Page 36 of Naughty-ish

I overdid the holiday spirit last night and I’m sorry.

His response is quick. Not a thing to apologize for, snowball. Or should I call you Fireball now?

Ha Ha. Chewing at my lip, I type out: Are you home?

Had the day shift. Twelve hours on. Be home later tonight.

I nod as if he can see me and hesitate. Will we see each other again soon? Is it too forward to ask? This is why I can’t date yet. I don’t know how these things work and I don’t have the emotional energy.

My focus for now needs to be Christmas. I have just over a week before the official day hits and my list is still incomplete.

One additional thing I need to find is a neighborly gift for the man next door.

+ + +

After the hustle and bustle of shopping in stores cramped with stressed-out shoppers, I believe I have something perfect for my neighbor. It isn’t much. Just a token of my affection and appreciation for all he’s done for me this season. Well, actually since I moved in next-door.

With the kids gone for another night, I attempt to settle into a few holiday movies, but find frustration in every happily ever after. Eventually, I take a bath, soaking in the tub like I had weeks ago. I’m almost as restless now as I was then. When I finally step out, wrapped in the robe Nick gave me and check his driveway for his truck, I admonish myself and turn on a Christmas classic for mindless entertainment.

Eventually, I need something for dinner, but stall before opening the fridge. My list hangs beneath a magnet.

Buy presents. Be present.

Wrap gifts. Wrap someone in a hug.

Send gifts. Send Peace.

Shop for food. Donate food.

Make cookies. Make love.

See the lights. Be the light.

Have I done any of these things? So far it felt like Nick had done them for me. He’d been present when we went to chop down a Christmas tree. He’d been the light the night he took me to see the garden show. And he financially donated to a worthy cause and physically played dress-up Santa at breakfasts.

Disappointment hits me. I’m not fulfilling my list. I’m failing once again, and I rip the slim sheet from the magnet, tear it in half, and toss it in the trash.

“There’s always next year,” I mutter, a saying famous for any Chicago Cubs or Bears fan. But the holiday isn’t a sport, and I’m not winning at it anyway.

Skipping dinner, I reach for the bottle of red on my counter and return to my living room as headlights scan across the window and lead up the drive Nick and I share.

My heart hammers. He’s home.

Looking down at myself and glancing at the bottle of wine in hand, an idea forms in my head. Probably not exactly the intention where the list was modified, but it’s still an item on the list.

Make love.

I rush to my room to change my clothes.

+ + +

Standing on Nick’s front stoop, I shake out my hand, spreading my fingers before clenching them into a fist.

“It’s just a neighborly visit,” I tell myself. “I’m returning the favor.” He’d paid one-hundred dollars for a shot last night. The least I can do is offer him a bottle of wine. Wiggling my legs, I continue muttering to myself. “As a thank you.”

Tipping back my head, I stare up at the sky, heavy with the scent of snow. “And now I’m talking to myself.”

I lower my head, face Nick’s door, and lift my fist to knock. The sharp rap shouldn’t startle me. I’m the one knocking after all, but I flinch, then giggle, as I disturb the peacefulness of a silent night on our street.