CHAPTER SIX
Tom
Hailey and I drive home together. She’s nervous and fidgety in the truck, changing the radio station around after a minute or two into each song. Something’s up.
When she reaches for the glove box, I swat her hand away and swerve into the opposite lane.
“What do you need in there?” I give her one of my flirtiest smiles. “Condoms a plenty at home.”
“Ha ha. Are you hiding something?” She reaches for the handle and pulls, only it doesn’t budge. Because it’s locked. Her eyebrow lifts in question.
“I think it’s jammed.” I point out her window. “Was that a coyote?”
There is no coyote. I need a distraction.
She turns her head to look out the back window. When she faces me again, she squints to study me, but doesn’t say anything.
I need to make it home and get her inside, before her death stare makes me blow everything. She can be scary when she puts on that face.
We bump along the dirt road to my house. When we reach the clearing, a few fat snowflakes hit the windshield.
“Ooh, it’s snowing.” She jumps out of the cab as soon as I put it in park. Tilting her head back, she slowly spins with her arms out. Snowflakes land and melt on her coat and scarf, disappearing almost instantly. I lean against the warm hood of the truck, watching her enjoy the first snow of the season.
A certainty swells up within me. I didn’t really have a plan for proposing other than asking my grandmother for one of the family rings. I was stunned when she gave me the one Pops proposed with. Over time she upgraded and changed styles, but this is the one he picked out all those years ago when money was tight and their future endless.
The ring is more of a diamond covered band than one of those rings with a big hunk of rock. It’s far from flashy or a big statement. Hailey isn’t that type of woman anyway. She doesn’t even really wear jewelry. Something simple with a story behind it will be perfect. I hope.
What do I know about rings and women? What if she wants a new ring and a big diamond? My heart begins to race. I could seriously blow this whole thing with the wrong ring.
“It’s always magical.” She sighs and opens her eyes. “What? Why are you staring at me like that?”
I inhale, trying to stuff my rising panic back down. Blowing out a slow, long exhale, I try to give her a confident grin. I feel anything, but confident right now. My palms are damp with sweat. Blood races in my ears. I try to take another breath, but my lungs won’t cooperate. Black spots dot my vision. What is going on?
“Tom?” Hailey rushes over to me. “You’ve gone pale. Are you okay?”
Her voice is far away even though she is only a few inches from my face. Her hands cup my head. I attempt to focus on her eyes, but they keep going all soft and blurry.
“You look like you’re going to pass out.” She gives my head a little shake.
I can’t answer her. Instead, I slump against the truck, sliding down until I’m sitting against the front passenger tire.
“Tom.” Her voice is all muffled and tinny. “Put your head between your knees.”
I do as she suggests, tilting forward to rest my head on my knees. Cold air and snow prickle against my exposed skin covered in a thin layer of sweat. I’m hot, but I shiver at the sensation. I practice breathing like it’s a new thing for me.
“I’ll be right back.” Her boots stomp on the gravel in the direction of the house.
I’ve blown the moment big time. At least I didn’t have the ring out before I almost passed out from nerves like a virgin on prom night. Not that I would know. I wasn’t a virgin at prom.
When the world stops spinning, I lift my head. Snow is sticking to the tarps and the pine trees across the yard. So much for just flurries tonight. I stare up at the falling flakes. They float and drift down on me. It’s quiet and peaceful out here. I don’t know where Hailey’s gone to, but I think I can stand. I push off the ground. Things are still fuzzy, but the dizziness has passed.
Small yippy barks break the silence. It’s not a coyote’s high-pitched howl. It sounds like–
A tiny fur-ball comes careening around the front tire, barking at me. I’m sure he thinks he’s fierce. Immediately he begins tugging on the leg of my jeans. The thing growls and tugs at the denim like he’s going to take me down. It’s like a chipmunk going after a bear.
I bend to pick him up, careful to avoid his mouth. He won’t let go of my jeans, until I put my finger in the jaws of death to get him to release. His incredibly sharp teeth graze my skin a few times like tiny knives.
“Hey, fierce little–“ I turn the pup over. “–Little dude. What’s up with the attack mode? You going to take me down?”
He squirms in my hands, wiggling himself around to chomp on my fingers or sleeve.
“Ouch! Now, you’ve got to stop that.” I suck on my finger where he’s made contact. At least there’s no blood. “Where did you come from? Whose evil puppy are you?”
He’s not wearing a collar or tags. We’re close enough to my sister’s house that he could have escaped from there, but he would’ve had to walk through the woods to get here. I doubt he’d be able to make it.
I tuck him under my arm like a football, so he can’t bite me. I open the door and unlock the glove box to get the ring. The puppy tugs on my coat sleeve. I drop him and the ring box on the floor of the truck. He immediately goes after the box. I’m not worried he can swallow it because it’s bigger than his jaw, but he’s got it in his teeth.
I try to grab the box. He thinks it’s a game, scampering around in the truck. I lean in further to get it, resting on my stomach across the seat to grab him before he gets himself wedged someplace I can’t reach him.
“What are you doing?” Hailey’s finally returned. “I went to get you some water, but then I got distracted because I lost something in the house. Why are you lying face down in the truck?”
