Page 142 of Sweet Caroline
He opens his mouth to respond, but a flash of lightning cuts him off, followed by rolling thunder and a downpour that feels like someone turned on a tap in the sky.
“Shit, that’s our cue,” Jude says.
With the rain hissing around us, we scramble to gather up all the chairs, blankets, and anything else that might not survive the downpour, quickly stashing everything under the shelter of the gazebo before making a break for the house. Gus hangs back to douse what’s left of the bonfire, trailing us inside with an easy smile despite looking like he just walked through a lawn sprinkler.
I can see why he and Miles are close. They’ve got the same kind of energy—like they’ve both seen enough heavy stuff that they don’t get hung up on the small things.
It’s only when I go to hang up my wet jacket near the front door that my memory finally jogs. An enormous inflatable Jack Skellington bobs in the rain outside the living room window. Past theNightmare Before Christmasdisplay Gus has set up in his front yard, the entire street is decked out to the nines in over-the-top Christmas decorations.
“So, what’s the deal with this street, anyway? Is it like this every year?” Arriving late and then getting swept up with Miles, it had completely slipped my mind to ask. After touring local care homes and making arrangements for Grandpa all day, including having an appointment with his lawyer which had run late, I’d had to get ready and drive here in a rush. On top of that, the novelty street sign had sent me on a confusing detour, taking me around the block and right back into the bottleneck of cars tryingto get access to Westview Crescent—otherwise known as Candy Cane Lane.
“Yeah, it’s tradition.” Gus appears beside me at the window, ruffling his wet hair with a towel as we peer out at the steady stream of sightseeing traffic crawling in and out of the cul-de-sac. “If you buy a house here, it’s part of the deal. Fun, right?” He grins, his features lit up with delight like he’s an overgrown kid.
“Is that why you were late?” Miles circles his arms around my waist from behind—and it’s like my whole body exhales. He kisses my cheek. “The weird Christmas explosion thing hold you up?”
“Partly.” I nod.
“Hey, it’s not weird, man,” Gus says with a scoff. “It’s awesome! It’s Christmas! Best time of the year, hands down.”
I twist around, catching Miles rolling his eyes like he’s heard this from Gus a thousand times before.
“So you signed up for this?” I ask Gus, gesturing at the spectacle outside.
He laughs beside us. “Not exactly. This house belonged to my folks. They’re the real Christmas keeners. Anyway, they downsized and passed the place to me and my ex.” When I tilt my head, he adds, “Uh, long story. Just me here now, though.”
“What’s with that one?” I ask, noticing a less-than-stellar effort from the house directly across the street.
Gus follows my gaze, then grumbles, “Don’t get me started. They’ve got a house sitter this year.”
“Are we ready for dessert or what?” Olena calls from the kitchen, pulling our attention.
“Hell yes!” Miles drags me along with him, then stops short and lets out a resigned chuckle when he sees the cake.
I tuck myself into his side and read the loopy pink lettering. “Sober but still a dumbass” is scrawled above a cartoon unicorn.
“Wow, thanks, buddy,” he calls over his shoulder at Gus, who’s just crouched down to set up the fireplace.
Gus straightens and strolls over with a curious look on his face, then barks out a laugh. “Hey, man, wasn’t my doing,” he says, holding up his hands. “Jude’s the one who ordered it.” He squeezes Miles on the shoulder before turning back to his task.
Miles turns to Jude, pinning him with a long stare.
“Gotta keep you humble,” is all Jude says, then scruffs up Miles’ hair before taking a gentle jab to the ribs.
Cake decimated,we all sit around the crackling fireplace, sipping some kind of cranberry-pomegranate punch Olena concocted. Miles has his arm slung around me on the couch and there’s something hypnotic about the way he brushes soft strokes on my arm with his thumb while we watch the flames dance.
“So, wait,” I start, tilting my head at Gus, “you’re a firefighter, but you lit a bonfire in your backyard, set off fireworks, and have a wood-burning fireplace? Isn’t that, like, a paradox?”
“Yeah, should we report you somewhere?” Olena teases, draping her legs over Jude’s lap and leaning back on the love seat’s armrest. “Firefighters behaving badly, or something?”
“Nah, I love it,” Gus says, stretching out on the recliner next to them. “You’d be surprised how many folks in the fire service love fire. I think when you know firsthand how powerful it is, there’s a bit of a thrill in taming it.”
Jude smirks. “Well, youlookthrilled, man.”
“I am! I am,” Gus insists, then fails to fight off a yawn. “Thrilled for my best buddy here.” He stretches forward to bump fists with Miles, then flops back into his seat. “He got his one-year chip, he got his girl back, it’s almost Christmas… What’snot to love?”
Jude watches his brother for a moment, then nods. “I’m happy for him too.” Then, with a hint of a smile, Jude’s eyes shift to mine. “Happy for them.”
I squeeze tighter to Miles’ side and try not to get too emotional. The quiet approval from Jude feels like a rare gift—one that I won’t take for granted.
