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“Don’t,” he said earnestly. “Don’t downplay it. I really appreciate it. I—I think I’ve got a good shot at getting the grant now, and I couldn’t have done it without you. Thank you.”
Warmth spread through me. “I hope you get it. Because it’s an awesome idea, and you’ll be incredible at it.”
Cass’s smile glowed brighter than Ruth’s orange ass.
He returned to the couch and settled beside me. We let the song play out, and then he placed his arm around my shoulders and pulled me against him. “I’m glad Ruth still works too.”
“I love you,” I blurted, because no one ever accused me of being smooth, and I could always blame it on the tramadol if he freaked out.
“I love you too,” he said simply. “Always have.”
Well then. “Me too. I’m not just saying that because you said it. I really did. Do. Always. I know I was— I didn’t— I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine.” He sounded amused.
“Your Santa jacket is really soft.”
“I know.”
“And I’m turned on by the pants.”
“That’s something we should probably explore another time.”
“So are we going to, um…like, be boyfriends again?”
“If that’s what you want,” he said.
“It’s so much what I want. And I’m not going to lie anymore. Ever.”
“Maybe we could start with ‘not about big things’?”
I sighed, relieved. That seemed far more reasonable. “Okay. And I’m going to take you to Mon Ami and ice skating and we’re going to have sex.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
“A lot of sex. Your butt’s gonna be like, ‘Ms. Cummings’s strap-on who?’”
“How much medication did they give you?”
“A very generous amount. Because Christmas.”
He squeezed me tighter. “I think I should help you to bed.”
“Can we sleep here?”
“I think bed would be more comfortable for you. And maybe I should go home? So I have something to wear tomorrow besides the Santa suit?”
I shook my head against his shoulder. “Uh-uh,” I mumbled. “You’re Cassanta now.”
He chuckled and made no move to rise. I gazed up at Ruth, wishing Christmas Eve could last forever. “I’m Cassanta now,” he agreed.
“Linda can bring you normal clothes.”
“Got it all worked out, do you?”
“Oh yeah. That’s me. All worked out.” My eyes drifted closed. “I like your Santa suit and your personality and your whole face.”
“I like your whole face too,” he whispered. “And everything about you.” He kissed the top of my head. “Merry Christmas, Fran.”
I don’t know whether I said it back or was already asleep. But that was fine. I’d have many, many more chances to say it.
After all, in Christmas Valley, it was Christmas every fucking day.
