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Merry Christmas, Gabby Goo, you think to yourself, quietly closing the door to avoid waking the sleeping child on the other side. The knob still in your hand, you look down with a soft smile on your face, your heart filled with the joy that the little girl brings, despite not even being your own. You love her like your own though, and you’re so grateful that her father let you into her life – their lives.
Where is he anyway?
Quietly, you pad down the hallway toward the kitchen, where you find Frankie wiping down the counters, cleaning up the mess the three of you had made while baking cookies earlier that evening. The moment you enter the room, he stops and looks up, his face as bright as the tree across the open space in the corner of the living room.
“She asleep?” he questions.
“Finally,” you reply, sinking against the counter. “Next year we’re going to have to slip her some melatonin before bed. She interrupted the story about five hundred times to ask questions, only about half them actually related to the story, as if she didn’t hear it last year.”
Frankie chuckles. “Sounds about right.” He pushes a steaming hot mug across the counter to you, which you accept with a quiet, “Thank you.”
Taking it in your hand, you look down at the brown liquid, several marshmallows floating atop the surface. Slowly lifting it to your mouth, you blow before sipping carefully, allowing it drip down your throat, not a single care in the world.
“Mmm,” you hum, pulling the mug from your lips, your eyes closed in an attempt to savor the flavor.
“You could’ve tagged me in,” he adds. He leans back against the counter, his legs crossed as he takes a sip out of his own cup.
“No, it’s alright. I’m sorry she kicked you out of the room.”
“No, you’re not,” Frankie replies with a grin. “You love when she wants one on one time with you.”
You chuckle, smiling into your cup before taking a sip. “Maybe a little.”
“I love that the two of you created your own little traditions,” Frankie continues. “She loves the hell out of you.”
“And I love the hell out of her,” you respond, the corners of your mouth rising. “This is perfect, by the way.” You raise the mug in your hand.
“Figured it would help keep you warm. It’s fucking freezing outside.”
“Do you see mean complaining? I mean, it’s perfect, isn’t it? Cold for Christmas.” you say, turning and moving toward the living room. He follows close behind. “You never see Christmas movies with palm trees and sand. It’s always pine trees and snow and hot chocolate by the fire. Something about it being cold makes it feel more real. More…festive.” You set your mug on the coffee table before taking a seat on the couch. “Maybe that’s silly.”
“No,” Frankie insists, taking a seat next to you. “No, that’s not silly at all.”
You offer him a smile, then lay with your head on his lap, your feet resting on the arm of the couch, happy to finally get a moment to relax after spending the day with Frankie and his daughter.
You feel his hand gently stroke your hair. Moaning softly, your body shivers with delight.
After a moment, he adds, “I mean, nothing says ‘Christmas’ like freezing temps and falling iguanas.”
You lightly slap the arm resting on your stomach, playfully scolding him. “That is not funny, Francisco! Those poor things need help.”
“Oh, they’ll be fine.”
“No, they won’t!” You sit up, turning to look at him. “Being stiff for more than four hours is a sign of a serious reptile dysfunction.”
Frankie’s eyebrows knit together, confusion covering his face. It takes a moment for it to click, but when it does, he lets out a deep booming laugh, the corner of his eyes crinkling up, causing you to smile proudly.
“Oh, I see what you did,” Frankie replies between fits of laughter.
Catching his “icy/I see” pun, you laugh in return.
“Shhh,” you manage to get out between fits of giggles. “We don’t want to wake Gabby.”
He pulls you against him. “Sorry, sorry. You’re right. We still have to lay out the presents.”
“Crap! Please tell me there’s nothing we have to assemble this year. I still have nightmares about that play kitchen from last year.”
Frankie chuckles. “Oh, c’mon. Don’t act like you didn’t have fun.”
“That might have been the biggest test to our relationship..”
“More than the bed?”
“Ugh! The bed!” you dramatically groan, rubbing your eyes. “I’m honestly surprised our relationship survived that fiasco.”
“It’s Francisco.”
Swiftly sitting up, you jab him in the side. “You are never allowed to step foot inside of an IKEA ever again. Not without adult supervision at the very least. And Benny doesn’t count.”
“That’s very fair.”
“Good.” You move to get up from the couch, but Frankie grabs your hand, stopping you.
“What?”
“Nothing,” he replies nonchalantly. “I just… Well, iguana wish you a Merry Christmas.”
You don’t know how he managed to say that with a straight face, but he somehow keeps it together until you respond.
“Ugh,” you groan, playfully pushing Frankie away from you as he breaks out in another fit of laughter. “That is so stupid!”
“I know!” he exclaims, holding his abdomen as if he has a stomachache. “That’s why it’s so fucking funny.”
Laying your head on his shoulder, your laughter eventually dies down. You cuddle against his side and he wraps his arm around you, drawing you in closer. You hand splays across his chest, and fuck, he feels so good. You swear his heat could generate enough electricity to run all of Tampa for a week or two. He smells good, so sexy, a hint of sugar cookies amidst his cologne. You want to move closer, cuddle until midnight, until morning, until…forever.
