Page 10 of Christmas With the Convict

“I thought your dad was coming to strangle me.”

My eyes trace the canvas of tattoos that runs up his right arm and bleeds into his chest and back. I want to examine them all, piece by piece, feeling every dip in his body that the ink conceals.

“Oh, he’s not the type,” I hurry over to the big rug to warm my feet. “He’ll strangle you out in the open, with an audience.”

Chase chuckles and sits back against his makeshift bed. He moves to put the sweater my dad let him borrow back on.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” I say a little too quickly. “I mean, I’m in your room, right?”

Chase shrugs. “I’d call it a small library.”

Memories of this space flood through me like warmth from a cozy fire. The same tall bookshelf that’s been here since I was six is still overflowing, pocked with knickknacks and fake candles.

I walk over and take one of the plastic candles, flicking the switch so the warm light turns on. “My dad forbid fire down here.” I puff my chest up and point a stern finger at Chase. “You’ll light up those damn books and burn the house down.”

He watches me turn the rest on and set them back on the shelf. The lights reveal my collection, all read twice or three times by now.

I glance over my shoulder and catch Chase peeking at my legs. This nightgown is meant to be hidden under the sheets…

I smile at him, turn slowly on my heels, and bite my lower lip.

He clears his throat and offers up his blanket. “Aren’t you cold?”

“Aren’t you?” I laugh.

Chase moves to the other side of the couch as I sit down, throwing the blanket over my legs. We sit facing each other, toes nearly touching under the cover.

“It was always cold in my cell,” he says. “It’s nice down here. The nicest place I’ve ever laid my head.”

I look around the dark, damp basement. Aside from my little reading nook hideaway, it’s pretty depressing.

“So.” Chase nods at the shelf behind me. “This was your spot?”

“Myworld.”

I reach back and pluck my old copy ofSomething Wicked This Way Comesfrom the shelf. My legs stretch out and my feet find themselves nearly buried in Chase’s lap. He doesn’t budge, so I don’t pull away.

“I slept down here most nights as a kid, I’d need four or five blankets.” My fingers brush over the faded colored tabs stuck between the pages. “You ever read this one? I love Bradbury.”

Chase smiles softly and shakes his head. “You read all of those?”

“Mhm. Oh! What’s your favorite book?” I lean forward and put my hands on his shins over the blanket. “Let me guess…Harry Potter?”

Chase’s cheeks go flush. “I’ve never… I didn’t have any books to read growing up.”

I can’t help but gasp. A world without books feels so empty to me…

“Really? What about the library?”

“Not where I’m from,” he sighs. “My dad taught me about old engines. Motorcycles. Trucks.”

“I guess that explains the wrench tattoo.”

I risk reaching over to poke the faded black wrench that runs along his collarbone. My finger presses into the muscle, making me feel warmer than I’ve ever been in this basement.

“Your dad didn’t pick you up,” I say, sliding back against the arm of the couch. “He didn’t want to see you?”

“I don’t know where he is,” he says. “Haven’t seen him in nine years. I was fifteen when he took off.”

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