Note: I made a list of prompts, and wrote a bite-sized story for each one. They don’t live in the same universe, but they’re all a little off-kilter from what you might expect from holiday fare. And if you pay attention, you’ll notice that the last line of each story becomes the first line of the next. Also? You can listen to these stories at my podcast website: BathtubMermaid.com.
He reached for the espresso machine switch.
“Don’t,” Jenna warned, holding her mug like a shield. “Not until we resolve the wreath situation.”
Daniel froze mid-reach. “The what situation?”
She pointed toward the window, where their holiday wreath—tasteful, classic, hung with a single red ribbon—now sat crooked, half-crushed, and inexplicably sprinkled with glitter.
“Explain,” she said.
Daniel squinted. “Okay. In my defense—”
“Oh, this’ll be good.”
“—I was trying to shake the snow off.”
“Daniel,” Jenna said, voice dangerously calm, “we live in Florida.”
He looked at the wreath again. “…Right. So it might’ve been sand.”
Jenna set her mug down very slowly. “Sand. In the air.”
“It happens. Meteorologically.”
“And the glitter?”
He hesitated. “Atmospheric… festive… particles?”
The smoke alarm beeped once, sharply, as if weighing in with its own judgment. They both ignored it.
“Look,” Daniel said, “I was just trying to help. You said the door looked ‘undecorated and emotionally bleak.’”
“I meant the inside,” she shot back. “The inside of the door looked bleak. The outside was fine. The outside was classic. Elegant. Dignified.”
“Well, now it’s festive.”
“It looks like a raccoon hosted a rave on it.”
“A tasteful rave.”
Jenna pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes. “Why do we do this every year?”
“Because,” Daniel said, coming closer, “we love the holidays. And also we’re both control freaks.”
“You’re the control freak,” she countered automatically.
“True,” he admitted. “But you’re competitive about it.”
She cracked a smile. “Okay, that’s fair.”
The espresso machine clicked as it finished warming up. Daniel reached for two mugs.
Then stopped.
“Wait… is this still a fight?”
“Maybe,” Jenna said. “I’m still deciding.”
A long beat.
“But I’ll allow coffee during deliberations.”
He handed her the good mug—the big one, the one she always stole from his side of the cabinet. She took it, slid her hand over his briefly, and sighed.
“I’m sorry about the… atmospheric festive particles,” he said.
“I’m sorry I threatened you before caffeine,” she replied. “It wasn’t my best self.”
He flipped the switch, and the machine gave a small, enthusiastic flare of steam—loud enough to make them both jump.
Jenna laughed first.
Daniel followed.
The wreath gleamed crookedly in the morning sun, glitter catching light like it had its own opinion.
“Okay,” Jenna said, sipping carefully, “we’ll fix it later.”
Daniel nodded. “Yeah. Later.”
They stood there for a moment, the kind of pause that could turn into anything.