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.

They stood there for a moment, the kind of pause that could turn into anything.

Which, in retrospect, was probably why the universe chose that exact second to drop an icicle the size of a baguette from the roof.

It hit the sidewalk between them with a sharp CRACK, sending a spray of glittering shards across their boots.

Marisol yelped.
Theo shouted something that sounded like “FRIGGIN—” but lost the rest to shock.
Then they looked at each other and burst out laughing in the kind of helpless, slightly hysterical way you only do when you’ve both just escaped being impaled by weather.

“Oh my god,” Marisol wheezed, bending to pick up one of the harmless fragments. “If that had hit one of us—”

“Immediate popsicle,” Theo said solemnly. “Open-and-shut coroner’s report.”

She snorted. “‘Cause of death: holiday décor.’”

“‘Victim was in the wrong place at the wrong time, but was at least festively themed.’”

Their shoulders bumped as they crouched to sweep the icicle shards into the snowbank. The contact made both of them freeze for half a beat—long enough to feel it, not long enough to acknowledge it out loud.

When they straightened, Marisol dusted her gloves, trying to act nonchalant. “So. That was dramatic.”

Theo nodded. “Nature’s way of telling us something.”

“Oh really? And what’s that?”

“That we should never, ever stand under eaves again,” he said, nodding sagely.

She laughed again, warmer this time. “I walked here under like twelve eaves.”

“Reckless behavior.” He shook his head. “Truly wild.”

A gust of wind rattled the remaining icicles along the edge of the roof. Both of them instinctively stepped closer together, out of the drop zone. His arm brushed hers. Neither of them moved away.

“You okay?” he asked quietly.

“Yeah. Fine.”
Then, after a beat she didn’t mean to let slip: “Better now.”

He turned to look at her—really look at her—and something in the air shifted. Not dramatic. Not cinematic. It just got…warmer

“Should we, um…” Marisol gestured vaguely toward absolutely nothing. “Move before the roof tries to kill us again?”

“Probably,” Theo agreed.

They didn’t move.

Another icicle creaked somewhere overhead. They both flinched—directly into each other’s space. Not on purpose. Not quite by accident.

Marisol felt her breath catch.

Theo’s eyes flicked to her mouth.

“Okay,” she said, barely more than a whisper, “that one was definitely a sign.”

He laughed, soft and nervous and delighted. “Yeah. A pretty obvious one.”

And before either of them said anything else, he leaned in—slowly enough that she could turn away if she wanted to.

She didn’t.

Their lips met in a warm, startled, perfect little collision, the kind that makes you laugh into each other’s mouths because neither of you was quite ready and both of you wanted it anyway.

A chunk of snow slid off the roof behind them with a soft whump, like the universe clearing its throat politely.

They pulled apart, breathless and grinning.

“Okay,” Marisol said, cheeks flushed, “maybe we should go somewhere less… structurally dangerous.”

Theo nodded, brushing a snowflake from her hair.

Somewhere nearby, something shifted in the quiet, as if it had finally noticed them.