“Olivia,” I echoed, and let myself smile a little. “Yeah. She’s my sister.”
He nearly dropped his mug. “Your sister?”
I nodded, relishing the way his face went red. “And you’re Santa for our office party, apparently.”
He looked like he didn’t know whether to laugh or crawl under the table. “I…didn’t realize.”
“Neither did I. She’s been pushing for a family Christmas at the company for years. I guess you’re the secret weapon.”
“I’ll do my best,” he muttered, sheepish but…proud, too. I liked the way it looked on him. “She said her brother hated Christmas.”
I snorted. “She’s not wrong.”
He grinned for real.
I made myself move because I was comfortable, too comfortable. “I’ll show you the guest room.”
He took the hint and stood up.
Chapter six
Clayton
It was freezing in the kitchen. The wind whistled under the door and rattled the old window frames. Mom had been going to have them replaced the year she was first diagnosed, but she never had much in the way of savings. She’d lived a full life, and I’d never missed not having a dad. He’d been another college student and offered her the money for an abortion. She’d walked away.
I’d been gone less than twenty-four hours, and the house felt smaller. Not lived-in, not warm. Just tired.
I checked the thermostat. Useless. The furnace was ancient, and the guy who was supposed to fix it last week still hadn’t called back. I wrapped a blanket around my shoulders and boiled water for instant coffee. At least the gas worked, but I couldn’t get the electricity on, and I’d paid the bill. The mug rattled against the counter when I set it down.
It hadn’t been this pathetic when Mom had been here. The medical bills had been insane but I'd covered those. I’d just paid for a new roof myself, even when she’d insisted she couldmanage, but the electricity had just been repaired, patched up. She didn’t want another big project while she got better.
Except she never got better.
It would be so easy to just…let it go. Sell the place, walk away. The wiring was shot. The plumbing was over forty years old. But—
I leaned against the sink and pressed my forehead to the cold cabinet. Guilt still ate at me. I'd been so wrapped up in Jason I hadn't seen her struggling financially for too long. Mom’s mug sat next to mine, chipped and ugly and bright red. I could almost hear her humming. Stupid. She was gone.
No reason to stay. Not really.
I just wasn’t sure what I was holding on to. Mom had never been upset when I’d told her I liked boys. If anything, she loved me even more and said she’d known since I was around seven. She never complained about my choices. She’d welcomed Jason, even if he was a little too snobbish to enjoy her home-cooked meals and would have died rather than wear the scarf she knitted for him.
I padded into the living room. The floor creaked under every step. Sunlight traced the outline of a water stain on the ceiling. I stood there, coffee in hand, and tried to picture it fixed. Tried to imagine someone else living here.
Nothing came.
I’d slept well, too well. Every time I closed my eyes, I felt Felix’s hand on my shoulder, the towel around my neck, the soft approval in his voice. I wanted that more than I wanted to breathe. But I wasn’t an idiot. I knew what last night was. Aftercare. Kindness.
I set the coffee down and picked up my phone. Four missed calls from Jenny. A text from Pete with a meme of a snowman in sunglasses. Nothing from Felix. I hadn’t expected there to be, but it still stung.
The silence in the house was so thick I wanted to run.
I should have been grateful. The car service Felix booked for me was top-notch, even if the driver looked at my bungalow like it might collapse on us both. I tipped him anyway. That was what you were supposed to do.
I wandered into the back bedroom, Mom’s old room, and opened the closet. The same musty smell. I pawed at the sweaters, the winter coats we’d kept “just in case.” Half of them the charity shop wouldn’t want.
Memories. That was why I didn’t want to sell. Mom hadn’t ever met a holiday she didn’t like. Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas. It was definitely where I’d gotten my love of the season from, and money had never been a thing. As a child, making decorations had been so much more fun than buying them.
I’d even gotten my own place when I left college. I shared with two other guys who both had adored my mom as well, and she’d mothered all of us. Then I’d gotten my first boyfriend who’d introduced me to the lifestyle. He’d said I was a natural submissive, and he was right. We’d tried to make it work, but it turned out he was more submissive than dominant, so we’d parted ways amicably, and by that time, I could afford my own place. Eight years after that, I’d met Jason. And I’d been flattered. He’d been larger than life and had picked me.
