My first Christmas away from home, I got lucky.
I’d moved from Los Angeles to Prague in the Czech Republic and couldn’t afford to fly back for the holidays. I was expecting a lonely few weeks as all of my new friends scattered to be with their families.
But then I met the most incredible guy—a Brit with a luscious accent and a sense of humor as dry as the desert I grew up in.
We got serious very quickly. We’d only been going out for a week when he invited me back to his parents’ house in England for Christmas. Yep—from “Let’s be more than friends” to “Come meet my family and spend the holidays with us” in one week.
By the time Christmas came around, we’d been together a whopping ten weeks. We spent the next two weeks with his family—and holy cow, did I ever get to know them, and their British Christmas traditions, quickly.
His parents picked us up from the airport. Our flight had been severely delayed, so I fell asleep in the car on the way to their house in Norfolk. It was late when we arrived, and my first view of their house included one of my boyfriend’s brothers standing in the living room wearing nothing but his underwear.