Page 15 of The Christmas Keeper

Kenan laughed, hard, and I felt a tingle in my toes that climbed up to settle somewhere in the vicinity of my stone-cold heart.

“I’ve never met a man who has a mind quite like yours,” he said.

“I’m uniquely Brann.”

“Yeah, you are very much uniquely Brann.” And with that, he leaned in to kiss me. Right on the mouth. Not on the cheek or nose or corner of my lips or my ear. Right on the kisser. His lips were warm and soft and lingered for a moment before he went to pull back.

“I like your kisses,” I softly said, sliding an arm around his waist and gently pulling him closer. The stuffed dog was flattened between our chests as we gingerly tasted each other. I lapped at the seam of his lips, eager beyond sanity, and got a tiny taste when he sighed and let me in.

The bar phone rang. Sanity returned. I opened my eyes and found myself swimming in pools of sweet milk chocolate.

“I like your kisses too,” Kenan whispered, then peeled himself out of my arms. I stood there like a marble carving, breathing hard, erect, and unable to do anything other than smile like a freaking idiot as Kenan jogged around the bar to pick up the call. “Someone asking about lunch specials,” he asked, his sight locked with mine again.

“Specials? We have beer and burgers. Those are the specials,” I managed to croak out, furious at whoever had broken our tender moment. Kenan snickered before telling the caller we were having a special on burgers and ale. I had to smile at his way with people.

The front door opened and cold air rushed in with a couple of the mill workers. Shit. Where had the time gone? I’d been so busy wrapping and kissing Kenan, the grill and deep fryer were still cold.

“Hey, guys,” Kenan called, hung up the old wall phone, and began pouring glasses of beer while I stumbled into the kitchen. I pulled a clean apron over my head and sighed at the boner holding out the front of the apron. How the hell was I supposed to cook with that thing? I’d have my pecker in the hot oil if I wasn’t careful. The sounds of male laughter filtered in right before someone fed some coins into the jukebox. “Kiss an Angel Good Morning” began to play, and I could only hope that Kenan had been the one to choose that song.

***

Nothing said goodwill to man than a nice dart league.

If only the jokers who shot darts could stop being total fuckups for ten minutes and take the game seriously. There was a hundred-dollar gift certificate to Pete’s Sporting Goods out on old Bender Bean Road plus a trophy. A motherfucking trophy. That I had wanted for the past three years but never won because my team was too busy being tipsy gossip grannies.

Tonight was a case in point. They’d shown up at the appointed time, seven, which gave me time to clean the grill, tidy up the kitchen, and change into our league shirts. Spiffy numbers in bright green with our team name, Alehouse Tipsy Arrows, on the back.

Kenan had pulled out his guitar and played during the span of when the kitchen was closed to when the dart throwing began in earnest. The pub was packed, which was highly unusual for dart night. Generally, it was just the dart teams, but tonight everyone and their chinchilla were here. That could only be due to Kenan’s draw. God knows I sure was captivated by him, so why wouldn’t the rest of Whiteham be?

Mr. Blum showed up around eight, and between rounds of darts, I introduced him to Kenan. The electric menorah wasremoved from a cloth shopping bag and instantly placed in the window with a small dog in a beret seated under it.

Kenan led Mr. Blum to the bar, where he and my neighbor fell into some really deep conversations while Kenan pulled beers and I tried to focus on darts. It was hard to pay attention to the game when my sight kept traveling to Kenan. If I concentrated hard enough, I could still feel the press of his lips to mine. He’d fit into my arms so well like we were puzzle pieces created solely to snap together.

“Hey!” Someone elbowed me. My gaze whipped from the bar to Tommy, my teammate, who was glowering at me as he held out a handful of darts. “Where the hell is your head tonight, man? The Milk Plant Mavens are kicking our ass!”

I shot the four women on the milk plant team a dark look. They all held up middle fingers then cackled in delight as our third shooter, Mitch, stumbled over a chair, more than a few sheets to the wind, and fell on the dart in his hand. Laura, one of the shooters’ wives, was a nurse, so she got Mitch’s ass cheek freed from the dart, cleaned up, and bandaged.

“Jesus,” I moaned when Mitch limped home. We had to pull a new player in, which happened to be Mr. Blum. The old gent was fair shakes at darts, and while we didn’t win, we didn’t lose as badly as we generally did. The ten teams finalized scores, drank more beer, and then headed home around ten p.m.

“Why don’t you two boys come to my place for dinner tomorrow night?” Mr. Blum asked as he pulled on his winter coat. “It’s been a long time since I had a reason to bake some challah bread.”

“I…” My sight darted to Kenan. We’d not had any time to talk today, what with customers and beer deliveries and banking runs. Perhaps he was sorry we’d kissed and was planning to leave town tonight to avoid my pawing him. “I’m not sure what plans Kenan has.”

“I’d love to, thank you, Mr. Blum.”

Mr. Blum beamed like a new headlight. “Excellent! I’ll dig into Betty’s recipes and see what other treats I can come up with. Goodnight, boys.” He shook our hands vigorously and strode out into the cold night. I locked the door behind him. Kenan began picking up chairs. My back stayed on the doorjamb for several seconds as I tried to organize my thoughts.

“So, about earlier,” I said and got a confused look. “The kiss…”

“Oh.” He placed a chair atop a table and folded his arms over his chest. “If you want me to go, I will. That was pretty cheeky of me to force a kiss on my boss. I’d totally understand if you told me to hit the—”

“No!” I rushed to end that train of thought. “No, not at all. I was fully into it. I’m really drawn to you, Kenan, but I need you to know I’m damaged goods. My last boyfriend fucked me over royally, and I have what some might say ‘trust issues.’ I’m cranky, irritable, and tend to prefer spending time with my geese than most people.”

“I’d like to meet your geese. You talk about them like they’re children.” His defensive stance relaxed, his shoulders dropping, his lips twitching at the corners. I’d kissed that corner. Hell, I’d kissed the whole mouth. And I wanted more.

“Children that bite you on the ass on occasion, shit all over the place, and are loud and obnoxious, so, yeah, exactly like kids but with feathers.”

His chuckle warmed me inside. “I’d like to meet them. Maybe I could bring my clothes over to your place tomorrow, take a shower…if that offer is still open?”

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