Page 33 of A Merry Christmas for Art… and His Tentacles

“This does not look well organized, Dean Miller,” Art states.

“Nope. I should have known better than to leave putting the decorations away to a bunch of pixies last year,” I sigh. “It’s really ok if you’d rather work in the lab than help me with this, Art,” I say, feeling a little overwhelmed by the mess for a moment. I wanted this to be fun, not a tedious task.

Art’s tentacles reach out and rest along my back. “I would like to help. This mess is too big for one person. Besides, I would enjoy spending time with you more than working.” He shrugs, as if that isn’t a big deal, but I know him well enough to be flattered.

A brownie wanders over to help us, and between the three of us, we manage to unpack the boxes and untangle the mess.

Art’s hands and tentacles are invaluable, and getting the garland and lights up probably takes half the time it did last year. Lots of folks meander over to chat and help, and Art seems a little shocked that everyone keeps talking to him. We chat about the different jobs we do, local restaurants, and even the best cafeteria food.

When Art points out that some of the hanging decorations are crooked, he gets dragged over to help fix it. He ends up in an intense discussion with a ningen on the best places to get fish nearby, and I continue hanging ornaments, feeling pleased by how well Art is getting along with everyone. He really has gotten more comfortable with others over the past weeks. I don’t think it’s anything I’ve said, just that he’s had a little more practice.

Or maybe it’s because I’ve managed to lower his cortisol levels.

By the time he comes back, I can tell he’s feeling friendly with these folks, and we joke as we continue to decorate. I take my time leaning over to hang a few ornaments on the bottom of the tree, because I love teasing Art and letting him ogle me. When I turn around, he’s standing there staring, an ornament on each tentacle and in each hand, all of them stretched out toward me. He kinda looks like a Christmas tree all on his own.

I laugh, and I pull out my phone for a quick picture before I walk over and hug him.

“Dean Miller, I would like to return your hug, but I am afraid I will crush the ornaments,” he murmurs.

“That’s ok.” I kiss him lightly and grab a glass snowflake off his tentacle. “I just couldn’t resist. Although maybe I shouldn’t kiss you in a room full of coworkers?” I ask, wondering how Art feels about PDA at work. After all, usually it is just Art and I in the lab.

“We are off work hours,” Art reminds me. “And if the vampires can be drunk on mulled wine blood, I do not think anyone will find fault with a kiss.”

I look over, and sure enough, a group of vampires are splayed out on chairs with wine cups in front of them, and I think the table decorations they’re working on are starting to look decidedly messier.

I smile as I hug Art again. “Thank you so much for decorating with me, Art. I can’t wait until I get to show you off at the holiday party tomorrow night.”

Art blushes a bit, which is adorable, and I turn around to reach up and hang an ornament, winking at him over my shoulder. We should get done tonight with plenty of time to lower our cortisol levels, and despite our afternoon quickie in the lab, I can’t get enough of my cephalopod.

Art

Lisa eyes my outfit with obvious distaste. If I didn’t know her so well, I wouldn’t notice her disapproval because she’s wearing a face mask, but I do know her, and her disgust is evident. “That sweater is ugly.”

“Yes, that is the point. Dean Miller said it’s a tradition for people to wear ugly sweaters to Christmas parties.”

She grimaces. “But it has puffballs, Art. Surely you don’t have to wear something with puffballs.”

I look down at the sweater in question. It is, in fact, spectacularly hideous, and it does have a puff ball. “That’s the top of Santa’s hat. It’s festive.”

“Dean must be amazing in bed if you’re willing to wear that for him. The Santa looks a little like those troll dolls.”

I’m just about to explain to her that Santa is a fictitious character, and so it doesn’t matter that he looks like a troll, when the doorbell rings. Lisa saunters over to the door and opens it. On the other side, Dean Miller is waiting with a sweater of his own. His has an octopus wearing a Santa hat on the front.

It’s adorable, which is unfair. I thought we were supposed to wear something ugly.

“What do you think?” he asks, holding his arms out to show off his sweater.

Lisa shakes her head. “An octopus would never wear a Santa hat. Do you have any idea how impractical hats are under water?”

Dean Miller smiles at her good-naturedly. “Okay. One vote no. How about you, Art? Do you like it?”

“Yes,” I admit, folding my arms across my chest.

Dean Miller’s smile fades. “But you don’t want to like it?”

“No. My sweater is ugly, Dean Miller. And your sweater is delightful. That isn’t fair.”

He throws back his head and laughs. When he laughs like that, it’s hard to stay angry with him. He’s too breathtaking.

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