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We were both over forty, but he wore it so much hotter.
It really was a darn shame, the way the man totally lacked an appetite for fun and community togetherness. But maybe when one filled out a leather jacket like he did, a personality was strictly optional.
He might be a hammer short of a toolbox, but his wackiness sprang from good intentions.
He smiled widely. He was the type to see the bright side of a piece of charcoal. There probably wasn’t a disaster that he couldn’t spin to some sort of positive. Had to admire that mindset even if I knew better myself.
Sometimes hoping hurt and rolling with the punches was the only way to avoid hitting the floor.
Understanding him far better now, shame swept through me. In my zealousness, I’d forgotten how truly painful the holidays could be for some. We all had our coping methods, and if he wanted to hibernate the holidays away, who was I to try to fracture what little peace he’d managed to find through boxing everything up tight?
He was smaller than me, but solid. Compact energy, a spark plug, and lord did he light me up.
“Let?” There were undoubtedly European princes with less indignant tones.
His nearness felt less like a turn-on and more like a necessity as if I physically needed him to keep myself upright and grounded. And he fit so naturally against my side as if we were two metal fastenings clicking into place, made to stand like this.
I had to swallow. I’d seen holiday lights every season, but they hadn’t been mine in so very long that I’d forgotten about the magic, the fluttery feeling as something so familiar became something so precious and beautiful. The house looked…hopeful. I’d put hours and hours into this place, but in all that work, I’d never had an ounce of sentiment, never tried to assign it a personality. But now here it was, stretching skyward, each white bulb a tiny lighthouse waiting to chase away the darkness and welcome someone home. Home. A word I tried never to dwell on. And this fucking hurt, the
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“It’s okay to want things, Paul. Everyone needs a dream.” Releasing me from the hug, he took my hand. “Yeah,” I said gruffly. I wanted to know his dreams. The things he wanted. My own dreams might hurt to touch, but his, I wanted to know. And he was wrong. Wanting things was damn dangerous. I knew better. And still, as we stood there, holding hands, I wanted.
His enthusiasm was maybe the best thing about him, and I hoped he never changed one bossy trait. The world needed more Gideon. And maybe I did too.
Making out with him was such a joyous thing, all that optimism and humor he walked around with coming out in kisses that felt like basking in the spring sun.
He gave me an indulgent smile, not unlike the one he gave Jim before we left. My chest swelled. Paul made me want so much more than simply another round of sex. Every time he looked at me like that, like I was special, I ached with wants I thought I’d packed away a long time ago.
“You’re cute if you think I can’t be bossy and bottom at the same time.”
“What do you want?” he asked against my ear. I liked how he asked instead of assuming that my bottoming confession earlier meant I was up for that tonight. I did like fucking, but right then, I was dying to taste him.
My legs weren’t the only things wrung out. My insides felt all loose, like all the screws that usually held me together were loosened, undone by him and that unexpected connection.
“My back liked this one most,” I lied. Actually, I’d been fine with every bed we’d tried, but following Gideon’s lead to make snow angels while trying beds had been too fun to cut it off at the first mattress.
He deserved someone watching out for him, someone to leave a light on, and if he’d let it be me, well, I liked that. It also terrified me. But not enough to dampen how much I wanted to be someone for him.
I was amazed Paul remembered a damn thing from our menu planning session because even with a stack of notes on my phone, all I remembered from that evening were the toe-curling kisses and five-star-worthy orgasms.
“I miss them.” Some of that ice around my soul cracked off. “I know.” Gideon didn’t say he was sorry, but he put an arm around me, and somehow, I was a little less chilled, a little less alone. I neither wanted nor needed his pity, but his understanding and his strength were unexpected gifts.
Not having to guess what he might like was fucking incredible, letting go and letting him use my mouth however he wanted.
I didn’t understand how pleasure could be so much more intense with him, like he found an extra gear on my internal transmission, some sort of overdrive button that belonged to him and him alone.
His tender smile did things to my insides. I loved how he could tease me without a trace of mocking, turning my quirks into warm, shared jokes.
I was beginning not to know what to make of Paul’s praise. I wasn’t that extraordinary, simply an organized person with a side of too much free time for shopping. But when he looked at me with his eyes shining and lips parted, I felt truly special.
With certain friend circles, I always felt this pressure to perform. Be witty. Be the one with the tastiest dish, the funniest one-liner, earn a repeat invitation. But here, I felt less like a guest and more part of the group.
“Tell them about your grandparents,” he urged as we resumed walking. I obliged, expecting my wistful mood to continue. But for once, the memories didn’t hurt. It felt good to share. The memories were mine, a part of me. I was lucky to have as many as I did. Brandon reacting earlier to the cookbook had reminded me of that. My wealth of special memories were treasures.
“Ha. I have better uses for you than shopping.” He gave me a sinful grin. I supposed that was a win, him wanting me for sex, but part of me wanted him to need me. For planning. For shopping. Something. That he didn’t was both a joy and a frustration. I loved watching him succeed, but I couldn’t help wanting to be needed too.
patience was its own kind of tortuous pleasure.
