Merry Christmas, xo, Regina.
I package it in a pre-paid envelope, then head downstairs to ship it off.
CHRISTMAS
Rachel invited me to tag along with her and Saint on Christmas Eve to dinner and the poshest club in the city, but I’m exhausted after all the selling. My feet are killing me and my body is starving for a full meal after all the rapid-fire snacking during work breaks. I settle for Skyping with Trent that evening and having the turkey microwave dinner I picked up for myself. He sent me a text this last week.
Thank you for the gift. Going up in a frame soon! I guess I better send you those chocolates soon. Skype?
I’m happy and relieved that he liked the photo. It makes me think of Tahoe—and how his eyes looked so blue when he looked at the pictures. I’ve been wondering what he thought of them, if he really liked them. I’ve even been wondering if a part of me wanted him to see them, see me, feminine and lovely. Or at least trying to be.
I attribute these thoughts to my exhaustion, but I’m still thinking of him after Trent and I Skype and he hangs up to have dinner with his family. I settle down to watch Netflix and heat myself the microwave turkey dinner—there was no way I was going to cook a turkey just for me. I don’t think Rachel and I were ever even able to fit one into our tiny oven.
As the amusing little movie How the Grinch Stole Christmas plays and I fork pieces of turkey and rice into my mouth, I want to wish my T-Rex happy holidays but I don’t want to do it too directly, so I grab my phone and tweet him.
Merry Christmas @tahoeroth
My landline rings less than ten minutes later. I pick up and swallow the last bit of turkey in my mouth before answering.
“Hey.” I hear Tahoe’s familiar baritone on the other end of the line. “Merry Christmas to you too.”
I clutch the receiver tightly, totally not expecting his voice in my ear. “Hey. What are you up to?”
“Hitting this club with Carmichael and a few other friends. Want to come?”
I regretfully look down at my flannel checkered pajamas. “No, thanks.”
“Yeah, I didn’t think so. Well. Rachel said you were busy. Goodbye, Regina.”
“’Bye.” I hang up, and whisper, “T-Rex.”
I’m still watching the movie at midnight when I hear noise outside my apartment. If I were five, I’d leap to the window thinking it’s Santa Claus, but instead I blame the neighbors for the noise.
I ignore it for a minute, but I hear it again. I mute the Grinch and head over to the door and stand up on tiptoes to peer through the peephole. My breath seizes when I see a tall man outside.
I swing the door open and Tahoe stands on the other side. He’s dressed for the club in a black turtleneck and dark-wash jeans, his blond hair wet from a recent shower. He looks so delicious my mouth waters.
He smirks, but his blue eyes look a little stormy. “Got lost on my way to the club.”
I shake my head, a little breathless.
Yeah. Like this guy would get lost anywhere.
He walks in. “Actually, I didn’t like the idea of you here all by yourself.” He shuts the door behind him.
“I’m not by myself. I’m with the Grinch.”
“I’m comforted then. Hey, I got you something.” He reaches into the back pocket of his jeans with a wicked look in his eyes as he hands me an envelope.
I stare at it.
“It’s a tour of the Blommer Chocolate factory. I thought you might enjoy it,” he says.
“Tahoe.”
He smiles at me, but his eyes still look stormy. “She likes it,” he says.
“She loves it.” I frown. “But I didn’t get you anything.”
He takes a seat on my couch, and I sit down next to him.
“Yeah, you did,” he says.
“Uh, no. I did not.”
He looks at me, his tone low but firm, unapologetic. “Your picture. You didn’t lose it, I took it. You looked lovely and I took it.”
“Wait. What? Why?”
Heat blooms all across my body, and I hate thinking that I’m blushing head to toe.
“You collect those too?” I ask when he doesn’t reply.
He frowns darkly as if he dislikes me thinking this of him and continues looking at me with those tumultuous eyes, then he playfully purses his lips and pokes the tip of his finger into my tummy. “Not yet.”
“Yeah well, knowing you, you’re about to start.”
I rib him, frowning; he ribs me back, laughing for real at last. “What are we watching?” he asks.
“Your twin, the Grinch, whose heart will grow by the end of the film. Watch and learn.”
I motion to the TV and look down at his gift and I want to say thank you again but I can’t trust my voice to speak. It’s my first Christmas gift this year. My parents send me a $50 gift card every Christmas but it hasn’t arrived yet, and this is the first gift that someone actually took the time to choose for me.