You Give Good Love

by J. J. Murray

  Dylan wiped his eyes.

  He nodded.

  He smiled.

  Then Dylan Healy laughed so loudly that Hope shrank back and several people moving by walked faster. “Merry Christmas, Brooklyn!” he shouted.

  The man has lost it! “Quick! Go inside!” You’re scaring the neighborhood!

  Dylan took the key and opened the door. “And it opened without a fight.” He held the door for Hope. “I can’t believe you did this.”

  Hope stepped inside. “Merry Christmas, Dylan.”

  He kissed her, locking the door behind them. He laughed again.

  I hear an echo!

  He turned to his left. “I see another card shop lurking over there.” He stomped on the floor. “Hardwood floors.” He looked up. “Where’s all that light coming from?” He grabbed Hope’s hand. “Let’s go look!”

  They tore up the stairs, two stairs at a time, pausing briefly on the second floor. “Look at those windows!” Dylan shouted. “They’ll catch the sunset every day!” He hugged Hope. “They used to be bricked up.”

  “I worked something out with Mr. Vacca,” Hope said, “and, oh, there’s a basement apartment.”

  “Yeah?” Dylan said. “Is it nice?”

  “I don’t know,” Hope said, holding him tightly. “My lease is up at the end of this month and I intend to live there.”

  Dylan stepped back and laughed. “You do? So do I! What’s it look like?”

  “I don’t know,” Hope said. “This is my first visit, too.”

  Dylan blinked rapidly. “You leased this place without looking at it.”

  Hope nodded.

  “You leased this place . . . blind?”

  That’s one way to look at it. “Yes.”

  Dylan hugged her. “I didn’t get your eyes fixed to lease strange buildings blind.”

  “I saw it with my heart,” Hope said. “My heart has never been blind.” Okay, once.

  Dylan nodded. “You’re right about that, cailín. Let’s go visit our apartment!”

  Hope held his hands. “Does this mean we’re moving in together?”

  Dylan grinned. “Yes, it does.”

  They returned to the first floor and tried several doors—a washroom and two storage closets—before finding a set of stairs down to the basement. Dylan found a light switch.

  Wow. It’s huge, paneled, and spotless, with built-in shelves, thick carpet, and—

  “Think all our stuff will fit?” Dylan asked. He opened a small washroom. “We may not fit in here. We’ll have to use lots of soap to squeeze in.” He walked into the kitchen. “This kitchen is fantastic!”

  It’s even bigger than mine is. This is ... perfect.

  “I know I shouldn’t ask,” Dylan said, “but . . . how much? No more than eleven a month, right?”

  Hope ran her fingers over a bookshelf. No dust. “Nine a month, one year lease, all utilities paid.”

  Hope felt strong arms around her. “You made him practically give this space away,” Dylan said, spinning her to face him. “So you put eighteen grand down?”

  “No,” Hope said. “I paid for five months plus the security deposit.”

  Dylan looked at the ceiling. “You put . . . Oh, Hope!” He laughed. “This is crazy! Have I said I love you today?”

  Hope smiled. “No.”

  “I love you! Oh, listen to that echo.”

  “It won’t echo for long,” Hope said. “I got you your first student, Mr. Vacca’s grandson Joey. He’ll start as soon as we open in January.”

  “January is in a week!” He lifted her into the air. “You are amazing!” He set her down gently. “And I don’t deserve you. I’ve completely lost my mind. What time is it? Oh, I don’t have a watch.” He checked his phone. “It’s almost five. We’ve got to go.” He pulled her to the stairs.

  “Go where?” Hope asked as they ascended.

  “We have to go out to eat now,” Dylan said.

  Hope pulled him to a stop at the front entrance. “I thought we were having a quiet little dinner at your place, you know, snuggle all night, roast some chestnuts by the open fire.”

  Dylan shook his head. “I’m too hungry and excited to do that right now.” He kissed her.

  “We could go to The Islands,” Hope said, “but we have to get there soon. They’re closing early.”

  Dylan shook his head, opened the door, put his hand on Hope’s sexy derriere, and gave her a firm push outside. “No time for that either. There’s a new place I want to try.” He turned and locked the door.

  “What’s the rush?” Hope asked.

  “We’ll need a cab,” Dylan said. “Come on.”

