How My Neighbor Stole Christmas

Cole hated Christmas; he hated the whole season.

And like I said before, the town debated the reason.

But last night his mood changed, and now in the season he trusts,

all thanks to green body paint and one flamboyant pelvic thrust.

The town is split. Some think it was Cole’s lederhosen that took it all.

But Martha says it was because Max’s shorts were two sizes too small.

“I still can’t believe he won last night,” I say as I grumpily sit on the couch in the living room, unable to get over the fact that Sherry Conrad chose Cole’s joke of a show over mine.

Whereas mine was heartfelt and featured a beautiful moment with my aunt on the stage, Cole and Atlas made a mockery of the entire competition.

Shirtless.

Green.

Lederhosen!

Who does that?

It was absurd, it was stupid, and it was…I mean…sure, the green chest hair was interesting to look at, and his pecs were bigger than I expected them to be, and the abs, well, we won’t go there, but the pelvic thrust…

The pelvic thrust!

That was not necessary.

That was a cheap shot, and he took it.

And I know that rolling Aunt Cindy out onstage was a cheap shot as well, but Christmas is about family. We were playing into the theme. Whereas Cole was sexualizing Christmas with that thrust.

And don’t even get me started on Atlas’s seated position. Let’s just say the crowd got a good look at his holly stick and berries.

“You have to let it go,” Aunt Cindy says. “We got second place.”

“Yes, which means we’re tied with Cole. I don’t want to be tied with him. I want to beat him.”

“We have five more competitions,” Aunt Cindy says as Taran walks into the living room holding a Tupperware bin with tape all over it, stating the contents are fragile.

The coveted Happy Days nativity set.

It’s always the last thing to be put out. Taran has taken her time decorating the house for Aunt Cindy, and she’s done a fantastic job, measuring out every garland to the last centimeter. She’s dusted every surface, polished, and carefully placed each decoration where Aunt Cindy has directed her.

And I can honestly say that now that everything is up—the tree brimming with ornaments, every window adorned with velvet ribbons and a battery-lit candle, the pine garland intricately wrapped around the banister, and the gingerbread-themed decor in the kitchen—it feels like Christmas.

The Christmas from my childhood, back when I felt excitement for the season all the way down to my toes. When I’d play board games with Taran by the fire. When we’d spend countless hours at the dining room table icing cookies. When we would stare out the window, looking up at the gray clouds, hoping that we’d wake up to freshly fallen snow the next morning.

The smell of it all.

The sight of the familiar decorations…

It’s making me wonder why I pushed this side of my childhood out of my life for so long. Why I’ve neglected to live in this feeling. For years.

Why I told myself that I don’t need to curl up on Aunt Cindy’s couch next to the fire and listen to classic Christmas instrumentals, insisting that a Christmas in my apartment…alone…was a much better choice.

Being here again, it’s made me realize it was not a better choice.

“Will you help me?” Taran asks as she opens the top of the container and starts carefully pulling out tissue paper.

I kneel in front of the bin and begin unwrapping the figurines. I have no idea where Aunt Cindy got this nativity set, but I will say, for being a novelty item, they did an excellent job on the figurines—very lifelike.

Naturally, Marion and Howard are Mary and Joseph. The three wise men are Richie, Potsie, and Ralph. Chachi is the shepherd, Joanie is the angel, and who else could be baby Jesus other than the Fonz, sideburns and all.

“I was speaking to Martha this morning,” Aunt Cindy says, “when Taran helped me outside for my daily sun intake, and she was telling me that Sherry was enamored with Cole and Atlas.”

“It was obvious,” I say as I set Joanie on the coffee table. “I think I saw her drooling. And that pelvic thrust. Was that really necessary?”

“The pelvic thrust was shocking,” Taran says.

“Just as shocking as Atlas was in those booty shorts,” Aunt Cindy says, tugging her collar.

Um, pardon me? Is she sweating over there?

