Walter, the architect, completed it, with a couple of days to spare.
Not that meeting the deadline mattered, as it turned out. Wills had called the day after it was finished to let me know he’d run into a snag, and the job was going to take a little longer.
“Thanks for letting me know.” I hoped he didn’t hear how disappointed I was. “Watch out for those Midwest farm boys. They look all innocent, but they’re not.”
“I promise I’ll be careful, Theo,” he laughed, “but it won’t be a problem. They’re not you.”
He said the most romantic things.
“I miss you, babe.”
“I miss you too.” His voice was warm and did unbelievable things to my insides.
I wanted to tell him I loved him, but the words stuck in my throat, and then he said, “I’ve gotta go now, Theo. Bye,” and he hung up.
Well, every time he said “I love you,” I’d say “me too,” so he knew I loved him, and that was what was important.
The next morning I went down to one of the lots that had sprung up the day after Thanksgiving and would vanish the day after Christmas. I picked out a nice blue spruce, thick and lush and about six feet tall, and bought yards and yards of pine garlands that would be tacked to the crown molding throughout the apartment. I’d do the decorating myself. I didn’t want Wills in the living room until Christmas.
The man who took my money had one of his boys tie the tree to the roof of the Corvair—the knots had to be undone once because he’d tied the doors closed with me outside—while I put the garlands in the tiny trunk, which was in the front of the car.
Once home, I hauled the tree up the stairs and into the living room, then retrieved the live garlands before going back down to put the car away.
Next year, I promised myself as I took out the boxes that held the ornaments, tinsel garlands, and lights, and then plugged in the lights before stringing them on the tree, to make sure they were all working. Next year we’d do the tree together—string the lights, hang the decorations, maybe mull some wine or have hot cocoa with peppermint candy canes sticking out of the mugs, and then we’d make love on the rug in front of the fireplace.
My stomach rumbled, and I realized the afternoon had flown by and it was past dinner time. I wasn’t really in the mood to cook just for myself, but I didn’t want to go out either, not even for takeout. I took a container of tomato sauce from the freezer. The label on it said there were two meatballs and a sweet sausage in it also. I stuck it in the microwave to defrost, and started a pot of water boiling for the angel hair pasta I intended to have for dinner.
While the oven was preheating for the garlic bread, I went to take a shower and change my clothes. Tree sap had gotten all over my jeans, but I’d been expecting that, and so had worn old ones I kept for chores around the house.
Back in the kitchen, I put the garlic bread in the oven, broke the pasta in two and dropped it into the boiling water, and made a salad. Within fifteen minutes, dinner was ready. I poured myself a glass of Chianti and ate in the kitchen.
I didn’t like eating alone. I’d had to often when I’d lived with Franky, but before that there had always been Ma and Acacia and Poppa—and on holidays, my enormous family—and after that there had been the boys, Tim and Paul and Cris and the rest of them. And now, of course, there was Wills.
Dammit, I missed him so much, and I wanted him home.
I cleaned up the mess in the kitchen, filled the dishwasher, and took my wine and went into the living room.
I had a fire going in the fireplace. The architect had suggested using it to make sure it was in working order. Wills wouldn’t be home for a few more days, so I hoped that would be enough time to get the smell of smoke out of the apartment.
It was dark, but I didn’t turn on the lamps. I plugged in the tree lights instead, put CDs into the player, and sat on the couch, admiring the tree and the warm glow from the fireplace, and sipped my wine and stared at the flames.
How would Wills react to this gift?
I smiled to myself and took another sip and imagined him tearing off his clothes and mine, and jumping my bones.
My cock was half hard, and I stroked my palm over it. Yes, that would be a suitable reaction.
The phone rang, and I grinned and picked it up. “Hello?” I’d been expecting this phone call.
“Hi, babe.”
“Wills. I was just thinking of you.” I put my wine down and pressed the heel of my hand harder against the front of my trousers.
“Talk about great minds.” There was a smile in his voice. “I was thinking of you too. I miss you, Theo.”
“Will you be able to come home soon?”
“In a day or so, I think.”
Sooner than I had thought. My cock got harder.
“God, I’ll be glad to get home. There are just some loose ends that need to be tied up now, but once that’s done…”
“I’m so glad. Did you have dinner?”