“I’ll take that as a yes.” Frankie said, then snagged the red panties out of my hand, tucking them into the pocket of his shorts before walking out the door.
“What are we even looking for?” Mateo lifted his sunglasses off his face, squinting at the rows of trees lined up under string lights in the supermarket parking lot.
The makeshift tree lot left much to be desired. It was run by a dirty looking man living in a trailer parked along the fence, still donning a fanny pack around his waist and a mullet unironically from the eighties and sucking on a wooden toothpick.
“Whatever one speaks to you,” I told Mateo as the group of us walked alongside the first row of fluffy Fraser firs.
He snorted. “Honey, I don’t know much about the verbal communication of trees in Colorado, but in Florida they don’t whisper sweet nothings.”
“Don’t be a scrooge, Mateo.” Nat came to my rescue, running her fingers across the needles of a tree. Frankie followed behind at my heels as I sized up a shorter, thicker one.
In all the winters growing up, the one thing I always looked forward to was picking out a tree. Mom, Dad, and I would squeeze together in the bench seat of the old Ford pickup and hold on for dear life as it rattled down the road toward Quail Creek Ranch. My father insisted the best trees were the furthest up the hill, so far that no one in their right minds would ever want to haul a tree that distance, but Mom and I would laugh and hook arms, following anyways and giving the thumbs-up when he finally declared he’d found the “best looking Christmas tree in all of Colorado”。 Neither of us had the heart to tell him we’d passed twenty trees that looked exactly the same on the hike, but that was part of the tradition. One I held onto for as many years as I could before the magic ran out.
“What about this one?” Frankie suggested, standing a tree up on its stump and giving it a twirl so everyone could see.
“It’s too tall,” Mateo pointed out.
“You’re just short.” Frankie put his elbow on his best friend’s head like an armrest and got a playful punch to the ribs.
“I think it’s beautiful, Francesco,” Nat told him, sticking her tongue out at Mateo.
“What do you think, O?” Frankie only cared for my approval as I walked a circle around the fir and eyed it up and down. The branches were healthy and thick, no gaping holes where pine needles should have been. I was sure the ornaments back at the house were few and far between, but what little the boys did have would fit nicely.
“I like it,” I admitted, giving him an impressed nod of approval.
“As good as they come back home?”
I patted him on the shoulder. “Now you’re pushing it.”
We stood back a few feet as Frankie bent at the knees and hoisted the tree and all its bristles to rest over his shoulder. The movement pulled his T-shirt up his torso and gave me a damning view of the lower half of his stomach and that teasing V of muscle below his belly button again.
He and Mateo started toward the sketchy tree park owner down the lane who was watching Frankie’s show of strength with a little too much excitement.
“Put your tongue back in your mouth,” Nat whispered.
I clamped my mouth closed.
“I need another drink, I think. The sun is getting to me.”
“Sure, Phee. And Frankie hasn’t been following you around like a puppy since you woke up this morning.”
“He’s pestering.”
“You’re loving it.”
I rolled my eyes. “He told me he unmatched me because he was too into me. That’s a cop-out, isn’t it? It’s a line to save his ass. I can’t just give in; he’s gotta earn it.”
“Maybe. He might be serious. I’ve known Frankie for a while now, and he’s not really the type to hit it and quit it.”
“He obviously is if he was trying to get lucky in Colorado Springs on a stayover.”
The two of us steered toward the front doors of the store and waited outside while the boys loaded the Christmas tree into the bed of Mateo’s truck.
“He’s in his mid-thirties. He’s basically the other woman at his own house.”
I giggled. “That’s funny, he thinks the same about you.”
“What?”
“Nothing—and besides the point. He could have been honest and just said I wasn’t what he was looking for, and I would have told him it’s fine.”
“And then you both would have been lying.” Natalia eyed me knowingly. “What’s the worst thing that could happen? You spend your holiday vacation getting eaten out by an attractive older guy who lends you his socks and makes you coffee in the morning?”
“So—what?” I threw my hands out. “The four of us just shack up with our Christmas tree and our festive decorations and hot cocoa until New Year’s and fuck like rabbits? Pretend I don’t have a career and a life in Colorado that my round-trip ticket is waiting to bring me back to like we’re in some big orgy snow globe?”
“I heard orgy snow globe?” Mateo chimed, tucking the car keys Frankie had just tossed to him into his pocket.
“They sell those in Walmart?” Frankie added.
“You’re all on the naughty list,” I scoffed, leaving them to catch up as I stalked inside.
9
Allowing Ophelia to roam freely in the holiday section of a store was sort of like letting a kid have free reign in a candy shop. Anything that sparkled or sang caught her attention and ended up in the cart that I pushed along beside her, and I instantly regretted that I’d said to “go crazy” after she added a pair of novelty Christmas dish towels that read Making Spirits Bright with whiskey glasses embroidered beneath it.
“Dish towels?” I protested. “Who needs decorative dish towels? I can’t even wipe my hands on them.”
“It’s about the ambiance,” Ophelia explained, eyeing the next shelf over full of coffee mugs. “Where did the other two go?”
“Not sure.” I played with the bells on a stocking as she chucked it, and three others, over my shoulder into the basket. “Something about needing rope and batteries, I think?”
“Oh yes, we’re definitely going to need batteries.”
I cruised along quietly, watching her and that tempting little tongue she flicked out when she was focused. Following her around a store felt entirely too domestic and comfortable for the reality of the situation. Anyone walking by would think Ophelia and I were together, holiday shopping for our home, running errands on a lazy Saturday. I secretly reveled in that idea, might have even played into it—reaching over her to grab something on a higher shelf, steering the edge of the cart with her, staring down any wandering eyes in her direction.
If she was thinking the same thing she didn’t show it. Zoning in on the task at hand, which was apparently turning our house into Santa’s fucking workshop while I made commentary hoping she might laugh. I enjoyed that girlish little sound so much I thought it should be bottled and sold. While O might still have been mad at me over the night before, I was creeping under her skin. Warming her slowly.
And despite Mateo’s initial disapproval, he’d made bets on us falling into bed together, and I wasn’t a man who didn’t follow through.