“Got you!” I make a final grab for the puppy and wrap my hand around his belly. I shove back off the seat and onto my feet. Holding the tiny dog above my head in triumph, I forget he’s holding the ring box in his teeth.
“Oh! You found Nameless.” She sounds relieved. “What’s that in his mouth?”
Oh, crap.
“Nameless?” I tuck him under my arm again and attempt to extract the cream velvet box before she can figure out what it is. Nameless growls and squirms, but unless I want to get bit again, he’s not giving up his new toy.
“I, um, he’s …” She stumbles over her words. Smiling she shouts, “Merry Christmas! I got you a puppy.”
I stare at her in disbelief. “You got me a poodle puppy?”
Her smile is warm, but a little nervous. “I did. He’s a Labradoodle.”
“You got me a dog.” I take a few steps closer. Now we’re inches apart. “You got us a dog.”
She nods, her expression soft and full of love. “I did. You can name him, though. That’s why I’ve been calling him Nameless.”
I kiss her because I don’t know what to say. I kiss her because I love her.
Nameless uses my distraction to bite my arm again.
I jerk back from Hailey, nearly dropping the puppy. I fumble, but save him from falling.
The box drops onto the ground.
I’m pretty sure my hand is bleeding.
She bends down to pick up the box. The velvet is soaked in puppy saliva. So gross. She holds it between two fingers. “What’s this?”
My breath goes shallow again. Her own expression holds an edge of panic.
This is one of those fork in the road life moments.
I can toss the puppy at her, hoping she’ll drop the box to save him, and then I can stuff the box in my pocket, and deny everything.
Or I can man up, and do what I know I want.
I take the box and hand her the puppy. He stops squirming and settles into the crook of her arm. I swear he even gives me a smug look like he belongs there. If anyone is go
ing to snuggle Hailey, it’s going to be me. He’s going to sleep on a dog bed. Downstairs.
My pulse races again, but I take a deep breath, calming myself.
I bend down on one knee, and look up at her. Her eyes are shining with tears. I say a silent prayer that they’re happy tears before speaking.
“Hailey King, will you do me the honor of being my wife?” I open the box on the second try and present the ring to her.
She’s nodding, but hasn’t said yes. Snow swirls around and sticks to her hair, even her lashes have a few flakes that slowly melt into the tears now running down her face.
The ground is cold so I stand up still holding the ring and its box. “Is that a yes?”
She nods again before kissing me. The memory of the cold snow and her warm mouth will stay with me always. I don’t need a verbal yes. Her kiss tells me she’s mine.
I slip the ring onto her finger and enclose her in my arms.
She’s my world.
My love.
My future.
The puppy bites my arm. Again.
I think about building him a heated doghouse as I carry them both inside the house.
Olaf's Christmas Carol
“It’s the hap, happiest time—”
No.
No more.
The carolers have surrounded my front door again and are caterwauling loud enough to send the town’s feline population into spontaneous heat. If I had a fire hose, I’d spray the crowd. The town should give me a medal for restoring peace and quiet.
Enough!
A man can only handle a certain amount of cheer before his brain begins to seep out his ears and his soul shrivels into a dried husk in the hollow shell of his chest.
No, not a roasted chestnut shell either.
Don’t get me started on all the traditional garbage women force their families to eat because it’s Christmas.
Fruitcake is a monstrous abomination of the words fruit and cake.
Mincemeat? In a pie? Stop it right now. No, I don’t care if nuts and raisins are involved. You lost me at the word mincemeat. Not to mention raisins.
I had a grandmother who liked to set a plum pudding on fire after she dramatically turned off all the lights in the dining room on Christmas Eve. In my innocence, I was fascinated by lighting food on fire. That had to mean it would be amazing. Wrong. I never expected her to make us eat the flaming corpse of my shattered Christmas illusions.
Another painful right of passage from childhood is discovering your parents made you sit on a strange man’s lap and took pictures for posterity.
Is there something about the Santa suit that smells like urine or do they only hire incontinent men for the part? I’m asking for a friend. It’s been years since I’ve been close enough to smell the foul stench of lies and stale beer.
To make the worst month of the year worse, I have to deal with the annual Sip ’n Stroll taking over downtown Langley and clogging up the Dog House with merry revelers, aka sippers, who nurse a single beer and take up limited space for way too long.
Worse, the college kids who are junior alcoholics, return to the island and think the law of the great state of Washington doesn’t apply to them or their half-pickled livers.
Hiring a bouncer to sit at the door and check IDs costs me money.
“Bah humbug,” I mutter to myself as I pull a pitcher for a group of grown ups wearing green-striped onesie pajamas and Santa hats. Outside and in public for crying out loud.
I hope the good baby Jesus can’t see the festival of the ridiculous his birthday has become.
“Olaf, did you just say—” John Day asks from the other side of the counter where he’s waiting for his own pitcher. Thank the sweet Baby Jesus he’s wearing normal pants. His dark eyes hold a concern I’ve finally cracked my nut.
“Bah humbug.” I spit out the words, carefully enunciating my disdain. “And don’t go calling me Scrooge. Ebenezer was a rich man. You see any bags of gold sitting around this place?”