“The whole thing was ridiculous and uncalled for. They took a sacred tradition and turned it into a mockery,” I say as I unwrap Richie, his still-vibrant red hair peeking past the tissue paper. “I mean, what we did up there, Aunt Cindy, was touching. I even teared up a bit. And then they came in with their sexually charged booty shorts and lederhosen and just ruined it all.” I snort for good measure, making it clear how displeased I am.

“It was quite the scene,” Taran says.

“Yes, who knew two farm boys could be so…entertaining,” Aunt Cindy says, staring up at the ceiling as if she’s reminiscing on what she saw.

What is going on with her?

First Niall the stripper and now this…

“Aunt Cindy?”

“Yes, dear?” she says, her sleepy eyes meeting mine.

“Were you…and pardon my language, but were you cock shocked last night?”

“Storee,” Taran chastises. “Do not ask our great-aunt that.”

“What?” I ask with a lift of my shoulders. “It’s a fair question. She seems to be in some far-off land, and I feel like it’s our right to know if she was just as mesmerized as the rest of the town last night.”

“It’s quite all right,” Aunt Cindy says, pacifying Taran. “I will admit I was not expecting Cole—the recluse who chooses to stay in his house during the Christmas season rather than be involved—to be up there on the stage, dressed up as a sexy Grinch, thrusting away. It was a bit shocking and, well…yes, he’s extremely attractive, and it reminded me of, well, you don’t need to know what it reminded me of, but yes, I might have been a touch mesmerized. But no need to worry; I’m still very much in the game.”

“Okay, because we still have a long way to go, and I can’t lose you on this next competition since I have no idea what we’re doing.”

“The light display,” she says. “They give us points in two parts. First for your initial setup and idea, and then on Christmas Eve, they give you points for how you improved the display throughout the season, because as Christmas decorators, we’re always tinkering with our masterpieces. So they want to see how well we can add to the theme. This will be our most challenging competition. Cole has helped me in the past—”

“He has?” I ask.

Aunt Cindy nods. “Nothing too extravagant, but I believe it’s why I’ve always come last in this category. Not because Cole wasn’t good at hanging lights, but because I never wanted to use him too much. It’s the category we need to improve on the most.”

“And he probably knows that…damn it,” I say, swatting at the coffee table and causing Joanie the angel to shake. Aunt Cindy gives me a warning glare.

“I can help with the lights,” Taran says.

“That’s right,” Aunt Cindy says. “Look how well you did with the decorations in the house.”

“She did do a wonderful job,” I say, looking around. “Only problem is, we have three days to get the light display done and we have no plan, no lights, and no idea what we’re going to do. And no offense, Taran, but hanging these decorations took you a week. We don’t have that kind of time.”

Aunt Cindy taps her chin as I unwrap the Fonz. His large head with sideburns on a baby-sized body always kills me. “That’s true, you are slow,” she says. “You take a long time cleaning my crevices too.”

I shiver while Taran stands tall. “Do you want an infection?”

“I just want to be cleaned, not ogled.”

“Good God,” Taran says in disgust. “Trust me, if I could wash you with my eyes closed, I would.”

“Well, that’s rude,” Aunt Cindy huffs.

“Well, it’s rude to assume that I enjoy washing my great-aunt’s crevices.”

“Okay, okay…everyone, calm down,” I say, using my hands to urge them down. “We can’t be infighting—that’s what Cole would want. We need to stay cohesive. A solid unit moving into this light display. Even though it pains me, we have to take note that right now we’re not losing, we’re just tied, and going into the light display knowing we took last place in previous years is not ideal. But I think…I think we can take this, or at least score higher points.”

“And how do you think we do that?” Aunt Cindy asks. “Do you have an idea?”

I shake my head as I help Taran remove the manger—aka the diner—from the bin. “No, but I think I can do some snooping today.” I pause and then ask, “Peach and Paula, they own the hardware store, right? They’re the ones judging the light display?”

“Correct,” Aunt Cindy says.

“Do you think we could take a page out of Cole’s book and see if they’re interested in a little…flirting?”

