Page 33 of Snow Harm, No Foul

“Okay, smartass. What about you hatin’ beer but always sufferin’ with it when you’d have me over for dinner? Why didn’t you tell my son to get you somethin’ else to drink?”

“I’m sure you’re going to tell me,” I say.

A smug smirk. “Because you’re too stubborn to admit that you don’t like somethin’ that you’ve already gone along with lovin’ for so long. And how about when you refused to do a gift exchange last Christmas because you wanted to buy gifts for everyone and not just one person? It would have been a helluva lot easier to shop for a gift without havin’ to know the person I was buyin’ for, but no, Ivy wanted to buy for everyone. I wasn’t going to tell you no, so I spent weeks plannin’ your gift.”

I’m burning up from the inside out, both from embarrassment and the shock of learning just how much attention this man was paying to me and the things I did. It was a year ago that I was stress cooking a Christmas turkey for Travis’s father in our cramped apartment, but I remember every moment of that evening.

The pride I felt when Niko took the first bite of dinner that I’d slaved all day over and told me how good of a job I had done. How relieved I was when he opened his gift and kept it clutched close all night. It was only a cheap lighter with his initials burned along the side, but after forcing Travis to tell me somethingabout his father and learning that he loved cigars, I thought it was a safe enough gift.

Travis got me a pair of thick socks with sharks on them, and Niko . . . he got me a pair of fleece-lined leggings and heated gloves after hearing me complain once about being cold while brushing off my car in the mornings. I only noticed the tiny box he’d hidden in the left glove once he’d gone home that night.

There was a charm in the box for my bracelet. A ball of yarn with two hooks, one in each side.

Pulling my hand from Niko’s neck, I jingle the bracelet around my wrist and blink past the burn in my eyes.

“I always thought that Travis had told you to get this,” I whisper.

His jaw pulses. “He didn’t tell me a fuckin’ thing to get you. I wasn’t sure if I was goin’ to give it to you, but when you opened his gift, I knew you needed it. Fuckin’ socks. Pathetic.”

“The charm was my favourite gift last year.”

“Shouldn’t have been.”

“I like that it was. Especially now,” I admit, pinching the charm.

“What about your parents? They must have gotten you somethin’ nice.”

“They did. But nothing as thoughtful. Usually, they fill a giant basket with yarn and designs and magazines, along with a few gift cards for my favourite restaurants. I’m grateful for the gifts, but I just really appreciated yours. It was everything I needed at the time, you know?”

“Yeah, angel. I know.”

“I feel bad that all I got you was a lighter.”

He turns down the hallway and kicks open the door leading to a dark staircase. With a yank on the string hanging from the ceiling, light floods the space.

Even as we start down the stairs, he keeps me in his arms, no sign of setting me on my feet anytime soon.

“It’s in my pocket right now,” he says.

“The lighter? No way.”

“I take it with me everywhere.”

“You’re crazy.”

“Maybe. Doesn’t mean I didn’t love your gift.”

I loop my arm back around his neck and rest my cheek against his chest, inhaling his scent. My nausea hasn’t returned since before I ate, meaning things are looking up. His cologne doesn’t bother me, and neither have the eggs or the fancy drink he made me.

“I’ll get you something better this year,” I swear.

He palms my knee and shifts it as we turn a sharp corner and reach the open area beneath the stairs where stacks of bins rest against the wall.

“I’ve already got my gift from you,” he declares, staring down at me with intense brown eyes.

“That’s right! How could I forget about the sweater?”

I wiggle in his hold, and with a huff, he lets me down onto my feet. The small radio on the shelf beside a dusty bookcase catches my attention, and I start fiddling with the knobs before Niko can get to them.

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