There is a Christmas tree in the corner. Not a big one. Maybe five feet tall. Real, but sparse and spindly. Old-fashioned. Like maybe he cut it down from the forest in the backyard. But it’s decorated like the ones you see in boutiques. And when I walk over there and touch one of the felt ornaments, I realize it has a theme.
Forest animals.
But not that overdone woodsy bear and moose thing that’s so common. No red and black checkered patterns, either. It’s all very muted. Very subtle shades of cream, and brown, and sage green, and pastel pink. Like a unicorn dropped by my cabin and sprinkled some magic.
Nick comes up behind me. His hands are free again, so he wraps them around my arms and presses his chest up against my back. “I was passing by this boutique in downtown Louisville on my way out here. There was a tree in the window that looked like it belonged in the living room of a sugarplum fairy. I bought all the decorations.”
“I love it.” This is not a lie. I love everything about this room right now. Not just the tree, which is perfect. The little wooden table that Chek and I sat at for eleven years has fresh flowers in the center, those red Christmas ones everyone puts out. But there are white roses too, and lots of dark greenery. It’s situated in a large brass bowl that flickers with a dozen strings of Edison-bulb lights. And the table is set for two. Plates, and bowls, and champagne glasses. There are cloth napkins and placemats.
“I cut the tree down myself,” Nick says.
I turn and face him. Study the way the lights flicker in his brown eyes. Memorize the happiness on his face. “It’s all so pretty, Nick. Did you hire a decorator? When did you get here?”
His smile falters a little. “I’ve been here since your birthday.”
“What?”
“Yeah. I kinda knew you weren’t coming last summer, but I stopped by anyway. Waited for you. Where were you?”
This last part isn’t exactly an accusation, but there’s a hint of annoyance in his tone.
“I’ve been working with Adam.”
He barely reacts. “What do you do for Adam?”
“Little bit of this, little bit of that. Mostly, I just get information for him. Keep my eye out for things that might need our attention. He almost never listens to me, so I don’t know why I even bother. But he pays me, so I guess that’s why.”
Nick does not believe me. Not the part about Adam. I’m sure he already knew I did odd jobs for Adam. No killing, or anything like that. It’s been several years since I killed anyone. But he doesn’t believe my answer as to why.
I don’t need money. I have so much money stashed all over the world, I couldn’t even begin to count it.
So Nick nods his head. Just once. It’s not really a nod, it’s a ‘oh, I see’ kind of gesture. One that says that question was more polite small talk than sit-rep. “I’ve left messages for you. So has Nathan.”
“I haven’t checked them, Nick. Not in a very long time.”
He wants to be mad at me, I can tell. But he lets out a breath and his annoyance goes with it. “So you really did miss all my fuck-you messages.”
I nod. And smile. “I did.”
“Good.” And now his good mood is back. “We’re not gonna talk about work, Wendy. Not until after New Year’s.”
“That’s fine with me.”
“But on January second, you will still be here, and we will talk about things. Promise me.”
“Nick—”
“No. Promise me. I’m serious. This is what I want for Christmas. Your promise that this year, you will not run.”
“I mean… New Year’s is a whole week away,” I say. His smile grows. “How can I possibly put up with you for a whole week without wanting to slap you and walk out?”
He stares intently into my eyes. “You can do it, Wen. I have total faith in you.”
Then he kisses me.
It’s that same hello kiss we’ve been doing since I turned eighteen.
I have dreamed about this kiss over the years. I have yearned for it during some very dark nights. I have even tried to describe it with words in a letter once. And I never could find the right ones, so I gave up and did something else instead. I folded up the paper empty of words, and then I wrote on the front, ‘Kisses with Nick,’ and put it in my pocket. I have been carrying it around since birthday #18. And every so often a word will come to me, one worthy of how kisses with Nick make me feel, and I write it down.
That letter is in my pocket right now. The paper is worn and smooth and lots of the words are smudged because I wrote most of it in pencil.
Nick breaks the kiss and I take a moment to catch my breath. We look at each other. And I don’t know what he’s thinking, but I’m thinking, This is my guy. He’s my one.
And even though I know, if I told him that, he would tell me the same thing back, I would never believe him.
I’m not his girl.
I’m just his stand-in.
I’m just his replacement for Lauren and Sasha, and maybe even Lauren’s mother, who died long before I was lying awake at night thinking about Nick Tate. But she had to have meant something to him. He got her pregnant. And as far as I know, he’s never let that happen again. There have been so many other girls before me. He is almost fourteen years older than me and I feel like he lived several lives apart from me before we settled in to what we have and who we are to each other.
These other girls, I can’t compete with them. And in my small world, my life has only ever had two men in it. Just Chek and Nick.
And now he’s the only one left.
So it’s just him.
“What the hell are you thinking about?”
I let out a long sigh, then ease myself away from Nick and walk over to the kitchen, which is a mess of dishes and saucepans waiting to be washed in the sink. “Were you cooking?”
“Yes. I told you I baked cookies. But don’t change the subject. What were you just thinking about?”
I turn to face him again, then lean against the butcher-block counter and fold my arms across my chest. “I was thinking that…” I consider lying.
“Don’t lie,” he cautions me.
Which makes me smile. “OK. Then… I will start with a question.”
“I’m ready. Let’s hear it.”
“What do you do when we’re not together?”
“What do I do? Like… work shit?”
“All of it. I want to know all of it.”
“Ya know”—he pauses to grin at me—“you could always tag along one day. You could like… not walk out on me in a fit of hate and rage and instead get in my truck and see for yourself what I do all day.”
“I could maybe do that. But I’m not asking what you will be doing, I’m asking what you have been doing.”
“Wendy—”
“No. Let’s hear it. Did you get any more?”
“Any more what?”
“You know what. And they’re not a what. They are a who.”
“So you’re starting the fight early this time? Is that what you’re doing? So you can what? Walk out before we even eat dinner?”
That is what I’m doing. And I don’t even want to do this. I don’t want to start a fight with him. I don’t want to walk out. I want to stay with him forever. I want to marry this man. And I’m not the kind of girl who dreams about weddings, or anything stupid like that, but Nick is all I have left. And I’m so afraid of losing him, I want to kick him away before he figures out that I’m not worth saving.