Page 71 of Jerk Neighbor

“We could.”

“Only one problem.”

“What’s that?”

“I want you to myself,” he said.

Paula

IN THE END, BASTIAN CONVINCED HER THE MOSTChristmassy place to eat the Emmender’s goodies was his home.

That meant going back to Highland Hill. Somehow the light displays appeared different this evening. Instead of nostalgia, instead of wistfulness, gazing at the colorful Christmas arrangements as they drove past the stately homes gave her a sense of hope.

Bastian’s house was dark, inside and out. There was no tree, no wreaths or lights. It was less than half the size of the Spencer mansion but at least three times the size of her parent’s house. The facade was Colonial style, formal and symmetrical, with small columns flanking the boxy porch. But when he ushered her in and turned the lights on, she smiled.

“You do live here,” she stated, turning in a circle.

“What do you mean?”

She wandered through the foyer and random doorways, pointing at all the personal touches she hadn’t expected to see. “Suitcases. Clothes. Gym bag. Computer. Snack chips. Stereo still on. Books out of order.”

“The housekeeper has the week off.”

She turned and walked backwards, smiling brilliantly. “Well, disarray is a good look on you, buddy.”

She shrugged off her purple coat and handed it to him. He took it on autopilot and stashed it somewhere, then followed her, looking a little dazed.

Maybe he feels it too. This bursting happiness. This sense of rightness that I’m deeply afraid has nothing to do with Christmas.

At the end of a long hallway, she turned. “This is the kind of place that makes me ache to walk through it with popcorn,” she said dreamily.

“Popcorn?”

That’s when she found herself telling Bastian a deep, dark family secret. The tale her mother was fond of telling every Christmas. Paula had been barely four. While the family was all busy in the other room listening to rousing Christmas music, she’d managed to pop a huge bowl of popcorn in the air popper without anyone hearing. Instead of serving it, she’d tossed it all onto the kitchen floor, calling it snow.

“I don’t remember the incident. But I love to hear my Mom relate it. And now any time anyone spills popcorn, it makes me sentimental,” she admitted.

A strange look crossed his face. Before she could ask what he was thinking, her stomach made it known that popcorn talk was the last straw.

“Food,” she declared. “Feed me, please, or grumpiness will ensue.”

Bastian

PAULA HAD SHOCKED HIS HOUSE.That was all he could think. As she roamed through it, it stirred to life. Which was completely crazy. His home was a base of operations, that’s all. Nothing more. And yet, the minute she’d set foot inside his foyer, he’d wanted to shut and lock the door. Block out the rest of the world. Fill it with Paula.

She told him her amusing anecdote about scattering popcorn all over her parents’ house and he’d had a surreal conviction that if he’d ever done something so disastrous in his parents’ section of the mansion, it would have meant instant punishment of the corporal variety.

He was relieved she’d asked to be fed. She’d been about to ask him his thoughts, and the last thing he wanted to do was spoil this time with his own family stories.

They went into the kitchen. Despite her confession earlier, he wasn’t prepared for her response when he told her he was going to warm up the food in the microwave.

“Great! Thanks.” She sat down at his kitchen table and took out her phone. Sensing his consternation, she looked up. “What?”

“You’re not going to offer to help?”

“Oh, do I have to?”

He laughed and opened the bag. “No, Paula Raymond.”

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