Lois stretched lazily under the covers, her nose twitching at the heavenly aroma of coffee wafting into the room. She opened her eyes to see Clark standing at the bedside, holding a steaming mug.
“Morning,” he said, his voice warm as the coffee.
“Morning,” she murmured, sitting up and accepting the cup. She took a sip, sighing contentedly. “You know, I could get used to this.”
Clark grinned. “I’m happy to oblige. But finish up, we’ve got breakfast waiting and then we can head out.”
As Lois set the cup down, Clark reached into his pocket and handed her the small bag from the advent calendar.
“Can’t forget this,” he said, his eyes sparkling with anticipation.
Lois peeked inside, pulling out a small, brightly wrapped tube. She turned it over in her hands, frowning. “What is this?”
Clark’s face lit up. “It’s a Christmas cracker! They’re a British holiday tradition. Families pull these at the dinner table during Christmas. When you open it, it makes a snapping sound and inside you’ll find a paper crown, a little toy or trinket and a joke.”
“Here. You don’t open them alone; you pull them with someone else. Ready?”
Lois raised an eyebrow but grabbed one end of the cracker. They both gave a tug and with a sharp pop, it burst open. Out tumbled a tiny toy and a slip of paper along with a paper crown. Lois picked it up, unfolding it to read aloud.
“‘What do you get if you cross a snowman and a vampire?’” She glanced at Clark, who shrugged. “‘Frostbite…”
Lois groaned, rolling her eyes. “Wow, those jokes are bad.”
“That’s the point,” Clark said with a chuckle, slipping the paper crown onto her head with a dramatic flourish. “Congratulations, milady. You’re officially part of a very British Christmas tradition.”
Lois adjusted the crown with an exaggerated air of regality, adopting her best British accent. “Absolutely splendid! And as the queen of this household, I decree that you return to bed at once, good sir.”
Clark’s grin widened, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Your wish is my command, Your Majesty. But I must warn you, I take royal orders very seriously.”
She laughed, reaching for his hand. “Good. Let’s see if you’re as good at following commands as you are at making coffee.”
A short while later, after a quick breakfast, they stepped out into the crisp morning air.
Lois' expression was a mix of amusement and curiosity. “Alright, I’ll bite. What other quirky traditions do the British have?”
Clark’s grin widened. “How about we try our hand at making mince pies? Sweet, spiced, and festive - a true holiday classic.”
Lois raised an eyebrow. “Pie, you say? Now you’re speaking my language. Alright, farm-boy, count me in. But fair warning, if this turns into a disaster, I’m blaming you.”
Clark chuckled. “Don’t worry. I’ve got enough super-speed to clean up any mess you make… though let’s try not to set the kitchen on fire this time.”
Lois smirked, playfully narrowing her eyes. “That was one time, and technically the flames were under control.”
---
Back at home, Clark rolled up his sleeves, setting the ingredients neatly on the counter with a practiced ease.
“So,” Lois began, eyeing the flour and butter with a mix of curiosity and skepticism, “what’s my role in this operation?”
Clark flashed her a reassuring grin. “We’ll tackle it together. It’s foolproof, I promise. First, we’ll make the dough, then the filling. Easy as pie - literally.” He paused, a twinkle in his eye. “Besides, legend has it that eating one mince pie on each of the Twelve Days of Christmas brings good luck for the entire year.”
Lois tilted her head, intrigued but unconvinced. “Good luck, huh? But knowing you, you’ll probably finish them in one day. Does that mean double the luck?”
Clark chuckled, stepping closer. “I think I already have all the luck I could ever need.” He leaned in, brushing a soft kiss against her nose.
Lois smirked, swatting his chest lightly. “Flattery won’t save you if this dough ends up as combusts spontaneously.”
“Noted,” he said with a laugh, handing her a rolling pin. “Now, let’s see if we can make some Christmas magic without setting off the smoke alarm.”
The kitchen buzzed with activity as Clark rolled out pastry while Lois spooned the filling into the tart cases.
“These smell amazing,” Lois said, glancing at Clark. “But are we sure this is safe? You remember what happened last month, right?”
“You mean when the smoke alarm got a workout and we had to air out the kitchen for two hours?” Clark teased. “Don’t worry. There’s no flambéing, no complicated techniques. Just put the tops on and crimp the edges like this.”
Lois gave it a try, the pastry tearing slightly. “Hmm, rustic charm, right?”
“Exactly,” Clark said, diplomatically hiding a laugh.
After popping the mince pies into the oven, Lois leaned against the counter and took a deep breath. “Okay, I’ll admit it. This feels… festive. And a little domestic. Who would think that Superman is such a whiz in the kitchen?”
“I learned from the best,” Clark said with a wink. “My mom. Plus, it helps to have an indestructible palate for taste-testing experiments.”
Lois laughed. “Oh, don’t rub it in.”
When the pies came out of the oven, golden and steaming, Clark dusted them lightly with powdered sugar and placed one on a plate for Lois, after blowing a bit of ice cold superbreath on it to bring its temperature down enough.
“Alright,” he said, “moment of truth. Try it.”
Lois took a cautious bite, her eyes widening as the rich flavors hit her tongue. “Wow. Okay, these are amazing.”
Clark smiled, watching her savor the treat. “See? British traditions have their charm.”
Lois leaned against him, still holding the pie. “I think I like this. As long as I don’t have to make the pastry from scratch.”
Clark laughed, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “Deal.”
