Chapter 20 – Analyse
Chapter Twenty
ANALYSE
The smell hits first—rich spices, roasted garlic, sweet cinnamon, citrus and slow-cooked pork. The house is full of music and warmth, and for the first time in a long time, it actually feels like Christmas.
Maya darts past me in a red dress covered in glitter, carrying a candy cane in one hand and a gingerbread cookie in the other. “Titi Mari brought the good treats!” she calls over her shoulder before disappearing into the living room.
I smile and shake my head, turning toward the kitchen where chaos has become a kind of love language.
The dining table is overflowing. There’s pernil on a carved wooden board, the skin perfectly crispy.
A honey-glazed ham sits beside it, garnished with pineapples and cloves.
Trays of arroz con gandules, ensalada de papa, buttery dinner rolls, and tower of pies take up every inch of space.
Mari’s bakery boxes are stacked near the end of the table, full of pastelitos and coconut macaroons dusted with edible gold.
Anna’s brought two trays of fresh Colombian empanadas that people are already sneaking from before dinner.
Andres walks in behind her, both arms cradling bottles of wine like he’s about to restock a bar.
“It’s not too much, is it?” Andres says, placing the bottles on the counter.
“You brought nine bottles,” I deadpan.
“We’re a lively bunch,” he replies with a wink.
Across the room, Mateo is wearing a white button-down—ironed, thank God—and red suspenders Maya picked out for him.
His sleeves are rolled to his elbows, and he’s crouched beside her, helping her hang an ornament on the bottom branch of the tree.
He looks up at me mid-laugh, like he can feel me watching.
God, I’m in trouble.
By the time everyone arrives, the house is full.
Seb’s manning the music, bouncing between salsa, freestyle, and classic Christmas ballads.
Anna and Mari are in the kitchen arguing over whether the empanadas need more aji.
Maya is happily leading Nathan around the house on a tour, narrating every detail of our home.
Mateo slips behind me, placing a hand on my lower back as he leans in. “You okay?” he murmurs, just for me.
“Yeah,” I breathe. “More than okay.”
Nathan walks back into the room a few minutes later holding something in his hands—large, red petals, delicate and bold. He walks straight to Mari.
“These are for you,” he says, holding out a bundle of flor de maga. “I know they were your mom’s favorite.”
Mari freezes. The room stills with her.
She blinks, swallows, then steps forward to take them, her voice barely above a whisper. “Thank you.”
“I wanted her to be part of tonight, too,” he says.
She presses the petals to her chest. “She would’ve loved that.”
Someone turns the music down. A beat of silence settles over the group. Seb raises a glass. “To Lucia,” he says.
“To Lucia,” we all echo, glasses clinking.
Dinner is loud and messy in the best way.
Everyone talks over each other, passing plates, laughing, dipping bread into sauce, licking sticky glaze off their fingers.
Maya eats mostly dessert, and no one dares to stop her.
Mateo takes two servings of arroz con gandules and moans dramatically at the table.
“This rice has no business being this good,” he groans, eyes closed.
“That’s because I made it,” I tease, nudging him with my foot under the table.
“Marry me,” he says without missing a beat, and the table erupts in laughter.
I glance around the room—at Nathan playfully throwing peas at Anna, at Mari leaning into Seb’s shoulder while he quietly refills her drink, at Maya curled into Mateo’s side—and my chest aches with something deep and certain.
This isn’t pretend anymore.
Later, when bellies are full and wine glasses are half-empty, Seb insists on Christmas karaoke.
Andres queues up “Feliz Navidad,” and Mateo pulls Maya to the center of the living room, where they start dancing like no one’s watching.
Her laughter is loud and unfiltered, and he’s twirling her in a circle while she squeals with joy.
“Alright, alright,” Seb says, clapping. “Time for something slower. Let the romantics shine.”
“Aw, Seb…my lover boy.” Mari gushes.
He switches the song. It’s “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas,” slow and soft. Mateo glances at me. Offers a hand. I hesitate for half a second, then I take it. He pulls me in gently, one arm around my waist, the other holding my land like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“You’re glowing,” he whispers.
“It’s the wine.”
“It’s not.”
I look up at him, and his eyes are already on mine, steady and warm. We sway slowly in the middle of the room, the lights from the tree casting gold over his face. His handsome face. The hum of the room fades. And in this moment, everyone else has drifted away. It’s just us.
“You look devastatingly beautiful tonight, chula,” he says.
“You clean up pretty well yourself, coquito king.”
He grins, but his eyes hold something deeper. “You feel this, too, right?”
I nod.
“Say it,” he murmurs.
“I feel it, too.”
“Good.”
As the song ends, I pull back slightly. “I should check on—”
But then Maya shouts, “Mistletoe! They’re under the mistletoe!”
Every head turns. I glance up, and sure enough, there it is—tied to the archway above us, slightly crooked.
Mateo’s eyes stay on me. “Well?”
“It’s okay, Mateo. We don’t have to,” I say, heart hammering.
“No,” he says, stepping closer. “But I want to.”
The music changes again—now it’s “All I Want for Christmas Is You,” soft and jazzy in the background.
“Lyse, I want to kiss you so badly I can barely hold myself together,” he says quietly, only for me. “But only if you want it too. Only if you need me as badly as I need you. Say the word.”
My breath catches. “Yes,” I breathe out. “I want it as badly as you do. Please kiss me, Mateo.”
He threads his hands through my hair, fingers gentle, reverent, like he’s memorizing the feel of me. Then he leans in and presses his lips against mine.
It’s slow—achingly slow—tentative at first, like we’re both afraid to take too much, like we’re each holding a breath we’ve been waiting all year to release. His mouth moves against mine with a quiet desperation, and I feel just as desperate for him.
My hands slide up his chest, finding the curve of his jaw, and when I tilt my head, he exhales like he’s home.
The world around us fades. There’s no music, no laughter, no mistletoe.
Just this—just him, and me, and this kiss that feels like everything I’ve ever been missing. And I think he feels the same way too.
When we finally break apart, the room erupts in cheers. Mari whistles. Andres lifts his wine in the air. Anna wipes a dramatic fake tear from the corner of her eye. Maya grins so wide it looks like it might split her face.
Mateo presses his forehead to mine. “Merry Christmas, chula.”
“Merry Christmas,” I whisper back, my voice catching on something I don’t have words for yet.