Putting one’s heart on the line was a risk worse than skydiving if you asked me. No thank you. Even secondhand, the terror had been palpable. But then she’d said yes, and he’d smiled, and maybe, for an instant, I had wanted…something. I still wasn’t sure, only that Paul’s hand in mine had been the only thing keeping me from shattering from the emotional jolt. Even now, I felt rather fragile, a coffee cup repaired too many times. Not to be trusted.
Gideon was normally a bright light, cutting through any darkness, a warm glow that couldn’t be denied. And today, it was like someone had put a shade over his inner lamp. Still there, but dimmer.
“I should probably get back in any event.” Huh. Perhaps that was the issue. We had monopolized him for the better part of two days. Despite being such an extrovert, he might be the kind of person who needed alone time to recharge his batteries. God knew I usually was. Preferring to be alone with Gideon was something new, and I could certainly understand needing a break from all this togetherness without taking it personally.
“Because you want my help with next Christmas?” “No.” Paul licked his lips as he darted his gaze everywhere but at me. “I mean, yes. Damn it. This is why I’m not good with words. I want you for next Christmas. The help is a bonus.”
I was so bogged down by old fears that I hadn’t let myself hope for what I wanted most.
“Is that why we never did this sooner? You thought I was too uptight?” Busted. Damn it. I didn’t want to lose this mood and easy peace between us, but I couldn’t lie either. “I was wrong. Honestly, your genius exterior is a little intimidating. Plus, I didn’t realize how enjoyable your bossiness could be or how much fun I’d have unwrapping you. I definitely underestimated you for far too long. I’m sorry.”
A wide smile broke across his face, the sort of sun that could chase away the fiercest of cold snaps. “I’m a lucky guy.” “Me too.” Wonder raced through me. He was wrong. I was the lucky one, and I could only hope he kept giving me the chance to show him. For once, I was seizing my good luck fast, not letting go, greedily hoarding every damn second with him.
“That was really nice. Thank you.” I started to bristle at the gratitude for something that had been a mutual pleasure, but then I reconsidered, chewing the inside of my cheek as I reasoned this out. “When you say thank you, do you mean it like job well done or more like that was awesome?” Paul frowned as if I were as dense as Lori thought. “Is that what you assumed all Christmas? That your job was finished and I didn’t need you anymore? Like thank you as shorthand for goodbye?”
“I say thank you a lot to everyone.” His tone shifted to something more solemn. “Not just you. You only get so many chances in life to say it.” Oh. Of course, Paul more than anyone else would know the value of not waiting to tell people how much you appreciated them. And this was his way of saying I mattered to him. I understood now, and I sank into his embrace, head falling against his shoulder.
Once, a million years ago, I’d proposed to Lori because that was what all our friends were doing. Get a ring. Have a nice dinner. Pop the question. But in this moment, these humble pieces of steel felt far more significant and life-altering. And I wasn’t so dense that I couldn’t understand Paul’s subtext here. He wanted me to keep his heart safe. And I would.
“And you say you like me how I am,” he countered with a kiss on my temple. “I don’t want you changing either.” He was wrong there. I had changed. And I liked it, liked me more now, liked the easiness in my step and the hopefulness in my heart. “I’m sure I can still manage enough crankiness to keep you happy.”
I’d told Gideon that I said thank you because I didn’t want to miss my chance. Maybe Brandon was doing the same thing. I’d do it all over again, fight to keep him, make all the same sacrifices, and more, and I’d do it without any thanks. But still, him saying it mattered.
“I’m all in, Gideon.” Standing in front of me, fist full of papers, he gazed deep into my eyes. “I don’t know how else to tell you. I don’t care about it being too soon or moving too fast. Life is short.” “I know.” I reached out to cup his face with my gloved hand. “I’m in too. I’m terrified. I worry this will slip away. But I’m in.” “It’s not going to slip away if we both hold it tight.”
“I really can’t wait to see your plan. I mean it. I want all your dreams to come true.” “Our plan,” I corrected him. “If you’re all in on doing it together, it needs to be our plan. Not just mine. Not just you doing me a favor. Or me bossing you around. Both of us. Together. Our plan.” “I like that.”
“I love you,” I said to make him beam that much wider. “And yes, I’ll love your trees, plural. But can we compromise on the movie?” “Sure. Be a Scrooge.” He laughed, but his eyes were twinkling. “Miss the guy from that cop drama you like as a lumberjack fake dating a shopkeeper. A male shopkeeper.” “All right, all right. Twist my arm. Guess we better support quality content like gay lumberjacks.”
Is this actually a movie? I wanna watch it!!
“Maybe I need to hear it,” I admitted. Gideon wasn’t the only one with fears. Sometimes I woke up in the middle of the night, him snuggled against me, and I couldn’t believe how lucky I’d gotten. I kept expecting him to realize he could do far better, but apparently, he’d chosen me, and now I wanted to hold him to it. I wasn’t letting him go.
“No, thank you. I mean it, Gideon. You saved me.” I honestly wasn’t sure I could ever fully tell Gideon how much he meant to me. I tried. But there simply weren’t words for what it felt like having my heart returned to my chest, rediscovering that I hadn’t lost my capacity for joy after all.
