Chapter 50
Elle
Ispent most of my Christmas Eve morning baking.
I baked the cinnamon rolls that Archer loves so much.
He became addicted after my mom made them for the gender reveal.
I had to promise Joyce Taylor that I would never share the recipe with another soul, apparently, she was sworn to secrecy by Nana Jones, but broke that oath by sharing it with me.
I told her I would bring flowers and bourbon to Nana’s grave as reparations next time I was home.
Large fat snowflakes drift dreamily through the sky, making the view from the windows reminiscent of a snow globe. The living room smells like pine and cinnamon because Archer insisted on lighting both candles at once, even though it’s way too much for one room.
He’s sitting on the floor by the tree, legs stretched out, wearing gray sweatpants that make me drool and a Wolves hoodie that still smells like laundry detergent. His hair is damp from his post practice shower.
I sit cross-legged across from him with my favorite blanket draped over my shoulders.
Archer reaches under the tree. “Ladies first.”
The box is small and neatly wrapped, too neat for him.
“You had someone at the facility wrap this, didn’t you?” I tease.
He scratches the back of his neck. “I’m a quarterback. Not a magician. Plus, Steph insisted.” He pauses before continuing, “my first several attempts were horrendous, she took pity on me.”
“Add that to the things Archer Bell is bad at, singing and wrapping presents.” I laugh and peel back the paper. Inside is a velvet box. My breath catches as soon as I open it.
It’s a delicate gold bracelet, thin as a thread of sunlight, with three tiny charms.
“It’s beautiful,” I whisper.
“There’s a meaning,” Archer says, suddenly shy. “You know how crazy the season gets.. But you’re… you’re the one constant. The person I always come back to. So, you’re my—” He gestures awkwardly. “Compass.”
My eyes sting. He sees it and immediately panics.
“No—no, Elle, don’t cry. It’s supposed to be sweet.”
“It is sweet, Arch!” I say, laughing through the tears as I lean across the floor to kiss him. “I love it.”
His shoulders relax with visible relief.
“What’s the other charms’ meanings?” I smile already knowing the meaning behind the four leaf clover.
“Well since everything started with our coffee date.” He says rubbing his neck sheepishly.
“I just thought- well your other charm bracelet is all filled up from your adventures with your family, I-I wanted to continue the tradition with charms that symbolize us.” The tips of his ears are pink. “Hence the coffee cup.”
I once again find myself fighting tears. “Oh Archer… It’s perfect. Help me put it on?” I hold my wrist out to him, he happily obliges.
Once my bracelet is securely fastened. Archer leans back. “Okay,” he says, rubbing his palms together. “My turn.”
I hand him a larger, softer package. He rips into the paper like a little kid. No finesse, no patience and pulls out a charcoal wool coat.
He stares at it for a second, mouth slightly open.
“I noticed,” I say, suddenly self-conscious, “that you don’t bring your coat to games anymore.
I’m not sure of the reasoning behind it, but I wanted you to have a coat that you liked, and that was comfortable.
” I chew on my lip. Suddenly second guessing the gift.
He smiles and pulls me into his lap, coat and all, kissing my temple.
“Thank you,” he murmurs into my hair. “It’s perfect.” We exchange a few more gifts; Archer gifts me a pair of gorgeous diamond studs, cozy socks and a new kindle cover. I gift him with companion pieces to Sadie’s themed boob painting to switch out with the seasons. Earning a loud laugh from him.
“I have another one for you.” I say. Reaching behind him to a box I hid with the tree skirt.
He takes the box with his large hands carefully peeling back the thick candy cane ribbon. His eyes go wide when he lifts the lid. The light from the fireplace catches the polished case.
“Elle. Wow. This is … this is incredible. Thank you,” he murmurs, lifting a watch out. He runs a finger over the leather strap, then flips the watch over to examine the back of the watch.
He freezes. The smile softens, turning into something more meaningful.
Every second, I choose you. Engraved forever in the back.
He gently lowers the watch, placing it carefully back in the box.
He doesn’t look at me immediately. He looks out, toward the fireplace, pulling in a deep shaky breath.
When his eyes finally meet mine again, they’re glassy.
He gently takes my hand and brings it to his lips, placing a reverent kiss upon it.
“I’m going to wear this every day,” he says, his voice low and firm. “I love you, Ellie.”
We sit there for a long while, wrapped up in each other and the glow of the tree. Then he clears his throat.
“Okay, okay, well there’s… actually one more.”
“Archer…”
“It’s small,” he insists, digging in his hoodie pocket. “Promise.”
He hands me a little envelope. Inside is a folded piece of paper with his handwriting scrawled across it.
Coupon: Good for 7 home cooked meals, redeemable whenever.
I laugh so hard and my stomach hurts. “You hate cooking.”
“Yeah,” he says, brushing a kiss to my cheek. “But I love you more than I hate cooking.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“You’re ridiculous,” he corrects, pulling me closer. Outside, the snow starts falling thicker. A perfect Christmas Eve.
Inside, Archer wraps his arms around me, murmuring “Merry Christmas, Elle” against my ear before turning on my favorite Christmas movie.
