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“That’s more like it,” I said.
Deke lined up three glasses and poured liquid to the top of each one. We all lifted them and he said, “Merry Christmas, guys. Bottoms up.”
I downed it, blowing out a breath afterward. “Dude, that tasted like sucking off a pine tree.”
Avon laughed. “I got a little hint of lime.”
A large group came into the bar and sat down at a long table. Deke put the bottle back and went over to greet them, and Avon looked over at me.
“Tell me more about your pine tree–sucking habit,” she said.
I smiled, which was a rarity on Christmas Eve. Her cheeks were pink and her hair was loose around her shoulders. Even in that stupid sweater, she looked sexy as hell.
“Why don’t you tell me what’s on your mind instead?” I said.
She sighed heavily. “So many things.”
“Such as?”
“My dad used to make the most amazing barbacoa on Christmas Eve every year. We always had some friends over and played games. And my mom would get me the most thoughtful gifts, like little cosmetics or my favorite candy, and wrap each one in tissue and put it in my stocking. They swore they’d never let me have a cat, and then when I was six, I got one on Christmas morning and I was so damn happy. I named it Crush because it was orange.”
She had a faraway look in her eyes as she sipped her drink.
“You must miss them,” I said.
“I do. I always miss them on Christmas Eve. But this year, there’s also…” She glanced away.
“What?”
She met my gaze, looking troubled. “You can’t share this with anyone, okay?”
“I won’t.”
“There may be a buyer for the Chronicle.”
That had to mean she’d be leaving the Beard. It hit me hard to imagine her leaving and never returning. For as hard as we’d clashed when she got here, I liked her. A lot.
“You don’t seem happy about it,” I said.
She shook her head, closed her eyes, and took another sip of her drink. “It’s complicated.”
“Anything I can do to help?”
“You may need to take me back to my apartment tonight if the drinks keep going down as smooth as this one is.”
“You should take it easy,” I said. “Tomorrow’s Christmas and Don’s lutefisk is bad enough without adding a hangover into the mix.”
She groaned and then laughed. “Are you serious? I thought that was just a Thanksgiving thing?”
“Sadly, no. He’s probably got a giant portion reserved just for you.”
“Oh, hell.” She threw back a big sip of her drink.
“You could always come eat with my family instead,” I suggested.
Where the hell had that come from? The words had fired directly out of my mouth before I had time to really think about them.
“Is your sister cooking?” she asked in a teasing tone. “Because I might not be able to say no to that.”
“She makes a scalloped sweet potato casserole every year that’s incredible. But my mom does everything else. She wants Shay to get a break from cooking.”
“That’s nice of her.” She bit her lower lip, hesitating for just a second before saying, “Tell me something about you.”
I took a drink of my beer and considered what to say. There was only one option that felt authentic, though.
“My girlfriend passed away on this day eleven years ago,” I said. “And I haven’t been with anyone since.”
Several seconds of silence passed before I looked at her. And then she took my hand and squeezed it.
“I’m so sorry, Grady.”
I shrugged, the emotion of the moment feeling too heavy and uncomfortable.
“I’m always hungover on Christmas,” I cracked. “So really I’ve got no business telling you not to be. This is the one night of the year I tell my deputy chief he’s on call in case of emergency.”
“When you said you haven’t been with anyone since, did you mean…at all?”
“I meant in a relationship. But I never…see women from the Beard.” I laughed nervously and ran a hand through my hair. “I can’t believe I’m telling you this.”
“I won’t tell a soul,” she said, making it sound like a promise. And I believed her.
“I used to go to Minneapolis a few times a year,” I said. “I guess I still go at least once a year for a police chief’s conference. But I’d…you know…”
“Hook up with women?” she supplied.
“Yeah. I haven’t done it for a couple of years, though.”
“I was engaged,” she blurted.
I turned to her, surprised by her admission. “You were?”
She nodded, looking shamed. “He broke it off almost nine months ago because he said I’m not the kind of woman a man can fall crazy in love with.”
Her words made me recoil. “Well, that guy’s a stupid asshole.”
“That’s sweet of you,” she said softly.
She didn’t believe me. Her ex had planted a seed of unworthiness in her and whether she realized it or not, it was blooming. I wanted to stomp the shit out of the doubt he’d created in her.