How long you sat like that, you can’t say. Your eyes are transfixed on the lights of the Christmas tree, your ear pressed against him, listening to his breaths and his heart, which is beating as though it wants to leap out of his chest.
“What did I ever do to deserve this?” Frankie finally speaks.
You push yourself away enough to look up at him. As you look into his deep brown, love-filled eyes, you feel as though water is about to spill from them.
“What do you mean?” you question.
“I mean you. What did I do to deserve you? I’ve made mistakes. I’ve screwed up more times than anyone can count. How does a guy like me end up with you?”
“A guy like you?” you question. “Let me tell you about you, Francisco, because I think we have very different definitions.” You reach up and stroke his face, feeling the roughness of his beard. “You are sweet, caring, loyal, funny… An adoring boyfriend and an even more loving father. Not mention an amazing lover. Oh, and a little stubborn sometimes.”
He chuckles.
“You are perfect,” you insist.
“Nobody is perfect, cariño. Especially me.”
“True. Nobody’s perfect…” You gently guide him to look at you. “But I can’t see your flaws. It’s like you don’t have any, which I know isn’t true, but you seem perfect to me.”
Frankie looks stunned at first, then an overwhelmed rush of emotions plays over his usually stoic face. Eventually, he settles on gazing at you with a dreamy face. “Sometimes I wonder if you’re real,” he says softly.
Your insides melt, leaving you as gooey as the marshmallows enveloped in the heat and sweetness of the hot chocolate left sitting on the coffee table. Grabbing his hand, you bring it to your face, pressing his large palm to your cheek. “I’m real, Frankie. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”
He stares at you but doesn’t lean in, as if waiting instruction, like an orchestra waiting for the conductor. His gaze darts to your mouth briefly. As he runs his thumb across your cheek, your breath hitches and you lick your lip, an open invitation. Finally, he leans down, his lips meeting yours. The kisses start off very light and delicate, but as you continue kissing, Frankie eases his tongue through your lips, making your kisses more sensual.
Adjusting your body, you grab ahold of his open flannel shirt and pull him even closer, encouraging him to lean in until you’re lying back on the couch. He cradles the back of your head with a hand, ensuring you’re comfortable. Moaning into his mouth, you wrap your legs around his waist, locking him against you. His arousal digs into the center of your pants, make you hotter as you trace your hands along his shoulders and reach his neck, gently threading your fingers through his hair. The more you kiss and rub up against him, the harder you find it to hold back.
“Fuck, baby. I want you so bad,” Frankie says between kisses. He plants them wherever he can, from your cheek to your jaw to your throat, heating you to your core. “Can I have you?”
“You already have me, Francisco,” you exhale. “I’m all yours.”
“Tell me what you need then. Anything, and it’s yours.”
“Let me have you.” You reach for his belt buckle to unfasten it.
Frankie pushes himself up to give you better access to his pants, throwing off his button-up shirt while you fumble to free his hard length. When you finally push his boxers down to free him and take him in your hand, his breath hisses out of his mouth, his length pulsing with a need as great as yours.
“Fuck,” he gasps, clutching the fabric of the couch. “W-we should take this to the bedroom, in case-”
“We’ll be fine,” you reply, hastily fisting the fabric of his crewneck t-shirt in your free hand and pulling him back down to you, continuing to pump him with the other.
Frankie’s perfect, soft lips collide with yours before his tongue slips in you with commanding force, exploring your mouth. His hand slides up your shirt then under your bra, finding one of your breasts, cupping it in a way that makes you arch with pleasure.
Moaning, you lean back to enjoy his touch. His mouth moves to your neck, then suddenly, a sound intrudes on you.
The ringtone of Frankie’s phone blares from his pocket, vibrating against his thigh.
“Ignore it,” you plead breathlessly, your grip on his cock tightening.
“Y-yes,” he chokes. “Yes, ma’am.”
He uses his teeth to nip a tender spot in the crook of your neck, turning your giggle at his response into a squeal of pleasure and surprise.
Eventually, his phone falls silent, allowing the two of you to fully concentrate on your tasks.
Frankie’s hand slides down from your breast, skin against warm skin, the light caress making you shiver. Slowly, he slides the tips of his fingers under the waistband of your pants.
“Please,” you groan. “Frankie, ple-”
Once again, the phone rings, forcing Frankie and you to sigh in frustration. You throw your head back while Frankie buries his face in your neck.
“Jesus Christ,” he grumbles.
“You should answer.”
Groaning, he carefully pushes himself off you, moving to the opposite end of the couch. He tucks himself away before retrieving his phone from the pocket of his jeans. He checks the screen before swiping and bringing the device to his ear. You, meanwhile, push yourself back, resting with your head on the arm of the couch.
“This better be good, Benjamin,” Frankie growls, his annoyance very clear.
