Page 8 of The Christmas Extra

“Maybe I’ve mellowed over the years,” I replied and turned from him to get a mug from the cupboard. It wasn’t like I was going to relay that I’d unlearned a lot of bullshit my god-awful father had pounded into Mom’s and my heads. “Do you drink coffee?”

“Is it decaf?”

“Not hardly,” I answered, my back to him, gritting my teeth to not be too mean but just mean enough.

“Ah, then no thanks. Caffeine keeps me up and I need some sleep. I have to be on set at eight a.m. tomorrow morning. Do you know if Sasha has arrived yet?”

“Not a clue.” I glanced back over my shoulder. He heaved a sigh as he reached out to pet Ellery. The cat arched his back into Tony’s hand. A vivid, five-alarm memory flared to life. Me, Tony, in a bed, my spine bowing up into his palm just as Ellery’s had as he moved inside me. I nearly dropped my mug to the floor. Bobbling the cup, I hurried to fill it and then spun. “I do have Wi-Fi so you can contact the producer or director to fill you in.”

“Cool, thanks. Will you be heading into town early tomorrow?”

I stared down into my mug of coffee as if I could pull up a reply or maybe some common manners from the imaginary grinds at the bottom of the ceramic cup.

“I’ll be leaving here at seven sharp,” I offered, and that was the best I could do right now. The smell of him was tangling up with the aroma of dark brew. It was more than my poor head could deal with. “If you’re fixing your pretty face and you’re not ready, I’ll roll without you.”

He grinned widely, like a damn jack-o’-lantern. “Stillman, you think I’m pretty.”

I nearly choked on the swig of coffee I’d just taken. Unable to reply in a manner that would suit my inner angel, I defaulted to demonic comebacks.

“Fuck. You.”

I took my coffee to my room. To hell with TV tonight. U.S. Marshal Givens would have to uphold justice without me.

When I hip-checked my door shut, I heard Tony whispering to my cat. What he was saying wasn’t clear, but Ellery and he were having a good giggle over it. Yes, cats do giggle. Just let one trip you in the dark as you make your way to the bathroom to pee. You’ll hear them sniggering if you listen closely enough.

***

After a long nightof tossing, turning, and pummeling my pillow, I rolled out of bed with a slight attitude.

An attitude that did not get better when I stalked into the bathroom and felt the residual steam in the air as well as the rich aroma of Tony’s body wash. Something with mango and orange, its bright yellow bottle sat next to my bar of blue soap in the shower caddy.

“Making himself right at home,” I mumbled before heading to the john to piss. I washed my hands after, splashed water on my face, and then shuffled out to find Tony standing in the middle of my kitchen, a cup of coffee for me in his hands, smiling at me like June Cleaver used to beam at Ward every morning. Just give him some pearls and an apron.

“Morning,” he said as he passed the coffee over to me. “Two spoons of sugar and a splash of cream, right?” I grunted. “My ass may be sagging, but my memory is top-notch.”

Knowing he was fishing for a comment about his ass being fine, I stared down into my coffee and then took a sip. Damn, it was good.

“I hope you don’t mind that I showered, but I was fast so that you’d have enough hot water.”

“It’s fine.” I padded off with my cup to stare outside and felt him slide in beside me, the smell of his soap more than a little appealing. “I don’t shower here. I go to the gym in town to work out every morning. So I shower there.”

“Oh, of course. I should have realized that you still worked out. You look amazing.” That pulled my gaze from the frosty leaves clinging to the trees in my backyard. Backyard being a bit of a stretch. I did mow it, but nothing else. The property line edged state game lands which was one of the big selling points for me. Walk out the back door and you’re in the forest. Not that I’d had much luck killing a buck the past several years, but nothing beat sitting in a tree stand away from the world for a few hours. “What? You do. You’ve not aged a day.”

“Have you been adding something to your coffee?”

“Not a thing other than a dribble of milk. Which is bordering on being funky. You have nothing in this place other than stale bread, a case of cat food, and a can of tuna. The fridge is just as bare. How does a man of your appetite survive on iffy milk and a six-pack of beer?”

“There’s mustard in there too,” I pointed out, his elbow dangerously close to mine. “I don’t have a PA or a housekeeper to fawn over me. Eating in town is just easier, not that I have to explain my way of life to you. If you were so damn worried about my dietary choices, perhaps you should have—”

I bit the rest of that back.

“I am sorry for leaving, Stillman,” he quietly offered.

I shrugged. “Doesn’t matter.” With that, I left him standing at the back door alone with his fucking delicious coffee and pitiful excuses. “Be ready to roll in ten minutes,” I called over my shoulder, stepping over Ellery, who had plonked himself down in front of the fire.

The cat gave me a dark look when I asked him to move so I could feed the stove. With his tail in the air, he walked off and disappeared into my room. Tony had the good sense to stay in the kitchen. Today was not going to be a good day to poke this bear.

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