  He took her hand and dragged her around Staples to a parking lot, stopping in front of an old cab. “Get in.”

  Hope looked at the cab. “Where’s the driver?”

  Dylan took a set of keys from his pocket. “I am. It’s our cab. It’s a seventy-four Checker Cab with the original yellow paint.” He tapped his hand on the hood. “Yeah, the Checker decals and trim are missing, but it’s ours.”

  The man has lost his mind. “We now own a cab.”

  “Yes,” Dylan said. “Isn’t she beautiful?”

  “People will flag us down,” Hope said, “and they’ll flip us off when we don’t stop.”

  “Got it cheap, too,” Dylan said. “Runs great. Only ninety thousand brutally hard, Brooklyn miles on it.”

  He’s not hearing me. “Dylan, why did you buy a cab?”

  “And we’ll paint it every color of the rainbow,” Dylan said. “Yeah, and we’ll paint ‘Art for Kids’ Sake’ on it. People always look at the ads on cabs, right? It’ll be a rolling advertisement wherever we go.”

  Hope shook his arms. “Dylan, honey, why did you buy this cab?”

  “Oh. This is the same kind of cab I took when I was a kid. It’s a reminder of how far I’ve come.” He opened the door. “And look! It has bench seats so you can snuggle up to me while we drive. We’ll never have to walk or take the subway or ride the bus again. So do you like it?”

  Hope peered inside. It looks . . . like a cab. “It’ll take some getting used to.”

  “Like your hair,” Dylan said.

  “It’ll grow back,” Hope said.

  “And this cab will grow on you,” Dylan said. “Look at those original vinyl seats!”

  “Is it paid for?” Hope asked.

  Dylan nodded.

  No rent payments, no car payment, and it’s not as if he’ll ever have to drive to work. I can take it to work. Oh, I’ll need a license first. “I like this cab very much. Where is this restaurant?”

  “Kismet!” Dylan shouted.

  “What? That little town on Fire Island?”

  Dylan nodded. “Let’s go! We have a water taxi waiting.”

  They sped east to Fire Island, their cab purring along on six cylinders and nearly bald tires, past a million Christmas lights, the traffic lights mostly green, and arrived in Bay Shore in less than an hour thanks to sparse traffic and Dylan’s lead foot.

  On the chilly water taxi ride, Hope and Dylan rode inside with the pilot.

  “Are we going to the Kismet Inn?” Hope asked.

  “The other one,” Dylan said. “Surf’s Out. I’ve already called ahead with our order. You see, Hope, I wanted to establish our own Christmas Eve tradition. We will always eat Christmas Eve dinner on a beach for as long as we live, okay?”

  “I like it,” Hope said.

  “You only like it?” Dylan asked.

  “I love it,” Hope said, “and I love you.”

  They jumped off the boat and ran to Surf’s Out, which was minutes from closing.

  “Sorry we’re so late,” Dylan said. “I placed a carryout order. For Healy.”

  The cashier smiled. “I was beginning to think it was a prank.” She went into the kitchen and returned with five large bags and a two-liter of Pepsi.

  “What did you order?” Hope asked.

  “Lobster egg rolls, fish
and chips, that sort of thing,” Dylan said as he paid. “Oh, and a couple Grass Skirt sandwiches.”

  “What are they?” Hope whispered.

  “I don’t know,” Dylan said. “They sounded good.” He picked up the bags. “Let’s go.”

  “Where?” Hope asked, grabbing the Pepsi.

  “To the beach,” Dylan said. “We’re going to have a picnic.”

  “It’s freezing, Dylan,” Hope said.

  Dylan backed out the front door, holding it until Hope passed him. “I’ll keep you warm. Come on! Let’s go look at the ocean. I don’t want to miss what’s left of the sunset. That will have to be a Christmas Eve tradition, too.”

  They trotted down East Lighthouse Walk toward the beach.

  “We won’t be able to see to eat much longer,” Hope said, breathing hard.

  Dylan cut up a sand dune. “Follow me.”

  Hope trudged up the dune. “Where are we going?” She reached the top of the dune and saw a weather-beaten blue beach house. “Hey, there’s that lonely little cottage.”

  “And it has a deck with a picnic table on it,” Dylan said. “It doesn’t look as if anyone’s home. Come on.”

