Page 12 of The Ghost of Christmas Present

Maybe Mortimer is pretend. Some sort of imaginary friend. There’s been a hallucinogenic gas leak in Pine Ridge, or somemagic mushrooms fell into the water supply, and none of this is real.

“You are divine to touch. So soft. Supple.”

“Oh, you just wait. There’s more that’s soft and able to stretch,” Louisa sighed, grinding her hips into the gel-like cushiness of his lap.

Mortimer’s grip tightened on her and he let out a low, longing sound. “If only I could...”

“You mean—you can’t? With a human?”

“Oh, no, I most assuredly can. And want to!” Mortimer bucked up against her squirming hips.

Louisa’s eyes widened.Well, he seems tall—and proportionate. Yep. The biggest guy I’ve ever been with isn’t even solid. But God, he’s solid enough!

“My love, I could never... As much as I want to please you, I don’t want to become something you simply play with. I would like to court you, with words and flowers. With all my heart. With any deeds I can still undertake.” His hands left her. “You must forgive me, I was carried away. The thrill of having you speak to me, that you can finally feel me... I had a thrill of hope.”

“The weary world rejoicing?” Louisa rejoined as she turned her face to the side, and felt him, felt the shape of a long, lean jaw, a wisp of hair, cheek to cheek.

“I suppose I’m weary of this world at times—but it’s not so tedious when you have friends. Not when the scenery is still so beautiful. So captivating.” His lips pressed her ear, then her neck, and his arms wrapped around her middle with such protective tenderness that it almost made her cry.

No one hugs me like that. I’m a big girl, Latina, feminist, proud of my independence—and still want a man who treats me like my big ass is his favorite feature and my big brain is his favorite flavor. Reads me poetry and pulls my hair...

“Lovers don’t make lifetime decisions in a day, Mortimer,” she whispered, letting herself sink into him.

“No, I know, I know. I don’t expect you to, my dear. It’s only that I’ve known you for so much longer than you’ve been aware of me. You can understand my eagerness.”

“I can—but did you realize that I’d be eager for you, too?” she confessed.

“Well, I—”

She cut him off, “Listen.”

When she made up her mind to do something, she did it. Like switching from business to library science. Like interning at the Library of Congress in D.C. Like taking a job in a small town she’d never even heard of in the middle of a pandemic. If Mortimer wanted her, he’d learn about her stubborn streak. Or maybe he already knew.

“I want to be courted. I want the flowers and the love notes, and the candles. But I also want to pick up where I left off last night—with the dream lover who whispered such steamy lines in my ear.” She kept her eyes closed because it was less disorienting to feel her way around her invisible lover when she relied on her other senses. Mortimer helped her turn to face him, guided her head to his, and their lips met.

Kissing him was strange, but not unpleasant. His lips were softer than anything she’d ever felt, thorough, but fleeting. When he stopped, her lips buzzed. Her entire body buzzed as if she’d been wrapped in a vibrating blanket.

“How?” she asked.

“Hm?”

“How are you making all of me tingle like that? And feel so warm?”

“I don’t rightly know myself. Is it uncomfortable?”

“No! The opposite.” She stopped short of saying it was like she’d found the world’s best vibrator and it had a whole body setting.

“Oh, good.” Mortimer kissed her again, and this time—she did the talking.

“So, you used to watch meread?”

“I always left before things got heated,” he confessed.

“Except for last night.”

“Except for last night—but I stayed behind you. I never—ehem. I didn’t position myself to see things of a private nature.”

“But you’d like to now?” Her hand ran down his chest, face twisting in puzzlement as she felt layers, almost like fabric. Is he in a suit? An old-fashioned suit with the vest and everything?

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