever."

"That's a lie." She raises one eyebrow and I shrug, shaking my head.

"Not really. The whole 'Lolcatz' thing just passed me by. And made me want to vomit a little." I grimace and she frowns thoughtfully.

"Okay I can understand that one, but still. You must find some things cute? Puppies? Babies?"

"Poop and tears. Although I'm a sucker for a baby chimp."

"Who isn't?!"

"Preach." I nod seriously and she grins, a quiet snort of laughter escaping.

"Ooh, they're sitting down, do you think they'll sit near us?" She watches them over my shoulder and I can't help but laugh.

"I hope so, we could see if they match up to our expectations." I wait patiently but the blonde's face falls,

"No, they've gone over there to sit down. Well that sucks." She grimaces in disappointment and I tut, narrowing my eyes.

"Some people have no respect." I deadpan and she snorts.

"I know right? Rude." She rolls her eyes dramatically before taking a breath, "So you're reading this book I've never heard of; what others do you like? Favourite authors?"

"Uhhh..." I bite my lip, deep in thought as I run through the list of books I've read recently in my head, "Guilty pleasure; The Lord of the Rings. And Harry Potter. Mary Shelley's Frankenstein-"

"That's not a favourite author." She points out and I laugh in disbelief.

"Okay, Liter-nazi!" I hold my hands up in defence and sigh impatiently, "JI don't know, I tend to read random books instead of specific authors. I love the C.S Lewis books, and The Catcher in the Rye, Watership Down, The Great Gatsby, Roald Dahl. A mixture of classics and old favourites, I suppose." I shrug self-consciously. Usually I don't admit my tastes so willingly; this is a first for me and now I remember why; I hate people judging me.

"Yeah, I'm similar. I love Jane Austen, To Kill a Mockingbird, Goodnight Mr Tom, Terry Pratchett. Usually around this time I read A Christmas Carol, have you read it?"

"Oh, no I haven't. I've always wanted to but I never seem to get round to it." I shrug my defence and she shakes her head in disbelief,

"No way! Everyone knows the story but the book is just amazing. Its just the perfect Christmas Story. You have to read it; I have it in my bag actually, in case I finished The Wind in the Willows before I was ready to go home." She smiles shyly, adding, "Although, that's definitely not going to happen now."

"Well excuse me for interrupting!" I reply, mock-offended and she giggles, rolling her eyes.

"Okay I didn't mean it like that. I think I'd definitely rather be talking to you." Her cheeks turn a little pink once again, and I avert my eyes bashfully, biting the inside of my cheek, "In fact, I know I would."

"Well that works out nicely, because I'm rather enjoying talking to you, too."

"Good."

We sit in silence for a few moments, both of us sipping our drinks shyly, until a shrill tune bleats out of the blonde's bag. She sighs impatiently with a heavy frown, digging around in her bag and pulling out her cell phone. She taps at the screen a few times before droppin in back into her bag, her mouth twisted in disappointment.

"Well, looks like our time is up." She shrugs apologetically and I shake my head pleasantly,

"No, don't worry about it. It's been really nice." I shrug my shoulders and try to mask my disappointment behind a smile. I feel like I probably don't pull it off, to be frank. "I've, uh, really enjoyed talking to you."

"Yeah, it's been awesome. Weird, but good." She nods with a genuine smile and I can't help but grin.

"Yep." I reply, my lips smacking together, "Definitely odd. But you know, Christmas spirit and all that. Season of goodwill."

She grins back at me and stands, placing her bag on the table and stashing away her copy of The Wind in the Willows, and I glance at the time before following her lead and standing, "Yeah, to be fair I should really be getting home soon, too."

"Okay well, we can walk out together." We re-layer ourselves and slowly amble to the front of the shop, reaching the door a few minutes later. I tighten my scarf around my neck as she tugs her mittens on, before we stand staring at each other in silence.

"Well, this has been an experience." I sigh contentedly and she chuckles again. I feel like I'll miss that.

"Definitely. I'm glad I asked to sit with you."

"Me too." I hold out my hand and she shakes it with a coy grin, before I release it and turn to the door. As my hand clasps around the handle, I feel a sense of unease, and can't resist turning back to her, "Okay, I know this will sound really crazy. But I mean, what about all of this hasn't been a little crazy?"

She shrugs in reasoning and nods slowly, licking her lip as I take a deep breath, "So I was just wondering, would you like to take my copy of The History of Love? I know that's weird," I blush, wishing I hadn't opened my big stupid mouth, "But you know, I really love it, and maybe one day you'll read it, and you can keep it and think of me, and this Christmas. If you want to. Maybe. You don't have to. I mean, yeah. It's just stu-"

"No! I definitely will." She nods enthusiastically before catching herself and shrugging casually, "Yeah, I mean, that'd be okay." She smiles and I nod gratefully before opening my bag to retrieve the book. While I do so, she twists and reaches into her own bag, pulling out a brown leather-bound novel.

"Here you go." I hold out the book and she takes it in her gloved hand, holding hers out to me in return, and I frown, "What's this?"

"It's A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens. So you can do the same; if you ever want to read it you can remember me." She smiles a warm, genuine smile and I grin my appreciation, taking the book off her with a small nod.

"Perfect. I'll start it tomorrow. You're sure you don't mind, this copy looks pretty special?" I grimace in concern but she shakes her head, nonplussed.

"Nah, you're worth it. Don't worry." She grins and I'm reassured, tucking the book away inside my bag and taking a deep breath. Sighing happily, I gesture to the doors and she nods.

Pulling open the door, we both gasp as the sudden burst of freezing air hits our bare faces, and I wince, dreading the journey home. "Okay, so I'm going this way." I jerk a thumb ver my shoulder and she nods, disappointement evident on her face.

"Oh. Right. Well, I live that-a way so, I guess this is goodbye." She smiles and I bite my lip,

"Yeah, I guess this is it. It was nice talking to you."

"See you later, stranger." She takes a few steps back, and I hold up my hand in a small wave. She grins back and wiggles her mittened fingers before turning and wandering off down the street. I watch the back of her duffel coat as she retreats down the street, until finally taking a deep breath and turning to walk home.

-oOo-

Flopping down on the couch after dinner, I let out a long sigh, stroking my stomach with the palm of my hand as my father groans beside me.

"Why do we never learn, Papi?" I moan, grimacing dramatically, and he chortles, shaking his head.

"I know, baby girl. Every single year."

"Every goddamn year." I echo, grinning, "I can't help it. Every year I forget how good she is."

"Don't tell her I said so," he whispers conspiratorially, checking my mother's location over his shoulder, "But its because every year she gets better."

I smile fondly, nodding my agreement, before my dad flicks the TV remote and the screen bursts into life. He flicks onto some documentary and I curl my lip, sitting bored for a few moments before an idea pops into my head. I lean down and retrieve the blonde's book from my bag, smiling excitedly as I place the large volume on my lap, and flick the pages until I reach the first page.

Marley was dead, to begin with.

I definitely knew that line, and smiled fondly at the well-thumbed pages, wondering how many times the girl had sat peacefully, flicking through the old pages and scanning the familiar words. I go back a few pages, to the very first page of the publication, and my heart begins to pound faster. My breathing hitches and I grin excitedly as my gaze captures the words on the page.

This book belongs to:

Quinn Fabray.