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“Too bad my birthday’s in August,” I say sadly.
“Right.”His lips press together, and then he says, “Come on, short-timer.”
He leads me down a rickety set of stairs to a damp brick basement that’s twenty percent saggy cardboard boxes, eighty percent cobwebs, and one hundred percent the set of a horror film.
“Umm.”
“Trust me,” he says with a grin.Then he flips up the top flap of the nearest box and I see a flash of green and red.
“Oh wow!”I gasp theatrically.“Are you going to murder me and hide my body in the Christmas decorations that nobody bothers to put up?”
His smile turns wicked, and he leans in and rests his palm lightly on the base of my throat.
“Before you’ve had a chance to show me up in silverware rolling?”His fingers curl gently around my neck, and his thumb slides up and down my skin while his dark eyes devour me.I can’t help but shudder.Not from fear though.No, this is pure arousal.
He lets go of my neck to start nonchalantly sorting through the boxes, and it’s like our sexy fake-murder moment didn’t even exist for him.If he’s unbothered by the feel of his hand on my neck, then by god, I need to be unbothered too.Just like I’ve been acting unbothered about what I got up to with Santa Luke at the Crimson Lounge last night.All day, I’ve been updating waitlists and leading people to their tables as if I didn’t have the hottest sexual experience of my life last night with a snake-hipped stranger.
“Darryl gave us the okay to decorate,” Jonesy says, “as long as it’s after hours.”
This banishes all lingering sexy thoughts.“You asked the boss if we could decorate?”
“Seemed important to you, Livvie-Liv,” he says as he picks up two of the boxes.Just as my heart’s about to expand out of my rib cage because of his thoughtfulness over something only I care about, he adds, “Plus, he’s paying us for the overtime.Think you can grab that small one?”
My poor heart roller-coasters right back where it belongs, and I dutifully pick up the box he’s pointing at.It takes six more trips to bring all the supplies up to the back hallway, and Jonesy insists on being the one to do it.Apparently, my shoes are too hazardous on the narrow stair treads.
“We could start after work today,” I say as we head back to front of house.“No time like the present, right?”
He frowns.“Today?”
“Oh.”Now I’m frowning too.“You have plans.”
“No, I?—”
“That’s okay,” I say quickly.“I can handle it alone.”
He scoffs.“Think you can get rid of me that easily?Of course I’m staying.I don’t trust you to execute my vision.”Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he shoots off a quick text.“I’m all yours after work.”
I smile even though he obviously just canceled plans with someone, and my mind immediately goes to worst-case scenarios.By the time our official workday ends and we’re the only two left in the restaurant, I’ve convinced myself that he broke the news to the cute blonde that he wouldn’t be able to watch the Sunday HBO shows with her.In my head, her name is Harley, and she’s pierced in places I’m scared to even pinch too hard.
“You ready, Fielding?”
I turn to see that he’s moved the decoration boxes into the dining room and is rolling his shoulders, making a show of limbering up for our after-hours work.The action’s way more athletic than I’d expect for somebody who laughed off the idea of having framed sports memorabilia decorating his walls.
I don’t like to admit it, but the thought improves my mood slightly.
I whirl away to hide my suddenly pink cheeks and start cataloging the supplies.“Let’s see… we’ve got garland here, and some lights that may or may not still work.A bunch of ornaments.Ohhh, bows!”I hold up a red velvet one, pleased to see that its trailing ribbons aren’t creased after being stored for lord knows how long.
“This should go on the hostess stand,” he says, handing me a huge wreath studded with colorful round ornaments.“Let’s make you a centerpiece.”
“I would expect nothing less,” I say, and from there we jump into action.I assemble the faux tree he found in the back of the basement, coaxing its branches into fluffy fullness.Once it’s as majestic as I can make it, I cover it in lights, ornaments, and ribbons.Jonesy, meanwhile, grabs a ladder to hang garland along the entrance perimeter.
We work mostly in silence, and when I glance over at him, he has his tongue poked between his teeth as he weaves a strand of lights through the garland.Without looking up, he says, “Eyes on your own work.”
I laugh and put the last of the ornaments on the tree.“There.This place is both merry and bright, at last.”
“Not quite.”Jonesy points to the boxes of round ornaments each the size of a child’s bowling ball.They’re too big for the tree, but they’re too bold and festive not to dosomethingwith.
My art director’s brain sees the solution immediately.“We should hang these from the ceiling.”
