Page 42 of The Christmas Keeper

“No, I…” I had to take a breath to steady myself. “No, not at all. I love it. But you know me. I dive into the deep end of the relationship pool without floaties. So please don’t let me push you into something serious if you’re not feeling it.”

He flicked soap in my face. “I was feeling that. And I am feeling you and me too.” He wiped the bubbles from my cheek then carded his wet hands into my hair to kiss me into a stupor.

***

I flipped a page. Just a simple page flip.

How on earth Kenan…nope, my boyfriend—that was going to take some getting used to—how my boyfriend thought that a simple page flip was aggressive I couldn’t grasp.

“Maybe you should go up to the office when Mark arrives?” Kenan suggested as he gathered some coffee mugs from where they had dried on a clean bar towel overnight to pour himself and me some dark roast. It was my fourth cup already this morning. So maybe I had page flipped with a bit of zeal. I was beyond jittery.

“Maybe I should sit here at the bar in case he starts asking you shit questions. Maybe I should boot him to the curb and ban his aunt.”

“Okay, I don’t think you should boot or ban.” He pushed a steaming cup of adrenaline boost to me. I closed the paperback I’d been pretending to read. It was some ?70s crime story that someone had left lying on a table about a year ago. I’d pulled it out of the lost and found box by the coat rack just for something to do aside from booting journalists. “He’s not done a thingillegal. To be honest, he’s been pretty forthright for a reporter. He could have been lurking around your yard taking pictures of us fucking on the sofa.”

“How do you know he didn’t?” I shot back.

“Do you honestly think anyone could sneak into the yard with Fred and Wilma there? They’re louder than a Doberman and just as mean.”

“Dobermans are just mean because people make them that way.”

He gave me a quirky smile. “And why are geese so mean? Did people make them that way?”

“No, God did. In defense of geese, they’re just aggressive to protect themselves, their goslings, or their territory. I totally respect that.”

“You would. You and those geese are the same. Lots of hissing, wing flapping, and pinching, but deep down you’re just fluffy doodle lumps.”

“Please. Fred and I take exception to being called fluffy doodle lumps. We much prefer being called fuck around and find outers.”

He snickered into his coffee. “You’re so funny.” He met my gaze with a soft one that instantly started to unravel my ball of snark. “Let’s just give Mark a chance. I’ll answer what I want to answer and nothing more. I’ve already stipulated that we get final approval of the piece before it goes to print. I will not reveal where we live or where I’m working, I promise. I know you don’t want the press showing up here or at your place, and neither do I.”

“I will sic Fred on anyone who shows up at my cabin with a camera. Bird watcher? Tough shit, bucko, haul your ass down the lane.”

“Totally fair, although you might want to ascertain what the camera is being used for before you let loose the goose.”

“We’ll see. I kind of like seeing some folks dashing down the road with a goose on their heels. Of course that’s why I have to read my own electric meter now.”

“I’ve never known a person more perfectly suited to their pets.” He rose to his toes to kiss me on the mouth just as the front door opened. We both turned to see who was here this early. If it was one of the gas workers, they’d be told to go to the Happy Mart for their morning java. Mark slid in, bringing a gust of cold wind with some light flurries with him. The leftover blue and white streamers from New Year’s Eve shook madly.

Mark gave us a wary smile as he shook off his coat and stamped the snow from his Vans.

“I ran into a snow squall on Route 17 that halted traffic for ten minutes until it blew through,” Mark said as he neared us at the bar.

“Those snow squalls can bring some unexpected things into our lives,” Kenan replied with a gentleness that made me want to block any and all unpleasantness from his life. Mark being one of those things. “Brann is going to take his coffee to his office now and we’ll take that table by the jukebox.”

“I am?” I threw Mark a look that made him shrink into himself.

“You are. We’ll be done in an hour, maybe less.” Kenan patted my cheek. I rose, coffee mug in hand, and threw my most foreboding look at Mark.

“You play nice,” I warned the reporter before stalking upstairs. Each step was placed heavily on the stairs. Leaving the door open, I flopped down behind my desk, stared at the sofa where Kenan had slept, and waited not unlike a jaguar waiting for a monkey to walk past. Did monkeys walk? Shuffle. Lumber. However the fuck monkey’s motivated.

Ten minutes passed. I considered going down to get my book just to see how things were going, but I kept my ass in my ricketyoffice chair. Instead of spying or eavesdropping, I set up some tax forms for the new year, downed my coffee, and decided it was probably time to put Kenan on the books. For his sake and mine.

The creak of the fourth stair from the top pulled me from boring tax shit. Kenan eased into the office. He was not crying or cussing.

“How did it go?” I asked as he dropped to the sofa, all long legs and curls. The sexiest thing I had ever seen in my life, and he was all mine.

“Pretty well. Better than lots of other interviews I’ve given. He seemed pretty relatable, kind, and understanding of my wishes to just be left alone. He promised that where we were located would not be in the finished interview, but he could not guarantee that some people wouldn’t figure it out, which is okay. People will talk. I hope you’ll be understanding if some of my old fans show up now and again.”

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