Page 46 of A Small Town Spring

“I love it.And look, felt ornaments.Maybe we should get some of these.That way, if Luna decides she wants to play, they won’t get hurt.Or hurt her.”

Kingston looks at the felt cactus, the sunflower in a pot, the tulip, and the felt Christmas tree, then takes one of each.He picks up a big heavy ceramic mug that says “plant dad” and asks Shay, “Does Pete have one of these, do you know?”

“I don’t think so,” Shay says as he rings up the rosemary tree and the ornaments.“But it’s perfect for him.”

“You’re good at gifts, aren’t you,” I say to Kingston.“I wish I had that trait.”

“What are you talking about?You’re an artist.You can make people gifts,” Connor says.

“It’s not quite that easy, but yes, I suppose I could do that,” I say, realizing I need to get Kingston a Christmas present.Something special.Something that shows him how much I appreciate everything he’s done for me.Something to let him know how much he means to me.Without revealing how much I wish for more.

But what to get him?I think on it as we put our Christmas tree and ornaments and the mug for Pete in the Volvo, then walk around the corner to Hot Brew.

I can’t get Kingston something as prosaic as a mug, and I already gave him a painting.The cottage sits in its place of pride in the living room, and I think it’s one of the best examples of my architectural work.He likes clothes, music, books, and cars.But he buys himself everything he needs and wants.Instead, I have to find something for him that he would never even think to get for himself.

I push the challenge to the back of my mind as we order hot drinks from Meadow at Hot Brew.Kingston quizzes her on her and Melissa’s Christmas plans.“We’ll be at Jack and Pete’s Christmas Eve,” Meadow says.“You two?”

“We’ll be there,” Kingston says.“See you then, Miss Meadow.”

“So, should we get some lunch?We have leftovers at home,” I say, trying to picture the contents of the fridge.“I think.”

“We can eat after one more stop,” Kingston says, opening the door to the sidewalk.

“What’s that?”I ask, noticing he’s not wearing gloves.Maybe he needs a new pair.Are gloves a good present?

“We’ll go to the menswear shop—just to look around,” Kingston says, setting off at a brisk pace.I have no choice but to follow.

“Do we have to?”I’m aware I’m whining, but honestly, clothes shopping is at the bottom of my list of favorite ways to pass the time, just after dental work and sharing an awkward pint with my father.

“Let’s take a look.And if we see something promising, we’ll go from there.”

“I thought we were doing this in the city on Monday.”Not that I want to do that, either.

“I try to shop local when I can.It’s good for the economy.”

“Fine,” I say grudgingly.I’ve never been inside this shop, but it’s warm and we’re greeted even more warmly by a middle-aged man in a waistcoat and tie.“Kingston, so nice to see you.”

“Jerry, hello my friend,” Kingston says, launching into his effusive man about town persona.It’s quite entertaining, really, to see him schmooze Jerry.I like that side of Kingston, the person who can sweet talk a lion, but I prefer the softer version of him, the one who reigns at home, unconcerned and unguarded.Now that I know him better, this Kingston persona seems like an act, one designed to only allow people to get to know him a millimeter deep, when the truly interesting stuff is layers beneath the surface.But it’s such a charming, beguiling surface, others can be forgiven for only focusing on that.

I feel lucky to be included in the group granted access past the first layer, and I wonder how many more layers there are that I haven’t been privy to yet.

Jerry and Kingston examine me critically and start pulling items off the racks—shirts, trousers, sweaters, blazers—and I passively let them poke and prod me, talking about fabrics and colors as if I’m a paper doll they’re going to dress up.While they work, I wish with a fierceness that surprises me for a chance to get to know the rest of Kingston’s layers.The more I get to know him, the more I simply want to know him forever.

I want all of Kingston with an ache that startles me—an edge that scares me.Because that desire isn’t going away.And he’s right here—close enough to touch, if I were brave enough to ask his permission.

But I’m definitely not brave enough.What if he says no?

Even worse, what if he says yes?

Twenty-Three

Toby

Two days before Christmas,I still don’t have a gift for Kingston.

The cottage is all set up for the holiday.Our rosemary tree is decorated with the felt ornaments and the less breakable ones from Kingston’s collection.Luna batted some of them around the first couple of days, then seemed to lose interest, thankfully.We also put up fairy lights in the living room and around the front door.Kingston’s sister sent him a huge box of peanut brittle, which we’ve been doing our best to deplete.

I’ve sent pictures of the new batch of portraits to Fernanda, to rapturous response.I don’t know if that’s how she is with all of her clients, so I take the praise with a grain—or a handful—of salt, but it does feel good to know that the gallery show is on track.The opening is just over two months away, and even though I’m not particularly clued into such things, it does feel as if there’s a bit of—for lack of a better word—buzz building around the show.

---