I shrugged, chuckling. “Same kinds of stories I write now, actually. Kings and queens and pirates. Every year, I’d pick right back up where I’d left off the year before. Then I’d continue the saga before saying good-bye to them when my parents took down the tree.”
“How long did you do that?” Dani asked. “How old were you when you stopped?”
“Probably too old,” I said. “My mom stopped doing the tree when I was about thirteen, I think.”
She frowned. “Your mom stopped decorating for Christmas?”
I shrugged. “She got tired of it, I guess. She started putting a little ceramic tree in the living room window. She wasn’t much for sentimentality.” I was, though, which was why I brought this dancer girl out every year, to remind myself of the kid who loved to make up stories. The other ornaments and decorations sat in dusty boxes up in my attic, waiting for some Christmas in the future when my family might be together again.
“Your mom ‘wasn’t’?” Dani asked. “Is she…?”
“Dead?” I said, setting the ornament on the table and picking up my scotch. “No. But we no longer have a relationship.”
“I’m sorry.” Dani squeezed my hand.
I had never talked to anyone about this, not even Jane, not really. She knew bits and pieces. When I did interviews to promote my books, reporters would ask me about my family, and I’d politely say something about keeping my private life private, that they didn’t ask to be in the spotlight. It sure sounded high-minded. “Our relationship was never ideal. They disapproved of my career choice when I was a struggling author, and they thought the books I wrote literally came from the devil”—I raised my eyebrows—“but when I sold the TV rights, suddenly I was their favorite son.”
She snuggled in closer to me, and I wrapped my arm around her. She held my hand tight, comforting me, supporting me.
“They came to me looking for money, and after I gave it to them—paid off their entire mortgage—they disappeared. They bought an RV and decided to travel the country. I have no clue where they are now, and their old phone numbers don’t work.”
“I’m so sorry, Matt.”
Matt. So few people in my day-to-day life actually called me that. I was Mr. Bradford or Matty or M.C. or the selfish, introverted author who never talked to anyone, including his parents. I shot her a reassuring smile. “It’s okay,” I said. “Really. I’ve come to terms with it.” The thing is, I hadn’t, though. After they up and left, I moved into their house, the place where I grew up. I told people it was a great investment, but the truth was, it was the only place I could remember ever being truly happy. “Probably explains my trust issues.” I chuckled mirthlessly.
Dani flipped around so we were face-to-face. She caressed my cheek. “You can trust me, Matt. I know words are cheap, but I only want good things for you.”
God, I wanted to believe that.
She leaned in to kiss me, and I pulled her close, breathing her in, our bodies pressing into each other so hard as if to fuse together. Our clothes melted away, and we became one—no pretense, no pretending, no tricks or stunts to create a barrier between the sex and our emotions.
Afterward, the two of us covered in a faux bear skin blanket, she lay on my chest, and I stroked her hair. The Christmas lights provided a soft glow and the wind whipped outside, whistling and jostling the windows. I leaned close to her ear and whispered, “I do trust you.”
She responded with a snore.
I hugged her close, kissed the top of her head, and joined her in slumber.
Chapter Ten
Dani
“I swear I used to make these all the time when I was a kid, and they were not this hard.” I poked a needle through a piece of popcorn, which crumbled in my fingers.
Kelsie, who was sitting on the couch watching RuPaul’s Drag Race, turned around and rested her chin on the back of the couch so she could see me at the dining room table behind her. “I don’t know why you’re bothering, honestly.”
“Because popcorn garlands are traditional.”
She narrowed her eyes. “They’re kind of gross.”
They were also something Matt said he and his mom used to drape around the tree branches when he was a kid. He’d told me that last night after we finally did have sex outside, huddled in warm, fuzzy blankets, among the trees. For the past few nights, actually, he’d been opening up to me a lot, mostly about his estranged relationship with his family. As far as I was concerned, popcorn garlands were a requirement.
“Is this for our house,” Kelsie asked, “…or Matt’s?” I knew she was just being silly, but her tone still stressed me out. I tried to be so careful, sneaking in very early each morning, pretending that I’d been home in my own bed all night and I had just come back from working out. I had to trust my family believed me.
I focused on the kernel at hand. “It’s for my boss’s big Christmas Eve premiere. The party planner and I decided to go funky festive for the event.”
“And popcorn on a string counts as funky festive.”
“For our purposes, it does.” I felt her eyes on me, and I looked up. “What?”
“Your cheeks are red.”
I mentally tried to cool off my face, but it backfired. Fighting it only raised the temperature of my skin. “Menopause,” I said.
“You’re not in menopause,” she countered.
“I’m in peri-menopause, so it’s only a matter of time. Anyway, peri-menopause is when all the symptoms happen, so it’s perfectly reasonable for me to be having a hot flash right now.”
Her eyes were still trained on me; I could feel them. “We’re in Nana and Pop’s house.”
“Yes, and?” My needle went right through the kernel this time, which stayed intact all the way to the end of the string. Success!
“And Nana and Pop keep their thermostat at, like, sixty-one degrees.” She lifted her arm and grabbed her sleeve. “Look at me. I’m wearing my parka indoors.”
It was true. She was. She’d also put on a knit hat and fingerless gloves.
“No way you’re having a hot flash in here. It’s physically impossible.” Kelsie got up and came around the couch to the dining room table. She picked up a needle and thread and sat down in the chair next to me. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing’s going on,” I said. “So I’m a little flushed. I’ve been working hard.” I held up my one piece of threaded popcorn to show her.