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“I’m glad. I mean it was either the ’57 Chevy Bel-Air or the sunflower fields at sunset.”
“Well, as much as I like sunflowers and sunset, this car is a classic. It’s like the T-Bird or the Mustang. It’s an icon. Thank you,” he says, setting the painting that I found at a craft show aside, and kissing me square on the lips.
“I thought it was time to add something to your walls,” I quip, referring to the fact that his walls next door are still completely naked.
“Your turn,” he says, handing me the small box that I’ve had my eye on since I noticed it sitting beneath the tree.
I waste no time pulling the ribbon and paper off the box. It’s a white jewelry box, the name of the designer on the front unfamiliar. Gently, I open the lid, a soft gasp seeping from my open lips. “This is…stunning,” I choke, air not moving to my lungs the way it should.
He doesn’t speak, but instead, reaches for the box. Linkin pulls the necklace from within and grips the clasp. Moving my hair to the side, I turn until he’s at my back. The metal is cool as it hits my neck, the small pendant almost reaching my cleavage.
When he has it securely in place, I grab the pendant and take a closer look. It’s a pair of scissors with a diamond in the middle. It’s simple and stunning and so very…me. Tears cloud my eyes as I continue to stare down at my beautiful new necklace.
“Do you like it?” he asks.
“I love it,” I confirm, moving to my knees in front of him and placing a kiss on his lips. “It’s the best gift I’ve ever received.”
“I’m not so sure about that, but I’m glad you like it.”
“No, really,” I say, looking back down at the necklace. “Chris wasn’t really a fan of my career. In fact, he wouldn’t even acknowledge it as a career. He always referred to it as my hobby.”
“Mega douche,” he says, shaking his head.
“That he is. But it’s Christmas and I’m not going to give him even one more second of my thoughts today,” I say, smiling and holding onto the charm.
“I’ve got an idea,” he says, an ornery gleam shining in his chocolate eyes. “Why don’t I do the dishes real quick and you gather up your things. We’ll slip next door and you can help me hang that picture, probably in my bedroom. And since we’ll already be in there, you can show me those dark blue panties I caught a glimpse of while you were dressing earlier.”
“You were being a Peeping Tom?”
“Fuck yes, I was.”
Shaking my head, I stand up, offering him my hand to help him stand with me. “Deal,” I say, leading him towards the kitchen.
“Oh, and Linkin?” I ask, catching his attention. “They’re actually purple. And lace. And a thong.”
His groan is the last thing I hear as I slip back into the living room to gather up the final two presents for the day.
* * *
I follow Linkin up the front steps of a small white house, stepping over a big tank with what could possibly be millions of army guys scattered all over the porch. “Dammit,” he grumbles, sweeping his foot to the side to move the little army men from our path.
Before I can comment, the front door flies open. “Linkin!” one of the twins hollers before launching himself out the door and around his brother’s leg. He’s quickly followed by a second tornado, who mirrors his twin’s actions and wraps himself around Linkin’s other leg.
“Why are the army guys spread out all over the porch? Mom could have come out here and slipped and fell,” Linkin chastises softly.
“Sorry. We were at war but then the maiden made us come in and take showers. She said we smelled like death,” one of the twins says, I think Jack.
“Yeah, we smelled like death. Isn’t that cool?!” Jeff exclaims proudly.
“Not really. That’s an expression that means you smell horribly and need to find a bar of soap and water. Do you remember Lexi?” Linkin asks, walking like a robot through the front door with one boy attached to each leg.
“Of course, I do! Hello, beautiful,” Jack coos, waggling his eyebrows at me. I can’t help but laugh.
“Merry Christmas,” I say to no one in particular.
“Merry Christmas,” I hear in a woman’s voice as I enter the house. She enters the room, her steps faltering when she sees me. Her graying brown hair is pulled up in a messy bun and she looks a little tired. But her eyes sparkle like chocolate diamonds, just like her son’s. “Oh. Hi,” she says, stepping forward and offering me a genuine smile. “I wasn’t expecting a guest.”
“Yeah, sorry, Mom. This is my friend, Lexi,” Linkin says, trying to shake the boys off his legs. “Lexi, this is my mom, Karen.”
