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I asked the question from the top of the ladder, without looking down. Painting the crown mouldings was tedious and painstaking, especially getting the paint into every detail and crevasse. I couldn’t believe they’d nailed it all up before painting it.
“If it’s not snowing too hard, sure.”
Valerio called from the kitchen, where I expected he was stirring the sauce. He made good sauce, actually. Better than most. Usually I could smell it, wafting through the warmth of the house. But tonight…
Tonight I could only smell latex paint.
“I kinda like the idea of shopping for trees in the snow,” I called down. “It’s very Christmassy. Besides, it’s romantic. Don’t you think?”
So far I was doing the job alone, when I was supposed to have help. Brock should’ve been home by now. Kade too. Instead I was up here doing trim-work, all alone, without so much as an assistant to hold the ladder.
“Well is it snowing hard?” I asked.
No answer.
“Valerio?”
I climbed down, a little confused and a little annoyed. He could be helping me. The pasta wasn’t on yet, and the sauce could simmer itself.
Halfway to the kitchen I decided to cut him some slack. He was still getting adjusted to being the only one of his family not up here anymore. The rest were in Argentina, and that was a big deal for him.
Still, we’d made every effort to keep him in touch. There were text-messages, emails, video conferences. We’d even set him up with one of those digital picture frames, where all his family had to do was text over whatever photos they took down there to a special number. After traveling some five-thousand miles, they’d scroll randomly through the digital frame on his desk.
No, Valerio was fine. We’d made a home for him here, in the old craftsman. Between the four of us, the house was nearly done. We were putting the finishing touches on our renovations, and after that—
“Valeri—”
I turned the corner… and found the kitchen surprisingly empty. Valerio wasn’t there. And not only that, but there was nothing on the stove either.
No sauce simmered on any of the burners. There were no pots set up with water for pasta.
What the hell?
I moved to the other side of the room, with paint still drying on my hands. The house was dark for the most part, the sun having gone down an hour ago. Through the window I could see outside though. Against the light of the streetlamp, I could see it was snowing steadily.
“Is anyone still—”
Three steps into the foyer I froze in my tracks. All three of my lovers were standing there, smiling ear to ear. One of them was holding an insulated thermos, and an array of cups. Another was holding my jacket.
“Are you ready?” Brock asked, as if I should already be.
“For what?”
“To go pick out the tree,” said Kade.
My eyes lit up. I was half-expecting them to bring it home from the lot one day, since they already worked there. It wouldn’t have been special though. Not nearly enough.
“Same place as last year?” I asked happily.
“Of course,” said Valerio, adding a wink. “It’s romantic, don’t you think?”
I threw myself into my coat one arm after the other, rolling into them and kissing them hello. Brock zipped me up. Kade handed me gloves, and a scarf.
“I’m all dirty,” I protested. “I still have paint all over me.”
“So?”
I shrugged and laughed. They were right. In the grand scheme of things, little things like that didn’t matter.
