Page 130 of The Holiday Fakers
“Do you think it would help get you the job?”
“No idea, but that’s not the point. You should post it for yourself. I mean, look at this. It’s awesome.”
“I wanted to use my charcoal pencils, but I didn’t bring any of my art supplies with me.”
Brody looks from the tablet back to me. “You’re so talented. You’ve got a gift. I mean, I’d do elf me and I’m as straight as they come.”
I laugh.
“Actually, I’m Pi-sexual,” he continues.
“What?”
He places the tablet on the bed, crouches in front of me, and takes my hands. “I’m Piper-sexual. I’m only attracted to you.”
“Does that make me ‘Bro-sexual’?”
He grins. “Hope so.”
We smile at each other, the air seeming to hum with happiness. Then Brody breaks away and digs into one of his bags.
“I know it’s early,” he says, pulling several wrapped packages from the bottom and handing them to me. “But I do like giving you what you want.”
I turn them over in my hands. “You got me Christmas presents. Alotof them.”
“I didn’t know what to get, so I guessed. And Cara helped me.”
“But I haven’t gotten you anything yet,” I say, my stomach tightening. “I didn’t know what you would like. I thought I might find something in town.”
He takes my hand again, rubbing his thumb over the back. “You don’t need to give me anything. You’ve already given me the greatest gift of my life. You.”
His gaze is so sincere, so pure, so full of love, I blink as my eyes prick with emotion.
“Now go on, open up.”
I rip the paper, squealing when I reveal pencils, pens, a watercolor block, brushes, pads, pastels, and artist erasers. “Brody! These brands are the best!”
His smile lights up his face. “They’re okay then?”
“Yes! They’re amazing!” I give him a pointed look. “Did you go into the shop and ask for a selection of the most expensive things they sell?”
Spots of color appear on his cheekbones. “I asked for their advice.”
I stroke the boxes and tins. “Well, they steered you right. I can’t wait to use them. Thank you.”
My brain buzzes. I’m like a child on Christmas morning, given everything I asked for and more. I’m torn between ripping Brody’s clothes off or tearing the cellophane off the art supplies on my lap.
“Do you want to draw a picture now?” he asks. “Maybe I could model for you?”
“Would you? Really?”
“Of course. I’d do anything for you.” He shrugs, like it’s no big deal.
“Eek! Okay, I’ve had this idea …” I leap out of the chair, sit him down, then pull the sheepskin rug over and place it under his feet.
“I want to draw you as the Emberking of Draventhorne on his throne. It’s at the coronation after the Battle of Ashmyre, and he’s at the peak of his powers.”
Pulling open my closet doors, I find a blanket on the top shelf and drape it over Brody’s shoulders, arranging the fabric so it billows to the ground like a cloak.
