Page 24 of The Christmas Keeper

I brought my sight from our linked fingers to his face. He was so calm, so tender, so understanding.

“I don’t know how not to hate him and this time of year,” I confessed on a shaky exhalation.

“Admitting that is a big step.” He brought my hands to his lips, kissed my knuckles, and gave me a loving look that made my eyes dewy. “Trust me, some of us take months to be able to acknowledge that we’re unsure of how to take a step forward.”

“You?”

He nodded. “Took me a few rounds of rehab to finally have it take hold. The first two times I served my time, and that was how I looked at it. Like I was incarcerated. Soon as I got out, I was right back to using. The third time was the charm as they say.” I smiled a wobbly smile. I could sit and listen to him talk forever. “I went in on my own, my life in shambles, desperate to find a clean road to a happier Kenan. I lost a lot.”

“I wish I could help you get back what you lost.”

“You are, sugar.”

Sugar. Oh my gods and hot griddlecakes. He called me sugar in that slow southern way that made me feel like melted butter inside. I never had a man use an endearment when speaking to me before. Paulie usually called me…well, that’s not important. Paulie is in the past. Begone, vile shitter.

“I’m sorry for being such a jerk. I just seem to revert to that when I get pressed,” I said, holding onto his long fingers for dear life now. “I mean, I’m always a jerk—”

“No, not a jerk. Just adorably grinchy at times, and I like that about you. People like that. Your friends and customers enjoy how itchy you are.”

“Itchy. Super. So I’m poison ivy.”

“The cute kind.”

“Isthere a cute kind of poison ivy?”

He didn’t reply. Smart man. He continued to hold on to my hands as the heater clicked on. Warm air wafted down over us, carrying the smell of rodent urine.

“Those boxes really stink,” I announced and got a nod of his curls. I stared at them for a long, long moment, and then glanced at Kenan. “Will you help me carry them to the dumpster?”

“Of course.”

I rose from my seat and leaned over the table to steal a kiss. His gaze softened as our lips met.

“Thank you for being so wonderfully you,” I whispered over freshly kissed lips.

“I’m far from wonderful. I’m just a man, like you, who’s trying to make it in this world.”

“I’m so glad you made it into my life.”

Our lips met once more before the smell of mice pee drove us to stop necking. Rising from my chair, I grabbed a couple of boxes, Kenan did the same, and we marched out to the dumpster, the cold so brittle that it made your head ache when you sucked it into your sinuses.

Within two minutes, every box of decorations was in the trash. I stood there studying the boxes, my nose hairs frozen, for a moment or two. Kenan disappeared, then reappeared with the mangled little tree in his hand. He passed it to me.

“We’ll get a new one for the window. But only a small one, and only a tree.” I announced to the alleyway. The cold wind carried my declaration off into the darkness. “And no flashing lights. I hate flashing lights.”

“We can put tiny gifts under it for the customers,” he suggested as he handed me the last bit of holiday flair my ex had purchased.

“Let’s not get carried away. If I buy them gifts, they’ll think I like them, and they’ll never go the hell home.” I slam-dunked the tree into the dumpster ala Vince Carter’s reverse 360 windmill dunk, only not with a windmill or any of the skills Carter possesses. Basically, it was just a mediocre slam dunk, but it did feel good.

“We’d not want that.” He linked his arms around me from behind, kissing under my ear, as I gave the boxes one last look before slamming the lid on them. And hopefully that part of my past. I leaned back into his arms, letting my head loll onto his shoulder, and enjoyed the stars above until my nose was cold enough to snap off, which took about thirty seconds.

“Let’s get the place cleaned up and get home. We have gingerbread construction awaiting.” I turned in his arms, cupped his face, and took a long, sweet taste of his mouth. “Thank you for being so…Kenan.”

“I can only be me. And you can only be you. We just have to be ourselves and live our lives as we want.”

“Is that something you learned in rehab?”

“Nope, from a country song about following your arrow. Kacey Musgraves. Maybe we can get it on the jukebox.”

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