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“I like that one, too.” It was one of those shots where I felt he was truly at ease, himself. “You look happy in that picture.”
George cocks his head to the side questioningly. “I don’t normally look happy?”
Do I answer honestly? I decide to take the plunge. “No. There are times when you look almost…haunted. At least that was my first impression. I’m seeing more of the man in that picture every time I’m around you.” The look on his face is indiscernible. The wheels are turning, but I can’t see the film or hear the narrative.
He pauses. “I suppose there’s some merit to that observation. I have a lot of ghosts.”
I decide to lighten the mood. “After we finish dinner, do you want to go ice skating? Try another lesson?”
George’s face is skeptical. “No cameras this time? One documented humiliation is enough.”
I give him my best pout. “Party pooper.”
After dinner, we make our way down to the ice rink. A small band is playing and a duo is singing Christmas carols.
As we take to the ice, George’s hand finds mine. “You’re my guide, remember?”
I like the feel of my hand in his. He’s still a little unsteady on his skates, but this time he is taking the lead. “You’re doing great! Big improvement from the other day!”
He turns to skate backwards, facing me. “I may have hired a tutor the next day.”
I’m impressed. “Look at you!” At that moment, he loses his footing and does another ass landing. “Well, it was good while it lasted,” I say with a laugh as I help him up.
“I need to get my money back,” George grumbles as he dusts the ice from his clothes. “I was trying to impress you.”
That makes me stop. “You were trying to impress me? Why?”
His gaze is steady. “Isn’t it obvious?”
I don’t know what to say to that. Instead, I just grab his hand and continue skating. My thoughts are tumbling all around. Maybe it isn’t my imagination. Does he feel it, too? George squeezes my hand slightly in a sort of affirmation.
Afterwards, we walk for a bit. The conversation is easy. With him, it all seems easy.
As we walk by a Christmas tree lot, I tug on his hand, turning to him. “You need a tree.”
Again, he looks at me as though I have lost my mind. “You’ve seen where I live.”
I pull him towards the trees. “Exactly!”
George grabs a tiny twig of a tree. “Will this do?”
I roll my eyes at him. “Not unless you’re Charlie Brown.”
We meander through the tree lot, checking out each and every tree. Finally, we find one we can each agree upon. “This is it!” we say in unison.
George looks at me. “How do we get it home?”
“We can deliver it for you, sir,” a tree salesman says as he suddenly appears. “Do you need a stand, too?”
George nods to the salesman. “We do.”
The salesman takes the tag from the tree and rings up the purchase, getting delivery instructions. “We’re about three days behind before we can deliver it.”
George leans over and whispers something to the man. His eyes widen. “I can have it there in thirty minutes!”
“I’ll call ahead,” George tells him. “If we’re not there yet, the doorman can let you in to set it up.”
The man hurries to take care of the order. “Do you have any ornaments?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