●●●
The following morning the smell of cinnamon rolls hits me before I even open my eyes.
Archer is in the kitchen, humming off-key to some Christmas song that’s crackling from the Bluetooth speaker. Some song that he claims is a ‘classic’, even though he only knows three of the words. Spoiler alert, it’s not a classic.
I smile into my pillow. Too cozy to get up immediately.
“Merry Christmas,” I call out.
There’s a pause and then a muffled “Merry Christmas, Ellie,” spoken around what is definitely a mouthful of cold cinnamon roll.
I drag myself out of bed and shuffle into the kitchen wearing his old Wolves hoodie that falls halfway down my thighs. Archer glances up from the pan, cheeks flushed from the oven heat and bedhead giving him the appearance of a fuzzy duckling.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he says. “I’m baking.”
“I thought you were warming. Not baking.”
“Don’t ruin this for me.”
“Does this count against my coupon?” A giggle threatening to escape me.
“This is warming.”
“So you admit, you’re not baking.” I smile as I wrap my arms around his torso and press my face against his broad back. He melts, dropping the spatula so he can pull my arms tighter across his stomach. “Also baking while shirtless is a bold choice. Not that I’m complaining.” I add.
“Cooking and baking are two different skill sets, Elle Lucille Taylor.” The use of my full name means serious business. I smile against his back, tightening my embrace. “You don’t cook shirtless, as there is a high chance of splatter, you however can bake shirtless.” He jokes.
I smile and squeeze him tighter. “I hate that you have to leave,” I mumble. It’s our first Christmas. Our first major holiday after that unfortunate insecurity fueled spiral of mine. I want everything to be perfect but unfortunately, we are at the mercy of the schedule.
“I know. Me too.”
I want to keep him here, in this warm kitchen that smells like sugar and coffee and slightly pine-y from the unlit candle, but a Christmas home game means a Christmas schedule, and no one escapes the Christmas schedule.
The organization allowed the players to spend Christmas Eve with their families, a novelty for players before a game.
The drive to the Wolves facility is quiet but comfortable. Christmas music plays softly over the car’s speakers. Archer taps his fingers on his thigh, going over plays in his head. I sip my coffee and exchange ‘Merry Christmas’ texts with my family and friends.
He kisses me before he gets out.
“I’ll see you after,” he says. “Save me a cinnamon roll.”
“You already ate two.”
“Save me another one.”
I smile and I watch him jog toward the entrance, backpack slung over one shoulder, headphones around his neck. A Christmas sweater that I know matches Ty’s from the photo Sadie shared this morning. His new watch on his wrist. Charcoal gray coat proudly on display.
His ass looks fantastic and I watch it until I can’t see his silhouette anymore.
The stadium is buzzing with holiday electricity. Santa hats, elf ears, fans in ugly sweaters, a brass quartet on the field playing Christmas music that somehow sounds competitive.
I pull my blanket tighter around me, wiggling my toes in my new cozy socks. Sadie sits next to me, in a matching Wolves Christmas sweater, blanket wrapped around her like a suit of armor.
Then Garcia’s voice booms. “Your Winter Wonderland Wolves take the field!”
And there he is, my person, helmet on, visor down, mixing with the sea of players running onto the slightly snow dusted field.
I cheer so loudly my throat burns, a mixture of volume and cold air.
When he throws his first touchdown, a perfect spiral to Tyson in the corner, I jump up, nearly knocking the blanket to the cement floor, and Jay, the season ticket holder who sits next to me every game yells, “Your boy’s got an arm!”
I grin. “He certainly does.”
The Wolves absolutely annihilated the Sharks, a southern team that isn’t used to cold temperatures.
Archer and Ty were on a whole other level this game.
DJ led the defense making them an impenetrable fortress on the field.
It’s dark when I pull into the players’ lot, headlights reflecting off bits of snow.
When Archer finally walks toward me, backpack in one hand, winter hat on, cheeks red from the wind, I find myself falling more in love with him.
He opens my car door and leans in to kiss me, cold lips warming fast against mine.
“Merry Christmas, Ellie,” he murmurs.
“Merry Christmas,” I whisper, sneaking one more kiss. “You ready to go home?”
“Absolutely.”
He throws his bag in the trunk, climbs into the passenger seat, and exhales for what must feel like the first time all day.
We eat leftovers on the couch just a little before midnight.
Momma McCreary’s famous ham and potatoes reheated in the microwave because neither of us has the energy for anything fancy.
The tree glows in the corner, and Archer is stretched out with his head in my lap, still in his hoodie, hair damp from his shower.
Elf is playing at a low volume, and Fish is curled up on top of the couch.
“You okay?” I ask, brushing his hair off his forehead.
“Perfect,” he says, eyes closing.
I kiss his temple. “I’ll be right back.” I say as I lay his head down gently on the couch. I quickly change into what is his final Christmas present.
“I’m thinking of heading to bed, want to join me?” I ask as I step out in a red bow lingerie set.
Archer’s eyes fly open as he sits up immediately, suddenly rejuvenated. “This is officially my favorite part of Christmas.”