Ichabod looks up at the leafy green sprig hanging just above him. He hadn't noticed it until he felt something brush the top of his head. "Miss Mills," he says, stepping out from directly under the mistletoe. A few loose strands of hair catch and stick up from the top of his head. "Do you remember the first time we found ourselves standing thus?" he asks, pointedly looking upwards.

Abbie follows his gaze. He sees something unnamable flash across her face before she carefully schools her features. "Yeah. It was at the museum. Henry's golem was out doing his golem thing," she answers, ignoring the fluttering in her stomach.

He nods and steps closer, crowding her against the edge of the doorway. Blocking her from fleeing. "I seem to recall you made a dismissive comment and strode away," he says in a low voice, "un-kissed."

"There's no law," she replies, trying for snarky but achieving sultry, her voice betraying her. "And you were married…" she weakly adds.

His head tilts to the side in acknowledgment, but he moves closer still. Her hands reflexively come up to land on his chest, but she's not sure if she intends to push him away or grab his lapels to keep herself from falling. The floor suddenly seems less stable than usual.

"In any case, I have no intention of letting you escape so easily this time," he rumbles.

Before she can say anything, his lips are on hers, soft and warm. He kisses her with his mouth closed, yet there is nothing that could be considered innocent or chaste about it.

Abbie squeaks in surprise, then relaxes into the kiss, her hands sliding up to hang onto his shoulders. Crane's hands find her waist, moving around to pull her closer.

She angles her head just slightly and draws his lower lip into her mouth, lightly sucking on it until he groans and reluctantly lifts his head.

"Happy Christmas, Abbie," he says in a husky whisper that she feels resonating throughout her body.

"Merry Christmas, Ichabod," she answers, gazing up at him with new eyes.