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Jonathan Andrews wasn't so sprightly at a solid one hundred and two years old, though the grumpy old man seemed intent on staying on the top floor until the last day of his life.
"Long as he's not stuck again," Jeremiah said, heading for my small entryway blocked from the kitchen and combined living area. "Ah."
"It sticks," I yelled over my shoulder, placing overloaded plates in front of Denise and her nearest neighbour Gerard.
"Looks amazing, Nisha," Denise wiggled in her seat. "You've gotta tell me where you've been the last few days.”
"It’s a tale," I answered softly, avoiding details as my heart clenched and I closed my mouth.
Denise eyed me speculatively, and started with a chunk of Christmas cake I placed in front of her without a word.
Another knock from the region of my door.
"Give it a kick at the bottom right," I yelled, hopefully. “A really hard one. It's stubborn."
"No kidding." A deep voice I’d recognise anywhere filled my small apartment, the same way as it had to the bottom floor of the Plaza Hotel the day he decided to spout off about appendages and ugly sweater socks.
I closed my eyes, pushing the tears backwards, and managed to not fall off the floor as I thought I might.
"You know, I can help you with that," Ford's voice reached me from far away.
"Appreciate it. Might need a replacement."
They’re talking about the door.I picked out Jeremiah's voice mixed with my lover of the moment.
Oh hell, that’s weird.
The admissiondidfeel weird. I hadn’t had a date for years, just as I told Ford.
"I'll get you something tomorrow."
Jeremiah muttered something back and Ford seemed to disappear for a minute.
Gerard pushed back from his seat, chair, scraping horribly on linoleum. "Is there someone I need to kick out?" He asked softly, on my side, carrying a plate of candied oranges. "I've still got the goods."
I smiled weakly. "You might have been a cop once upon a time, but I'm not sure you can take that man."
“Man?" Gerard looked at me sideways. "I meant the fuzzy-looking beast."
Pickles stood in the middle of my living area, his back hooves on his very own piece of newspaper.
"Nobody brings an alpaca to Christmas," I whispered.
A Santa hat slanted rakishly across the stud alpaca’s head, and candy cane dangled from his halter.
"Who doesn't?" Ford appeared in the doorway, holding a spare Santa hat, leaning back against the doorframe, the picture of relaxation. “Hi, Nisha.”
Butterflies wound through my stomach, the reindeers giving it a break for the day. Every set of eyes around my table made their way to me, waiting.
I had absolutely nothing.
“Who’s this–?" Denise reached back to ruffle Pickles’ fuzz.
"This is Pickles. The alpaca."Thank you, Captain Obvious."And Ford. He's..." I shook my head. Did I want him to be here? I gazed at Pickles and then closed my eyes, then found Ford smiling at me like a loon.
Do you want me to go?he mouthed.
I shook my head, gripping the counter tight.No.It was all I had, nothing else.