Looking at Frankie's facial expression, you try to determine what the man on the other end of the line is saying. Is it serious? Is someone hurt? Or had Benny drunkenly dialed him during the Miller Christmas Eve Extravaganza?
“It’s what?” Frankie questions, his eyebrows coming together. “Ben – hold on. Did you seriously call me just to tell me it’s snowing? I don’t need-”
“What?!” you exclaim, pushing yourself up.
Frankie turns his head to look at you, but before he can say or do anything else, you’re already reading across him.
“Gimme the phone!” you say, not giving him an option as you reach for the device, which he surrenders in confusion. “Benny? What did you say?”
“It’s snowing!” he replies gleefully. “First time in over forty years! Go look for yourself.”
“No way! Hold on!” you exclaim, throwing the phone back to Frankie and springing from the couch to sprint toward the front door. You slip on a pair of shoes then frantically move to unlock the door, giddy as a child. Finally, you swing it open, the cold air hitting you in the face. Immediately, you see tiny white specks floating down from the sky, swirling in the light breeze.
Snow.
You’d only ever seen it in movies and pictures, and some fake stuff at Disney World. To see it in person, to witness small snowflakes falling from the sky and melting on impact - it's surreal.
“Holy shit! It’s snowing!” Despite Frankie's warnings that it’s freezing, you rush outside to twirl and dance, your eyes focused on the sky and its moonlit magic. “Frankie, it’s snowing!” you exclaim after several moments. You stop and look, seeing him standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed, watching you with love and admiration.
“I know, baby,” he replies, absolutely beaming.
“Should we wake Gabby?”
“Nah. Let her sleep.”
“Yeah. You’re right,” you respond, a bit disappointed. But you know he is right. If she woke up to this excitement, she’d never go back to sleep.
You look back up.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?”
“Yeah…” Frankie replies. You don’t even notice that it’s not the snow he’s looking at. It’s you. “The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
You want to dance and sing and twirl around, so you do, not caring if any neighbors came out and see. They’d think you’re nuts, your arms outstretched while spinning, singing “Let It Snow” at the top of your lungs, facing the street as if you’re giving a performance on stage. When you finish, you giggle to yourself, your breath becoming puffs of white air that quickly melt into the darkness.
“Frankie! Come kiss me in-”
Your voice drops when you whip around and realize he’s no longer standing in the doorway. Instead, he is on one knee several steps away from you, a closed velvet box in his hand. There is only one reason that a man gets down on bended knee…
“F-Frankie…?”
“Marry me.” His voice is rough, filled with emotion.
Emotion climbs up in your throat. You cup a hand to over your mouth to trap the sob inside.
“I’ve known that I want to marry you for a long time,” Frankie says. “Ever since last Christmas, when you did everything last minute to make the holiday special for Gabriella. It’s something her own mother couldn’t do, but you stepped up without giving it a second thought. I wanted to drop down on my knee that night, but I was afraid I’d scare you away.”
Laughter involuntarily escapes your lips. “You could never…,” you say, the words muffled behind your hand. A tear falls down your cheek.
“I’ve been so afraid of fucking up. Of fucking this up,” Frankie continues. “I know I’m not perfect, but you make me want to be. You make me want to be the man you deserve. I’ve realized that I can’t let fears and past mistakes make me afraid of creating a future with you. And that’s what I want. I want you. I want to marry you. Because nothing – nothing – would make me happier than spending the rest of my life trying to make you happy.”
Frankie gives you the brightest smile, his eyes shimmering with tears. “I’ve made you wait long enough. So, will you marry me?”
Unable to remove your hand from your mouth, unable to show him the smile forming beneath your palm, you nod, your heart swelling with so much joy you fear it might explode.
“Yes?”
You nod again, faster, then finally remove your head. “Yes, Frankie! Yes!”
Just like that, Frankie has you in his arms. He spins you in a circle and kisses you, snow dancing all around, cooling your flushed skin as it falls on your lashes, cheeks, and hair. You both laugh, like you can’t believe this moment, how magical it all is.
Frankie looks down and you watch as he opens the velvet box in his hand. He removes the ring and slips it on your finger, your hands just as shaky as his. Studying the ring, trying to take a moment to take this all in, you realize it’s one you had playfully pointed out to him while window shopping months ago.
He remembered.
You throw your arms around his neck and kiss him through the tears that are spilling over.
“Merry Christmas, Frankie,” you whisper, your forehead resting against his.
“Merry Christmas, mi futura esposa.”
As the two of you stand there, lost in the magic of the moment, you hear a thump from somewhere nearby. You turn to the tree beside the house, confused, before looking at Frankie.
“Iguana?” you question.
“Iguana,” he agrees, nodding his head. “He’ll feel that when he thaws.”
You chuckle softly.
“C’mon,” he insists, wrapping an arm around you and encouraging you back to the warmth of the house. “Iguana tap that before bed.
“Jesus Christ, Frankie,” you try to scold, but the house fills with laughter as the two of you make your way back inside.