Cold Fingers

It was the 24th of December, and the streets were alive with the hum of Christmas lights and the chill of winter. She wore a red turtleneck sweater, the kind that made her cheeks flush just a little more. Her lips—unadorned yet soft, reminded me of the evening wine I’d chosen for later. Everything tonight had been planned, orchestrated. The dinner reservation, the flowers I’d ordered to be placed at our table, the balloons that hung subtly at the entrance to the restaurant. It wasn’t much, but it felt like it would all mean something tonight.

I was going to propose.

We’d been on a few dates before, each one special, but this one felt… monumental. She had no idea, and that filled me with a sweet, anxious thrill. She looked perfect, the red of her sweater dancing with the ambient glow of the holiday decorations.

We walked into the restaurant, the warmth of the place contrasting sharply with the cool air outside. I held the door open for her, making sure to pull her chair out when we sat. She smiled, a small but knowing gesture as if to say, you don’t have to do all this, but I wanted to. She deserved it.

Dinner started with pasta, and I noticed how she tried eating it with chopsticks—probably to match the high-end setting, but I could see her discomfort. Her fingers clutched the chopsticks, but it wasn’t her usual grace. I chuckled and switched to a fork, breaking the pretense. Her shoulders relaxed, and she gave me that look—like she was thankful for me noticing without her saying a word. She followed my lead and switched to a fork too.

But then, in her usual playful way, she took a bite of pasta, and it was a bit too hot. I could tell by how she winced slightly. I cut a small piece for her, blew on it gently, and offered it to her like you would to a child. She giggled, leaning in to take the bite, her eyes smiling at the warmth.

The evening continued effortlessly. The conversation flowed, though I barely remember what we talked about. We were just there—lost in each other, the warmth of the evening, the wine that was richer and deeper than the December night outside.

Then, she demanded ice cream.

It was freezing outside. Her cheeks were already pink from the cold, and the idea of ice cream made me roll my eyes, half jokingly. I warned her about the cold—how she’d lose her voice, but she pouted, her lips forming that small frown like a child who wasn’t getting what they wanted.

Of course, I gave in.

After dinner, we stepped out of the restaurant, the cold biting into us once more, and I found a small ice cream vendor nearby. I bought her a scoop, and she laughed at the absurdity of it all, while I stood there, pretending to be exasperated but secretly loving how she could turn every moment into something light, something memorable.

We walked slowly now. The streets were lit with holiday decorations and the noise of distant chatter, but between us, there was a gentle, soothing silence. She slipped one hand into my jacket pocket, and instinctively, I reached in too. Our fingers met—cold against cold—but the touch brought warmth. She pulled closer to me, her head lightly resting against my shoulder as we walked.

It was strange, how much we didn’t need words. The world felt far away, even with the bright lights and bustling street. The wind picked up a little, and without thinking, I shrugged off my jacket and placed it around her shoulders. She smiled, shy but appreciative, her cheeks glowing with that same childlike blush that made her look even more beautiful. I tucked her in, my fingers lingering a little too long at the edges of the jacket.

She slipped her hand into the other pocket of my jacket and froze.

Her fingers brushed against something small and cool—a ring. Her eyes widened, and she pulled it out slowly, holding it in front of her, her breath catching in the cold December air.

She looked at me, her lips parting slightly in surprise, her cheeks already flushed from the chill and from the evening itself. I hadn't planned for her to find it like this. I imagined something more ceremonious, maybe when we reached the park by the Christmas tree or during a quiet moment over dessert. But seeing her now, standing under the twinkling lights of the street, looking at me like that… it felt perfect.

I smiled, my heart beating faster as I stepped closer, taking her hand gently, my fingers trembling just a little from the weight of the moment.

"You weren’t supposed to find that yet," I said, my voice soft, almost playful. She smiled, that same shy, slightly mischievous smile that always made me weak, her fingers still lightly gripping the ring.

