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Dom insisted on setting up the tree at my place, for some reason. Maybe he wasn’t ready to fully move on from the idea that he had to punish himself for losing Allie. That he had to be alone and sad and in the dark on Christmas. Whatever the reason, I didn’t press. I just told him to meet me at my apartment in a half hour with the tree.
I’ve always been a great party planner. A great gift giver. I was spectacular at planning surprises, and Dom’s birthday was no exception. I may have gone slightly above and beyond for him than I had for any other person before. I told myself that was strictly because of his past trauma and absolutely no other reason.
I continued telling myself that as I stopped by the one superstore we’d found open on Christmas day and loaded up my car with as many paper streamers, birthday hats, and gift bows as I could find.
When I stumbled through my front door, hands full of paper bags, Dom was already standing in the living room wrapping lights around the tree that now stood in front of the window right next to my menorah.
I quickly shoved both bags behind my back as I said, “I told you to wait a half hour.”
He shrugged. “And I have a key so I figured I’d just get things ready here while I waited for you.” He turned and raised his brow at me. “What did you need to take a half hour getting?”
I smiled as I walked over and set the bags at his feet. “I thought… maybe… you could use a new tradition.”
My stomach twisted in fear that he’d reject my idea. Reject the idea of replacing his bad memories with new, happy ones. I tried mentally preparing myself for that reaction, knowing that the off chance this was exactly what he needed was worth the potential fall out of a rejection.
I began unpacking things. “I thought instead of decorating the tree with Christmas ornaments, what if we decorated it with birthday stuff? The best of both?”
I pulled out a cone-shaped, purple party hat with multi-colored polka-dots all over it and held it out in front of me. An offering. His brow scrunched as he looked from the hat to my face and back again. My chest fluttered and my stomach flipped upside down as he began to laugh with delight. He lifted his head in a slight nod. I reached up and strapped the rubber band under his chin, pulling the cone over his face and nesting it atop his head. He continued laughing as he bent down and grabbed another hat before doing the same to me.
As he lowered his hand, he lightly flicked my nose. “Cute.”
We spent the next hour listening to quiet music as we wrapped streamers around the tree and placed brightly colored bows and ribbons on the branches in place of ornaments. Once the tree was so full and colorful that we could hardly see the green of the branches, we stepped back to admire our work.
“Only thing that is missing is a star at the top,” I said.
Dom looked at me with his classic crooked smile that made both the center of the legs and the center of my chest buzz in equal measure. He grabbed another birthday hat from the bag. “Stand up on the couch.”
I gave him a sidelong glance, but had enough curiosity not to argue. He walked over to me and placed the birthday hat in my hand before turning his back to me. Squatting down, he bent his legs and wrapped his arms around my thighs, lifting me up and placing me on his shoulders. My feet dangled at his chest as he walked up to the tree.
“We’d be doing the tree a disservice by placing a star on top of it, because you’d be outshining it every time you’re in the room. So, let’s put a hat on it instead.”
I set the birthday hat on top of the tree and Dom stepped back. I bent forward so that my face was level with his. I smiled at his upside down features, leaning and pressing a peck to his lips. “Cute.”
He tightened his grip on my calves as he surged forward and kissed me again.
“You’re sparkling, Mace.”
“So are you,” I breathed against his lips. “Merry Christmas.”
“It is with you,” he whispered.
Chapter 23
“So,areyougoingto tell me about your tattoo?”
“I was wondering when you’d bring that up.”
“Can you blame me for being curious as to why you have a bicycle on your ass?”
I shoved at Dom, tucking my phone under my pillow so I could turn and face him. “It’s not on my ass. It’s… on my lower back.” I pulled the sheet up higher, covering the tattoo I knew he was staring at.
He flashed his teeth in a mocking grin. “Right. Not an ass tattoo. Just a tramp stamp.”
“Rude.”
He pouted. “C’mon, Mace. Give me the story. I know there is one.”
I sighed. “I went through a phase a few years ago where I was into riding bikes. Like, really into bikes. I joined a bike club with a bunch of women I worked with and… it was a whole thing.” He laughed at me, and I shot him a look that told him I had no problem keeping the story to myself. His mouth clamped shut again. “Anyway,” I rolled my eyes, “one night I went out with some girls from the bike club, we got drunk, we got bicycle tattoos.” I shrugged. “In hindsight, for most of them, it ended up being pretty cute. They had it done on their wrist, or their ankle. I on the other hand…” I glanced back toward my ass, wiggling it. “I actually do like it. But when I went home that night…” I frowned at the memory. “Jeremy flipped his lid. Said it was tacky. Distasteful. He told me he’d never want to fuck me from behind again.”