  Hope didn’t move. “Dylan, what are you thinking? This is private property.”

  “No one’s here, Hope,” Dylan said. “It’s Christmas Eve. Who goes to a beach house for a picnic on Christmas Eve? Besides us.”

  “It’s called trespassing.”

  Dylan sighed. “They’ll never know.” He continued to the little beach house, walking up onto the deck and setting the bags on the picnic table.

  Hope looked around. This is how horror movies begin.

  “Come on,” Dylan said. “You’re missing this view.”

  Hope stepped onto the deck. Springy thing. She set down the two-liter and slid carefully next to Dylan.

  “Look,” Dylan whispered.

  Hope looked out over the dune at a gorgeous purple-orange sunset sinking into the dark water. “It’s beautiful.” It’s more than beautiful. It is beauty.

  Dylan handed her a sandwich. “I think this is the Grass Skirt. Smells like steak.”

  Hope took a bite. “Delicious.”

  Dylan pulled out a bag of fries. “I wonder how much it would cost to live here.”

  Hope nudged his leg with hers. “All our arms and legs.”

  Dylan looked back at the beach house. “I don’t know. It’s a shack, right? It’s a fixer-upper. Paint’s peeling. Siding droops here and there. Not very big, what, maybe two bedrooms? This deck is spongy, and that roof has seen better days.”

  Hope looked out over the water, smelling the salt and feeling her ears turn to ice. “Bet it still costs at least a million.”

  “At least it has lots of windows,” Dylan said, opening the Pepsi. “No cups. We’ll have to share.” He took a long swig. “Oh, that window’s boarded up. That one has a crack. The whole exterior could use some paint.”

  Hope nodded. “I’ll bet it smells like mildew inside.”

  “And it doesn’t even have a house sign,” Dylan said. “I have noticed that people always name their beach houses. I’d name this one ‘Fix Me.’ ”

  Hope laughed. “That’s a rotten name for a beach house.”

  “It fits,” Dylan said. “I wouldn’t pay more than . . . four hundred thousand for this fixer-upper.”

  “Right,” Hope said. “Not for this view.”

  Dylan ripped a hunk out of his sandwich and wiped his lips. “Oh. Almost forgot.” He pulled a small wrapped box from his coat pocket. “One more present.”

  Hope dropped her sandwich and gripped Dylan’s leg fiercely. Oh my God! This is why he brought me here! He’s going to propose to me on a beach at sunset on Christmas Eve! “Dylan, you didn’t.”

  “I obviously did,” Dylan said. “Open it.”

  Hope removed the paper and held a fuzzy black box from Tiffany jewelers. “Oh my goodness, Dylan.” Her hands shook.

  “Open it,” Dylan said.

  Hope opened it slowly and saw . . . a beat-up, dingy brown key. This isn’t a ring! Where’s the ring? “Is this the spare key to the cab?”

  “Oh yeah,” Dylan said, munching more fries. “I need to get you one. I want to see you drive. I will enjoy giving you lessons, but no, that’s not a car key.”

  “Well, what’s it for?” Oh no! This was his way of asking me to move in with him! “Is this a spare key to your apartment? You were going to ask me to move in with you, weren’t you, only now we’ll be living—”

  “Nope,” Dylan interrupted.

  Oh no! “Dylan, you didn’t already lease another space, did you? And this is the key to—”

  “Nope,” Dylan interrupted again.

  Hope stared at the key. “Dylan, what’s this key to?”

  Dylan turned to her and smiled. He pointed behind him. “That door.”

  No . . . way . . . What? “That . . . door.”

  Dylan nodded. “That door. Go open it.”

  I can’t feel my body, and these goose bumps aren’t from the cold!

  Legs loose as jelly, nose tingling, and with no feeling in her hands, Hope stood and nearly dropped the key as tears formed in her eyes.

  “Open your door, Hope,” Dylan said.

  Tears flowed from her eyes. “I can’t believe it . . .”

  Dylan stood. “Believe it.”

  She held out her hand. “Help me.”

  Dylan guided her to the door.

  Hope slid the key into the lock and turned.

  She heard a click.

  This is my beach house.

  This . . . this is my dream.

  She turned the knob and pushed the door away from her.

  Dylan reached in and flipped several switches, instantly bathing the deck and interior in amber light.

  “This is ours?” Hope asked.

