Page 41 of The Christmas Keeper

“Ah. Well, yeah, it’s not.”

“No, but then he used my quip a second time. That’s not the important thing, though. He somehow knows who you are.”

“It was bound to happen.”

“I can throw him out. I’m the owner. I can refuse to serve anyone I want. And this guy was rude to my place of business.”

“It was you who said it wasn’t Boston.”

“I’m allowed to poke fun at her. She’s my bar. Kind of like having a sister. I can say that Nora’s right ear is bigger than her left, but no one else had better make fun of that one Dumbo ear.”

“I never noticed.”

“Trust me, it’s huge. She hides it with her hair. Anyway, I can toss his ass to the curb. Just say the word.”

He gave me a soft kiss. “I don’t think we need to chuck him out in the snow. I’ll see what he wants and then I’ll decide what to do about him.”

“Okay.” I didn’t like it. Mark had a bad aura, I thought. “He’s probably a reporter or something. He just has that nosey ass vibe.”

Kenan shrugged as if nonplussed, but I noted the tension lines around his pretty dark eyes. When we exited, Paula and Mark were deep in conversation. She grinned at me when I made my way back behind the bar. Mark, the smug little sweater wearer, tapped his empty mug.

“Hey, Brann! I see you already met my nephew, Mark. He lives outside of Buffalo and is studying for his doctorate in journalism. Says he wants to be a senior editor at a big DC newspaper someday.” She gave him a proud auntie hug. Called it. I knew he was a reporter of some sort. I wanted to kick himoff his stool but instead, because I was a sweet sort of fellow, I merely forced a smile and then refilled his fucking mug of beer.

Kenan began singing again. I was too busy to spend much time glowering at Mark and Paula, but when I could get a moment, I made sure Paula knew I was not pleased. Mark visited the men’s room near the end of Kenan’s second and final set. I pounced like a fox on a sleepy chicken.

“Did you tell your nephew about Kenan’s past persona?” I snarled, low, hoping to keep this discussion between us as the clock was nearing midnight.

She blanched. “I might have mentioned it over our Christmas dinner, but only to him! He’s looking for a big story to add to his portfolio and I thought—”

“You thought you’d sell Kenan out to this kid with a poison pen?”

“I…no, of course not! I didn’t sell Kenan out! I just mentioned that I’d seen Lance Galloway at this pub, and he was singing for tips. I mean, Brann, you got to admit that a rising star that fell out of the heavens in such a big way working in a—”

“Do not run down my bar. I know it’s not some fancy schmancy Boston pub. Christ. People need to get off their high horses.” She blinked at me in utter confusion. “Never mind about Boston. The thing is that you swore you would keep your lips zipped.”

“I only told Mark. No one else. He’s my nephew, and he so wants to get ahead. I thought if he could write about Kenan, it would be big and look good on his resume when he goes to New York or Chicago or Washington. I didn’t mean any harm to Kenan, but surely someone other than me was going to put two and two together. He’s not Clark Kent. He can’t hide behind long hair and a hairy face forever.”

She was right, of course. Kenan’s past was bound to catch up with him. How it hadn’t until now was a mystery. People believed what they saw and what they wanted to believe, I guess.

“Probably so, but you sold him out. I think that’s pretty shitty,” I replied and walked away to take care of other customers, leaving her to stare at my back.

Midnight came with hoots, hollers, and a hungry-eyed journalist sitting at my bar. After the chaos of a new year was past, people returned to blowing on their noisemakers and downing beer. Kenan was done playing now, and when he snapped his case shut, he made a beeline to Mark. I was too busy tapping kegs, washing glasses, and filling orders to eavesdrop. The two of them were at the bar, heads together, and Kenan appeared to be pretty serene. While I was giving some mugs a good suds, Mark and Kenan shook hands. My sight stayed on Mark as he made for the door, stopping to give his aunt a peck on the cheek. They had a few words. Probably him thanking her for ratting out my boy—

My Kenan to him.

“Hey, you can stop glaring at him with your stabby eyes.” Kenan nudged me out of the sink to take over washing. I wiped my hands on my apron. Paula glanced my way, then quickly pulled on her coat to leave with her nosy nephew. “It’s all cool.”

My sight flew from the door to Kenan. “And how is it cool?”

“I’m going to meet him here tomorrow for an interview.”

“Oh.” I thought for sure he was going to do something else. Not sure what, precisely. Throat-punching Mark and then banning Paula sounded like a good start.

“It’s time. I can’t keep sneaking around the country busking at airports. I have a home now, well for three months anyway, and a man who I’m having a thing with.” I pointed to myself. “No, Teddy the Taxi Driver. Of course you, doofus.”

“I’d like to put forth a petition to clarify what having a thing is,” I said and waved goodbye to a few mill workers as they headed out.

“I can do that with one word. Boyfriend.” I gaped. “Too soon?”

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