Page 49 of Keep You Close

“And my being here would make you… not decorate?”

“I’m sure you have your own ideas about how to decorate your home,” I said.

My ex certainly had.

“Actually, don’t have a fucking clue about how to decorate it. Since I’ve never done it.”

“But do you like a certain, you know, aesthetic?”

“A Christmas… aesthetic?” he asked, making my gaze lift to his. His hand was still covering mine, and his thumb was working little circles around that triangle between my thumb and forefinger.

“You know, like green and red or red and white. Or some people do a pastel theme. That kind of thing.”

“Always figured Christmas was supposed to look like joy threw up all over,” he said. “That’s how my mom did it, anyway. All the colored lights. Little Santa or elf figurines. She even wrapped the doors in wrapping paper. One year, mine was little dinosaurs with Christmas hats holding gifts.”

“That’s what my mom did too,” I agreed, my heart squeezing at the idea that we were on the same page about something like this.

Maybe, in the grand scheme of things, it was no big deal. But, to me, it meant a lot. I’d had many joyless Christmases in recent years. I’d been daydreaming about having one like I had as a kid again. Even if my original plan had only involved me.

“I should be able to do the outside lights by then too,” he said.

“Umm… being on a ladder in a boot is probably not the best idea,” I said.

“Well, if the boot is off,” he agreed. “So, real or fake tree?” he asked.

“I’m allergic to pine,” I admitted, shrugging. “I mean, if you like a real one, I can just take some allergy meds.”

“And make you suffer just so I can have a real tree? No, sweetheart. A fake tree works just fine.” His gaze was on my face, seeing more than I meant to show him. “What is it?” he asked.

“Nothing,” I insisted, pulling my hand out from under his, feeling too distracted by his touch to keep my guards up.

“AJ…”

“Yeah?” I asked, pretending that cutting up my pancakes took my utmost concentration.

“You can tell me about it, you know.”

“About what?” I asked, making the mistake of glancing up at him.

There it was.

The knowing in his eyes.

“You can tell me about him.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

AJ

Looking back, I always found a lot of blame to place on my shoulders. Times I should have seen the red flags. Times I should have accepted bad behavior for what it was instead of making excuses for it.

The thing was, it wasn’t my fault.

I’d been really sheltered growing up.

I’d been born and raised in a small town in Iowa. Population: eight hundred. It was the kind of place you saw in old movies. With a one-road town flanked by mom-and-pop stores that shuttered at sundown. And all along the outskirts of town were the farms that kept the area alive.

Because of the small, tight-knit community, I’d been raised to believe that people were fundamentally good. That they were out to help, not harm.

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