  “Yes,” Dylan said, “and the bank’s. Go in. I had a lot to do today to get everything ready for you. See all the sand outside? It was once inside. I will be sealing and resealing this house for years. Come on, Mrs. Claus. It’s getting cold out here. Come into your house.”

  Hope stepped inside, shutting the door behind her and seeing another Christmas card tree on the back of the door. In a corner sat a small, undecorated Christmas tree, above her a sprig of mistletoe. The large windows forming the front of the house were all streaked green with salt.

  “How many bedrooms?” Hope asked.

  “Two bedrooms, one bath,” Dylan said, “and the bathtub is huge, almost a two-seater.”

  She looked down at the threadbare blue indoor/outdoor carpet. “How did you . . . Dylan, what did you pay?”

  Dylan laughed. “I already told you. Four hundred thousand. I put eighty grand down.” He hugged her. “And I am flat broke! We will own it in about thirty years if we’re extremely thrifty, and you may have to keep working there. At Thrifty. Until you’re sixty. You’re really nifty. Merry Christmas!”

  Hope shivered. “It does have heat, doesn’t it?”

  “Not yet,” Dylan said. “We’ll have to use body heat tonight, but we’ll get some space heaters to take the chill out of the air.”

  Hope drifted through the beach house, peeking in the washroom (that tub is huge!), checking out the kitchen, and going upstairs to look at two small bedrooms. “Dylan, why did you buy me this house?”

  He held her close. “I liked your dream better than mine, and this dream will last us forever provided we fix it up.”

  Hope shook her head. “Your dream is much more practical than mine is.”

  Dylan pulled a board from a window, the remains of the sunset glowing into the room. “They’re both practical, and necessary. One dream will pay for the other.”

  One dream will pay for the other. “Can we afford it?”

  He removed another board. “Can we afford to have one dream pay for another? Of course!”

  “No, I mean can we really afford this house.”

  “Sure,” Dylan said. “
The payment on this house is only sixteen hundred a month.”

  No way! “Really?”

  Dylan nodded. “If you put twenty percent down, you get the best interest rates. For the price of rent in Brooklyn, you can afford a beach house fixer-upper on Fire Island. Now all we need to do is bring in eleven grand a month and we’ll have two places to live.”

  Hope stood beside him watching the sunset. “And how are we going to do that?”

  Dylan pulled her in front of him, nibbling on an ear. “I think I heard someone say that Odd Ducks was going to take off.”

  Hope sighed. “I was saying that to impress Mr. Yarmouth.”

  “You sold me,” Dylan said. “We’re already selling Valentine’s Day cards, aren’t we? That will pick up like crazy in January, and then there’s St. Patrick’s Day. Oh, the dill pickles we can draw. And then Easter. Think of all the people showing up for family pictures for those cards! All in their matching outfits. And we’ll have another card shop at Art for Kids’ Sake. Right there in the front window. That will give us two card shops like bookends on Flatbush Avenue. Won’t that be—”

  “Dylan, slow down,” Hope interrupted. She grabbed his face.

  “I can’t, cailín,” Dylan said. “There are so many possibilities!”

  “Dylan, please,” Hope said. “This is all so overwhelming. You know I don’t want to go back to Thrifty, but we’ll need all the money I can make until we get some children to instruct. How are we going to get fifty children in a week?”

  “That was for the other building,” Dylan said. “Twenty, heck, fifteen artists—and that’s what we’ll call them—fifteen artists ought to be enough, especially if you taught alongside me. I wouldn’t have to pay you a salary, would I? I could just give you lots of bonuses.”

  “I really like those bonuses, too, but . . .” Hope sighed. “Aren’t you worried?”

  “Nope,” Dylan said. “It’s Christmas Eve, Hope, and we are about to live our dreams.”

  “I know that, but . . .”

  “We will live in the basement apartment during the week and live here on the weekends,” Dylan said.

  “That sounds . . . I like that idea.” I love that idea. “Okay, but what about . . .”

  “When we’re at the art center, we’ll work on it,” Dylan said. “When we’re here, we’ll work on this. Both places are works-in-progress, aren’t they? Just as we are. We are a work-in-progress, and I am so glad we are progressing.” He kissed her nose. “And whatever we do, whether here or in Brooklyn, we will do it together.”