Miller snorted a laugh. “It builds character. You should try it sometime.”
I gave him a shove and we settled into a peaceful silence…until the memory of River Whitmore’s hard body pressed to me, his mouth devouring mine, infiltrated me all over again.
Goddammit.
“You walking me home, Parish?” Miller asked as we headed down the tree-lined street.
“It would appear that way.”
“What about James?”
“He’s used to my erratic schedule. He’ll come when I call him.” I shoved my hands in my pockets. “Welp, we just ditched the rest of our last day of school before winter break.”
Miller shrugged. “I have to work. I’m taking more hours over the vacation. What about you? Going anywhere with your aunt and uncle?”
“They’re going to Seattle to visit my parents.”
“You’re not going with them?”
You’re going to be alone on Christmas?
“I will be staying here,” I answered stiffly. “I was invited but I politely declined, saying I’d rather gargle shattered glass and wash it down with dog piss.”
“Subtle,” Miller said. “Well, Christmas at my place is going to be shit. Probably for Ronan, too. We can hang out at the Shack.”
“Maybe.”
Miller stopped walking to face me. “Not maybe. We’re meeting at the Shack on Christmas Day.”
“We’ve never needed to make it official.”
“I’m making it official.”
His worried gaze pinned me down. I could practically see visions of me holed up in my guesthouse, drinking myself into oblivion play across his thoughts.
“Fine,” I said. “I’ll be there.”
“Good.”
“But nothing can stop me from bearing Christmas gifts.”
“No gifts,” Miller said quickly. “I…don’t need anything.”
He meant he couldn’t afford anything. I shifted gears so as not to embarrass him.
“I was talking about food. A feast. That’s allowed, right?”
“That’d be okay, I guess.”
“Thank you.” I rolled my eyes dramatically. “Jesus, so many rules and regulations, Stratton.”
He sniffed a laugh and I made a mental note to pay the heating bill for his and Ronan’s entire apartment complexes through the winter. Anonymously, of course.
No sense in getting those two knuckleheads riled up over nothing.
Drunkenly wandering off campus on the last day of school before the holiday break meant I had no reason or opportunity to see River again.
“Good,” I told myself a few days later as I paced my guesthouse. Alone. It was stupid of me to have indulged in him. I was on a strict diet of no emotional complications, and he was an entire damn buffet. Better to cut myself off before things got worse.
Then I called James and told him we were going Christmas shopping.
We wandered down the quaint streets of downtown Santa Cruz. I bought Beatriz a necklace of colorful glass beads. They weren’t suitable to wear for housework, but that was the point. My aunt and uncle had proudly told me that aside from a Christmas bonus, they’d gotten her a brand-new vacuum cleaner.
Awesome. Wow.
The fact that Beatriz was actually a whole human being with a life outside of our house apparently didn’t occur to them.
I bought James a humidor packed with Cuban cigars. I was going to leave them in the backseat of his car before he left for his vacation, during which I’d have to Uber myself around town like a schmuck.
For Uncle Reg, I bought a new set of golf clubs and for Aunt Mags, a gift certificate to a two-day retreat at a luxury spa up in the redwoods. Sterile, unemotional gifts that were more of a thank-you for putting up with me these last few months than anything else.
They were departing for Seattle the day before Christmas; I planned to leave the gifts in the living room that morning and hightail it out of the house before they could find me and make a scene.
Shopping done, I stood on the street corner. “River.”
“What was that, sir?” James asked, the leather golf club bag strung over his shoulder.
“Nothing,” I said and spied an independent bookstore across the street. “I’m going to have a peek in there. Why don’t you put the bag in the trunk and meet me in twenty?”
“Yes, sir.”
I crossed into the bookstore that was brightly lit, tables spaced out over hardwood floors and huge floor-to-ceiling shelves lining the walls. The place had that clean, fresh paper-and-ink smell that a bookstore should.
My eye was drawn to a section of reference books with colorful photos. One with a 1965 red Ford Falcon Sprint on the cover jumped off the table at me. The book was a glossy collector’s style manual of car restoration. Not a how-to, but a before and after, showing old junkers on their last legs and then the same car, gleaming and healthy.
I shut the book and took it to the register.
“Gift wrap?” the clerk inquired.
I hadn’t worked out how to give River the book except that it had to be done in person. But him tearing open the wrapping paper while I waited would be excruciating.
“No,” I said. “It’s not a gift. It’s just…a thing. Nothing, really.”
The woman raised her eyebrows. “That will be eighty-five dollars for nothing, please.”
A smartass. I’d have to remember to come back to this store more often.
James met me on time, back on the sidewalk. “Where to next?”
“I have to drop this off,” I said, hefting the bookstore bag. “Won’t take but a second.”
“Whatever you need, sir.”
“I’m just saying, it’s not a big deal. A quick errand and then we’re done.”
James frowned. “Is it unprofessional of me to say that you seem nervous?”
“Yes. Highly unprofessional. How dare you.” I ran my hands through my hair. “Have you ever been in love, James?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What’s it like?”
“The sweetest agony. A torture from which you never want to escape.”
“Sounds terrible.”
