Page 3 of Kiren

I didn’t push him any further than buying him a second drink that night, which he looked grateful for.

When the party started to wrap up, and people started hugging and saying their goodbyes and happy holidays to each other, Kiren and I stood.

“It was great talking to you,” I said.

“Yes. Thank you. I enjoyed the evening.”

People came up to both of us, saying goodbye, but Kiren remained stiff.

I longed to loosen that up a little. If misery was his current company, could I offer a happier alternative?

2

Kiren

“What are you doing back from lunch so early?” Polly asked.

“I left early. Plus, there’s an account that needs immediate attention.” It was the Monday after Thanksgiving. Things had piled up.

She tossed back her shiny braid. “Well, it’s not like youhaveto work.”

Behind my back, people spoke of me as the rich kid who worked for fun. They didn’t know me. They didn’t even try to understand.

My parents ownedLiving Sun, a company that produced environmentally friendly products, items like takeout boxes, pill bottles, packing supplies. It was rather boring on the surface, but in the past ten years the company had taken off, making them a lot of money.

I couldn’t seem to get it through people’s minds that it was my parents’ money, not mine. I wasn’t a trust fund baby. I wassomeone who’d been on the way to my own career, then halted in my dreams by an accident.

Getting hurt was a horrendous nightmare. I was at a college bonfire and rocks inside it exploded. I was hit and fell too close to the flames. I suffered burns on my back and left side. It took me a year to recover.

“I have my own bills,” I muttered to Polly.

Sure, my parents helped me through everything I’d gone through, the long hospital stay, the multiple skin graft surgeries. When I finally got out of the hospital, I stayed with them for over a year to recuperate. When I didn’t feel strong enough to go back to college, they suggested I work at Living Sun. They got me my own condo to make a new start. I was fortunate. I knew that. I took the job and got a paycheck just like anyone else.

I didn’t work for fun. I didn’t even particularly like the work. But I paid the taxes and insurance on my condo myself now, plus high HOA fees. I drove the same car I’d had in college. I was making my way back into the world, trying hard to regain my self worth.

I sat in my desk chair, an ergonomic shape designed to not press at my back scars. Still, I had to add a small pillow at my lower back to be fully comfortable for an eight-hour workday. Every day I grew physically stronger. The nerve pain was down from a nine to a two. Some days I never felt it

The only thing I missed was dating. I hadn’t got my courage back for that. I used to have an athlete’s body. I jogged five days a week and swam in the summer on weekends. Too shy to show my scars, swimming was out for now. Jogging pulled at my scars and my doctor said to give it another year. With treatments and creams, they were softening, my body becoming more used to them. But my body had changed. I’d lost weight. My knees knocked and my stomach was concave. Plus, I had more surgeries on the scars scheduled for the coming year.

I had a nice enough face, but the rest, well, who would want that?

I leaned back in my chair, shifting my body to adjust the pillow. When I rocked forward, my gaze caught a flash of red. I came all the way forward, lowering my head to see what it could be. Resting behind my empty coffee cup was a little plastic red truck. Its back was open and stuffed inside was a clear wrapped mini candy cane.

I picked it up, looking around. Everyone but Polly was still at lunch. Polly manned the phones and would have her lunch later.

“Polly.” I lifted my gaze over the top of my cubicle.

“Yeah?”

“Was anyone at my desk while I was out?”

“Nope. Not that I saw.”

I stared at the toy truck, realizing after a few seconds that I was smiling. I ran it over the veneer of my desk. Yes, the wheels really did work!

No one knew my secret that I loved little toys. Or that in college I had experimented on the fringes of the daddy/little kink. Whoever had left this on my desk had inadvertently just given me the most perfect tiny gift ever.

Throughout the day, I kept touching the red truck, running my fingers over the plastic hood and windshield. Who would’ve left this small, early Christmas gift? For me? I mean, people didn’t really talk to me much. I was the owner’s son. They were intimidated and left me alone.

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