Aunt Cindy eyes me and slowly shakes her head. “No, not recommended. They’re smart and not easily wooed by the human form in booty shorts like Sherry Conrad. If anything, I think they’d hold it against you because they’d see right through your tactics.”

“Damn it.” I lean against the coffee table as Taran gently places the “manger” on the mantel. “Then that brings me back to the snooping.”

“What kind of snooping are you going to do?” Taran asks.

“Don’t worry about it, but while I’m out, I need you two to look through the outside decorations we already have and start formulating ideas. We need something with pizzazz, something flashy—”

“I don’t do flashy,” Aunt Cindy says.

I point at her. “That’s the problem. We need to garner attention, not be subtle. If we’re going to beat the naked man twins, then we need to be smart about this. Flashy is the way to go, trust me.”

Winter hat on, scarf secured around my neck, and mittens on, I peer through the knotty fence, trying to see if Cole and Atlas have set anything up in Cole’s backyard. Perhaps a layout of their plan, the untangling of lights, or even the suggestion of a blow-up character, but as I scan around, I find nothing.

Not a fake Santa.

Not a reindeer to be stuck on the roof.

Not even a piece of furniture.

Sheesh.

I move toward the front of the two houses and slip my sunglasses on. Given the amount of sun this town gets despite the winter season, sunglasses are a must—so you don’t burn your retinas from the light rays bouncing off the white snow.

I face Aunt Cindy’s house, pretending to observe it, when in reality, I have my eyes trained to the left, taking in Cole’s house.

It’s similar to Aunt Cindy’s with the intricate architecture, a wraparound porch, and an angled roof that’s covered in snow from the night before—it never ends. Thankfully, Aunt Cindy has a shoveling service that does all the clearing of her sidewalk and driveway for her, or else we’d be out here almost every day.

The chill starts to seep through my jacket and into my bones as I survey his house and think about what he could possibly do.

Lights around the porch rails?

Playful window lights that aren’t just candles like Aunt Cindy likes to do? A lit-up tunnel that runs from the sidewalk and down the path to his house?

Oooh, we should do that. Beat him to it.

I make a mental note.

Each house has black streetlights that resemble old gas lampposts. We could wrap Aunt Cindy’s with some garland and strings of lights as well, and change the color of the bulb…but theme, what kind of theme?

I stare at Cole’s house some more, curious as to what he could be doing—

“Trying to get some ideas?” his deep voice asks from behind me, startling me nearly out of my winter boots.

I adjust my sunglasses, which have shifted down my nose as a result of being scared, and turn around to see him grinning at me, clearly pleased with himself.

“Don’t you have to be at work?” I look him up and down, taking in his worn jeans and simple flannel over a Henley shirt—seems to be the grumpy uniform he wears so very often.

He sticks his hands in his pockets. “I have the day off. Why do you care?”

“I don’t care.”

“Clearly you do, since you asked.”

“Because you startled me, and I didn’t know what else to say,” I counter.

“And why did I startle you? Maybe because you were snooping?”

“I was not snooping,” I say. “I truly have better things to do with my life.”

“Uh-huh, so then why did I see you over by the fence, looking through it and into my backyard?” He grins, knowing damn well he’s caught me.

God, he’s so irritating.

I fold my arms over my chest. “For your information, I saw a bunny and I was invested in seeing if he could escape the hellhole that is your side of the fence.”

“Hellhole?” he asks with a lift of his brow. “That seems a bit harsh, don’t you think?”

“Have you looked in your backyard? There isn’t even a piece of furniture for someone to sit on to observe a bunny’s journey if they wanted to.”

“Maybe because the bunnies should be left alone and not preyed on by eager city folks.”

“I was not preying on it.”

“That’s right.” He nods and points at me. “Because there really wasn’t a bunny at all, and you were snooping because you’re scared about the light competition after losing last night.”

“Oh please,” I scoff, even though sweat starts to prickle at my scalp—despite the chilly weather. “I’m not worried in the slightest. The only reason you won last night was because Atlas was ridiculously panting like a dog.”

His eyes narrow, and I can see that stung him, since he was supposed to be the main event. So I go with it.