I took a deep breath, feeling the cold air fill my lungs, but also the warmth between us, the connection we shared—stronger than any winter chill. Slowly, I knelt down on one knee, right there on the quiet street, as the festive lights glimmered above us and the world around seemed to fade into the background.

Her eyes widened even more, and her free hand went up to her mouth in disbelief.

“I was going to wait until the perfect moment, but I guess there's no moment more perfect than right now.” I looked up at her, her face soft and radiant, like the night itself had paused just for us. "I've loved you from the moment we met, from the way you always laugh at my worst jokes, to the way you somehow make everything feel... easy."

She blinked, her eyes filling with that unmistakable sparkle that I had come to know so well. She was listening with her whole heart, every word settling in her like the first snowflake of the season.

“I don't want just another date with you,” I continued, my voice steady now, every word filled with certainty. “I want every day. I want every moment, every winter, every Christmas Eve, every random Tuesday. I want it all—with you.”

I took the ring from her hand, my fingers brushing lightly against hers as I held it up between us. "Will you marry me?"

For a moment, there was silence—a silence that wasn’t empty but full. Full of everything we’d shared, every memory, every laugh, every quiet walk just like this one. Her face softened even more, her eyes locked on mine, and then, with a breathless smile, she nodded.

“Yes,” she whispered, her voice barely above the sound of the winter breeze, but it was enough. It was everything.

I slid the ring onto her finger, my hands shaking slightly—not from nerves, but from the overwhelming feeling of joy, of love, of knowing that this was the beginning of something even more beautiful. When I stood up, she was already stepping closer, her hands finding mine, and before I could say anything else, she wrapped her arms around me, pulling me into a kiss.

Her lips were soft, warmer than the night, and the world seemed to disappear around us. The lights, the noise, the cold—they were all distant now, as if we were standing in our own little pocket of time, just the two of us.

When we finally pulled away, she laughed softly, her forehead resting against mine, our breath mingling in the cool air. “You really couldn’t wait, huh?” she teased.

I chuckled, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. “What can I say? You’re impossible to keep secrets from.”

She held up her hand, looking at the ring glittering in the soft light. "It's beautiful," she said quietly, her voice filled with awe. "But you know what's even better?"

"What?" I asked, already knowing the answer but loving the sound of her voice in that moment.

She leaned in close, her hand resting against my chest, feeling the steady beat of my heart beneath her fingers. “This,” she whispered. "Us."

We started walking again, but everything felt lighter now. She was still holding the ice cream in one hand, the ring glinting with each movement. We strolled down the street slowly, her hand once again slipping into my pocket, this time just for the warmth. I wrapped my arm around her, pulling her even closer.

As we passed the twinkling lights, I thought about everything that had brought us to this moment—every late-night conversation, every date, every small gesture that made me fall more and more in love with her. And now, here we were, on Christmas Eve, walking through the city as if it belonged to us, the night feeling more magical than any holiday movie ever could be.

"I still can't believe you bought me ice cream in this weather," she said, smiling as she took another bite, her voice playful.

"I couldn’t say no to you," I replied with a smirk. "Besides, you love it when I spoil you."

She laughed and bumped her head lightly into my shoulder, a gesture so familiar yet so endearing that I couldn't help but smile. "You’re right. I do."

We didn’t need to say anything more. The night was perfect, and so was she.

As we reached the park, the large Christmas tree stood tall in the center, its lights glowing softly in the distance. We paused for a moment, just standing there, taking it all in. She turned to me, her eyes shining with happiness, and I leaned in, pressing my lips to her forehead, holding her close.

“I love you,” I whispered, the words falling between us like snow, soft and delicate but carrying the weight of everything I felt for her.

She looked up at me, her cheeks glowing, her smile wide and full of love. “I love you too.”

And in that moment, under the glow of the Christmas lights, hand in hand, I knew—this was it. This was everything I'd ever wanted, and more.