‘Twas the week before Christmas—Okay, not funny, I told myself, but I was a nervous wreck, trying to think of ways to keep my lover out of the living room. I’d positioned the tree to block most of the view from the doorway, but if he walked even three steps into the room…
I called Vincent again.
“What is it this time, Theo?” He sounded cheerful though. There had been a couple of weeks during the late fall when the few times I’d run into him, he’d been terse, and if he hadn’t been Mark Vincent, I would have said almost stressed. “A friend’s mother was in a car accident, but she’s doing better now,” he’d told me when I asked him about it. I’d been surprised he’d answered me at all, so when his expression told me he’d prefer to have the matter dropped, I’d dropped it.
“Any way you can have Wills working some extra hours on the weekend?” I was able to keep him distracted enough during the week, when he came home fairly late, but the weekend…forty-eight hours, and as much as I’d like, we couldn’t spend all of them in bed.
“Y’know, if I didn’t know better, I’d swear you were looking for reasons to keep him out of the house so you could cheat on him.”
“Vince! I’d never…Oh, Jesus, do you think Wills might think the same thing?”
“No. I was kidding, Theo. Don’t have a cow, for chrissake. As it turns out, Matheson is on the schedule to work this weekend anyway.”
That was a relief. “Cool. Listen, Vince. Since I’ve got you on the phone…I hate having to go to Wills’s boss.” I grinned to myself. Good thing his boss was my friend. “Can he have off Christmas and New Year’s Day? January first is…”
“Your birthday. Yeah, I’m aware. I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thanks. By the way, how was your Thanksgiving?” I’d invited him over, since by that time he’d moved into his condo in Aspen Reach, but he’d declined because he was having company, kind of a house warming/holiday celebration combination.
“Good. It was…good.”
And I could tell from the tone of his voice that surprised him.
“I’m glad to hear that. If you want to come over for Christmas—”
“No, that’s okay. I’ve got plans.”
“Okay. But if they fall through…”
“I’ll keep that in mind. Is there anything else? Because some of us do have to work, y’know.”
“Right. Thanks again, Vince. Bye.”
“Yeah. Bye.”
* * * *
Finally it was Christmas Eve. Wills left for work, and I started cleaning the house. By the time I was done, had bayberry, cinnamon, and pine-scented candles in crystal candleholders throughout the house, and had all the presents I was giving Wills—plus a few from Santa—under the tree and his stocking hanging filled from the mantel, I was too wiped to be in the mood to cook dinner.
I called the Pizza Place. “I’d like to place an order to go. Two large pizzas, scallops and bacon in cream sauce, and bacon and pineapple.”
“Will that be pickup or delivery?”
I’d been in the house all day, and I needed to get out, if only for as long as it took to pick up dinner. “I’ll come pick them up.”
“Okay. That’s two large pies, one scallops and bacon in cream sauce, one bacon and pineapple. Anything else? Okay, they’ll be ready in about forty-five minutes. Name?”
“Bascopolis.” I gave her my phone number and hung up.
Wills usually preferred artichoke hearts and pepperoni, but he needed to expand his horizons a little. Besides, he’d tried a slice of bacon and pineapple when we’d been helping Vince get settled in the attic apartment, and although he’d picked off the pineapple, he’d enjoyed it.
I took a shower, put on jeans and the fisherman knit sweater that always drove my lover wild—when he wasn’t wearing it himself—and went out to get dinner. I’d already made sure the kindling and wood were ready in the fireplace; when I got home, I’d light it.
The pies weren’t quite ready—everyone must have had the same idea, because the Pizza Place was really mobbed—and I hit traffic on the way home. By the time I got back, Wills’s Dodge was parked a few spots down. Shit. He wasn’t supposed to be home this early. It wasn’t the Mazda that had taken “his” spot, and I wondered if the girls downstairs had a new customer.
I jogged up the stairs, balancing the two boxes, and let myself into our apartment. I could hear him in the kitchen.
I put the boxes down on the dining room table, hurried into the living room, lit the fire, and breathed a sigh of relief when it caught right away. Now the only light in the room was that cast by the fire.
I crossed my fingers that he hadn’t seen his Christmas present yet and plugged in the lights, then went back to the dining room and set out a couple of paper plates. Christmas Eve wasn’t a time to do dishes.