“I think you’re confusing the Dickens character with Scrooge McDuck, Old Man.” Tom Donnely shares his unwanted opinion from the other side of John. I didn’t see him come in. He’s sporting one of those neon orange Carhatt beanies over his shaggy blond hair. The man always needs to be the center of attention. Guess dressing like a traffic cone works.
“You call me old again and you’re banned for the rest of the year.”
“That’s only ten days. Might be worth it.” The light to John’s dark, Donnely strokes his blond beard in thought. “You going to have your tough bouncer throw me out, too?”
I follow the jerk of his head to the man outside the door. Carter Kelso, wearing a set of reindeer antlers, is set up on a stool outside. He brought his own flashlight to check for fake IDs. I have little faith in either Kelso offspring, but he eagerly volunteered for a few pitchers of beer and an agreement I’ll recommend his goat business.
The boy is starting a goat business. I have no words for that nonsense.
At least it’s better than last year when his younger brother stole one of my stools to take advantage of the mistletoe vandals hang all over town every year. Okay, the vandals are really the Ladies of Perpetual Annoyance or some other committee formed to better the town and bug honest business owners like myself. Bunch of miscreants with access to a suspicious amount of ribbon, if you ask me.
“Shouldn’t you be home with your women instead of harassing me in my own establishment?”
John shrugs. “Diane’s with Hailey down the street buying yarn or something. They keep talking about learning how to crochet.”
“Knit,” Tom interjects and gives his friend a smug smirk. “Something about tiny booties for the next baby.”
“Or your baby.” John teases back.
Tom stills his face and flattens his lips. “I expect I’ll know that information before you.”
“Don’t tell me if you’re working on making that happen. Try to keep it to yourself,” I say.
Tom gives me a small salute. “Speaking of our better halves, they may be awhile. I saw them go into the tasting room before we came in here. ”
“With the baby?” I ask.
John smiles. “Alene doesn’t mind. She loves the lights. And being snuggled against Diane is her favorite place to be.”
“Can’t blame her.” Tom dodges John’s attempt to slap his shoulder. “I’m talking about the warm comfort of a mother’s touch. Jeez.”
No way in hell his original comment is innocent.
Ignoring Tom, John continues talking with a soft look in his eyes like he wants to walk to the end of the block and check on his women. “My aunt will pick her up and bring her home for the night.”
Tom open palm successfully makes contact with his friend’s shoulder. “Getting some action at the Saratoga tonight?”
“Aren’t you banned from there?” I ask, already knowing the answer. During a holiday party for Donnely Boats last week, Tom and Hailey got caught having relations in one of the inn’s rooms. What a man and woman do behind closed doors is nobody’s business. Unless the door and the room don’t belong to them. Tom tried to blame it on being newlyweds, but management didn’t buy it.
The couple from Indiana who had reserved the room wrote a helluva review on Trip Advisor. Heard Tom framed a copy.
“O!” a familiar voice shouts from the double-saloon doors. Erik Kelso shoves his way through the crowd.
“The night gets better,” I mumble and start a pint for him.
I blink twice when he sets his hoof on the counter.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I eye the rest of his get up. I expect Tom Donnely to be a ham, but after all that bullshit earlier this year with Erik’s naked tuckus, you’d think he’d keep a low profile.
Not dress himself up as the Christmas ass.
Erik glances over his shoulder and then down at his brown furry chest. “Nothing?”
With a shake of my head, I point out the obvious. “You
’re a grown man. Halloween was two months ago.”
John and Tom chuckle into their pint glasses.
“Where’s the Christmas spirit, O? No respect for Rudolf?”
The red dot on his nose makes more sense now.
“The sign says no shirt, no service. Don’t make me amend that to ban hooves in here. Again.”
John coughs as he sputters on his beer. “Again?”
“Someone put a cow in the backroom in the early twentieth century when this was a private club. You boys should learn your island history better.”
“When are you going to stop calling us boys?” Tom asks, looking put out.
“Never. You’ll always be younger than me and lacking good sense. You paying for those beers? Or you want a tab?”
“Start a tab,” Erik says. “On me.”
My eyes bugs out a little at his offer. I’ve never known a Kelso to be generous when it comes to money. If they could, they’d help out a friend without hesitation, but mostly by doing the physical labor. Most of the time growing up they didn’t have twenty dollars in their wallets. Coffee business must be good.
“Oh for crying out loud,” I say when I see Erik’s wearing a fluffy deer tail on the back of his brown velvet costume. He catches me staring and shakes his backside for my benefit.
“The only onesie a grown man should wear is a Union Suit.”
“With the trap door? Sexy, O!” Erik joins John and Tom at a table on the far side of the pool table.
I think about padding his bar tab for being a pain in my ass.
More people pile through the front door and fill the space around the stools. I’m grateful for hiring some kid as a bar back to help out during the holidays.
He’s stranger than the Kelsos and named Falcon. Yes, that’s really his name. I had to check his ID when I hired him.
And if he asks one more time if he can set up his drums in the corner for a drumming circle, I’m going to fire him.
Very Merry Wingmen Holiday Collection Page 4