A Very Kash and Calynn Christmas
Kash never thought he’d see the day when his ship—the same ship that had dodged bounty hunters, corporate warships, and, let’s be honest, a fair number of unpaid docking fees—would be covered in tinsel.
But here he was, standing in the middle of the cockpit, staring at blinking red-and-green lights strung over the consoles. A garland wrapped haphazardly around the pilot’s chair, and in the corner of the cargo bay, wedged between an engine part and a box labeled “Definitely Not Stolen,” stood a Christmas tree.
Or at least, what Calynn was calling a Christmas tree.
“Where did you get that?” Kash asked, narrowing his eyes at the sad, spindly shrub shedding needles onto the floor.
“Traded for it,” Calynn grinned, dusting her hands off as if she’d just completed a masterpiece. “A guy from the Tempest Knights owed me a favor.”
“That looks less like a tree and more like… yard clippings.”
“It’s rustic,” she said with a shrug.
Kash opened his mouth to argue but thought better of it. It’s Christmas, Kash. Let her have this.
Things only got weirder when Calynn emerged from the galley with two steaming mugs. “Hot chocolate,” she said proudly, handing him one.
Kash raised an eyebrow as he took a sip.
It was terrible.
His mouth turned to ash, bitterness coating his tongue like molten despair. It tasted like someone had boiled mud and forgotten every ingredient that made hot chocolate good.
“You… uh… forgot the sugar,” Kash said, voice strained as he fought the instinct to spit it out.
Calynn’s grin faded, replaced by a look of such genuine disappointment that he immediately regretted saying anything.
“You hate it,” she mumbled.
Kash sighed and took another sip, the bitterness almost worse the second time.
“No, no. It’s great,” he lied. “I prefer it this way.”
Her smile came back, lighting up her face like the malfunctioning lights she’d strung up.
“Merry Christmas, Boss.”
“Merry Christmas, Baby Girl.”
Kash looked back at the blinking lights, the scraggly tree, and finally at Calynn, who somehow managed to find a little cheer even in the cold void of space. The cocoa was awful, the decorations looked like a salvage job, and the “tree” was probably flammable, but he had to admit:
It wasn’t so bad.
From our crew to yours—
wherever you are in the galaxy—
Merry Christmas, happy holidays, and may your cocoa never be too bitter.