“Yeah, I heard Martha and Mae discussing it, actually. It’s all everyone can talk about—Atlas this, Atlas that. Word on the street is he stole the show.”

“He did not steal the show,” Cole says, clearly enraged, which is exactly what I wanted.

“Aww, are your man feelings hurt because they’re not talking about you?” I rub my hand over his arm in a comforting way. However, I’m greeted by rock-hard skin with divots and curves, and damn it, it just reminds me of what he looked like last night…shirtless…and in those lederhosen that, I’ll be honest, were more flattering than I would have assumed.

“I see what you’re doing,” he says.

“And what is that?”

“You’re trying to get under my skin, but it’s not going to work. I actually just came from Martha and Mae’s house, and guess what, they told me I was all everyone could talk about.”

I wince. “Oof, how do I explain this to you?” I steeple my hands together and place them under my chin. “You see, there is this thing called lying. People do it to spare others’ feelings.”

He rolls his eyes. “Nice try, but this tactic’s not going to work. If you want to win, then you’re going to have to try harder.” He turns away from me and starts walking toward town.

Because I’m headed in the same direction, I walk after him. “I don’t need to try harder.” I struggle to keep up with his large steps.

“After last night, it seems like you might have to.”

“Oh my God, you act like you’re a million points ahead of me. You won one competition, I won the other, and we’re tied right now.”

“Yes, but I have the momentum,” he counters.

I jog next to him to fully catch up. “Momentum means nothing.”

“For you, clearly, since it didn’t carry over to the next competition where you’re concerned.”

Ooooo, he’s infuriating. It’s like fighting with someone who never lets you win and always needs to have the last word.

“Let’s be honest about it, Cole. The only reason you won last night was because you showed nipple.”

That stops him and forces him to turn toward me. “Actually, my lederhosen covered my nipples—I know this because the fabric rubbed against them and made them tingle.”

I crinkle my nose. “Ew.”Content © NôvelDrama.Org 2024.

“Just stating the facts.”

“Fine, the only reason you won was because you showed off your stacked abs.”

His brow quirks nearly into his hairline. “Stacked abs?” He smirks and sticks his hands in his pockets. “Like what you saw, Taylor?”

“What?” I say, my voice cracking and my cheeks flaming. “No. I was repulsed.”

“Uh-huh. You know, someone who was repulsed wouldn’t have said ‘stacked abs;’ they’d have just said ‘stomach.’”

Like I said…infuriating.

“Why are you like this?”

“Like what?” he asks. “A man so attractive that you can’t seem to stop thinking about his appearance last night?”

I toss my arms in the air and turn away from him to head toward the hardware store. “I give up. You clearly can’t communicate like an adult.”

“I’m communicating just fine. I think you’re the one getting tongue-tied,” he says and then leans close to me. “Maybe because of my stacked abs.”

Irritated, I pick up my pace, walking faster so I don’t need to be near him.

Sure, was that the wrong choice of words? Absolutely. But I’m not…I’m not good under high-pressure situations. I tend to say things I don’t want people to hear. Hence the last few minutes.

“Where are you headed?” he says, barely breaking a sweat as he keeps up with my pace.

Damn him.

“None of your business.”

“Is it the hardware store to see what kind of light display you should be creating?”

“Uh…no,” I say, even though that’s exactly where I’m headed.

“You know, I was the one who helped your aunt Cindy with her light display the last few years. So if you need help, I’d be more than happy to dress in my lederhosen again and hang lights for you, give you another good show.”

My nostrils flare.

My fists clench at my sides.

And then I stop on the sidewalk and turn toward him and say, “Why on earth would I want your help with something you failed at? Aunt Cindy said the last few light displays put her in last place, so clearly you have no idea what you’re doing. Keep your mediocre work to yourself while I work out a plan to annihilate you.”

“Is that your trash talk?” he asks.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” I say very immaturely, continuing my trek toward the hardware store.

“I wouldn’t, actually,” he says as he continues walking at my side.

Looks like we’re going to the hardware store together. Great.