Sparks in the Ring

The town sparkled under a blanket of snow as Christmas Eve arrived. Fairy lights twinkled from every house, casting a warm glow on the frosted streets. The park, which Owen had suggested visiting a few days prior, was now even more festive. Carolers sang near the entrance, their voices blending with the occasional jingle of bells.

Owen adjusted his scarf, watching his breath fog in the cold air. He was standing outside Jorie's house, feeling more nervous than he had in any boxing match. He wasn't sure how he'd let her talk him into coming to her family's Christmas Eve dinner, but here he was, holding a box of store-bought cookies and awkwardly shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

The door swung open before he could knock, and Jorie stood there, wearing a bright red sweater adorned with a smiling reindeer.

"You're late," she teased, pulling him inside before he could reply.

Owen blinked, momentarily overwhelmed by the scene in front of him. The living room was a whirlwind of holiday chaos—kids running around with candy canes, an enormous tree loaded with ornaments, and the smell of something delicious wafting from the kitchen.

"Knight!" Jorie's dad boomed, appearing from around the corner. He was a burly man with a jovial smile and an apron that read King of the Kitchen. "We've heard a lot about you!"

Owen shot a pointed look at Jorie, who grinned innocently. "All good things, I promise."

After a firm handshake and a brief interrogation about his boxing career, Owen was ushered to the dining table. Jorie's mom appeared, balancing a tray of cookies, and gave him a warm smile.

"So, you're the one keeping our Jorie busy these days?" she asked, her tone teasing.

"Uh, something like that," Owen muttered, his ears turning red.

Jorie slid into the seat next to him, her grin widening. "Don't scare him, Mom. He's still adjusting to the idea of Christmas cheer."

Dinner was a loud, cheerful affair, with Jorie's family swapping stories, cracking jokes, and occasionally pulling Owen into the conversation. At first, he felt out of place, but Jorie's infectious energy—and her family's warmth—made it impossible not to relax.

As dessert was served, Jorie leaned closer to Owen, whispering, "See? Not so bad, right?"

"It's... different," Owen admitted, taking a bite of pie. "But good different."

Jorie smiled, satisfied. "Told you."

After Dinner

Once the plates were cleared, Jorie dragged Owen outside into the snowy backyard. The sky was clear, the stars sparkling like tiny ornaments.

"What are we doing out here?" Owen asked, rubbing his hands together for warmth.

"Building a snowman," Jorie declared, bending down to scoop up snow.

"You're kidding."

"Do I look like I'm kidding?" she replied, already rolling a snowball.

Owen sighed but crouched down to help. The two of them worked in relative silence, the crunch of snow the only sound between them. But as Jorie tried to stack the second snowball on top of the first, it wobbled dangerously.

"Careful!" Owen said, reaching out to steady it.

Jorie slipped on the icy ground, falling backward into the snow with a dramatic yelp. Owen burst out laughing—a rare, genuine laugh that made Jorie pause.

"Wow," she said, looking up at him. "You're actually laughing. It's a Christmas miracle."

Owen smirked, offering her a hand. "Don't get used to it."

But as he helped her up, their hands lingered a moment too long. The laughter faded, replaced by a quiet tension that neither of them dared to break.

"You've got snow in your hair," Owen said softly, brushing a stray flake from her forehead.

Jorie's breath caught. For a moment, the world seemed to fall silent—the lights, the snow, the cold—all of it fading as she looked up at him.

"I told you Christmas could be fun," she whispered, her voice light but her eyes serious.

Owen's gaze softened, his usual guarded expression slipping away. "Maybe you were right."

Jorie opened her mouth to reply, but a sudden shout from inside broke the moment.

"Jorie! Owen! We're starting the movie!"

Jorie stepped back, her cheeks flushed. "We should... probably go inside."

"Yeah," Owen said, shoving his hands into his pockets.

As they walked back into the house, the warmth of the evening surrounded them again, but something had changed between them—something unspoken, but very much alive.

For Owen, Christmas Eve wasn't just about lights and snow anymore. It was about the spark that had started to grow, one he wasn't sure he was ready to face but couldn't seem to ignore.