by L. A. Witt
Christmas and carnival music mingled in the air. The closer we walked to the pier, the more I could smell everything from gingerbread to hot apple cider to something with pumpkin spice. Tiny colorful lights were hung from every surface and strung along the entire length of the pier, glittering against the black void of the ocean and sparkling on the gently rolling waves.
“They didn’t used to open it up on Christmas,” Diego said as we strolled into the fragrant, noisy, brightly lit chaos. “I heard someone talking about it the other day, though. So . . . seemed like something worth checking out.”
“Yeah, I’d say it is. Kind of reminds me of the Christmas markets they do in Europe.”
“You been to one?”
I nodded. “Angie and I went to Austria for Christmas one year. We must’ve spent two entire days at the market in Vienna.”
What was happening on the pier had definitely been modeled after one of those markets. In between the games and carnival rides, rows of booths had been erected, and people sold craft items like wreaths and ornaments. At least half a dozen were hawking candles, and there was definitely no shortage of mistletoe. A couple of twentysomethings had an edge on the mistletoe market thanks to their signs: Humanely trapped wild mistletoe. Corn-fed organic mistletoe. Gluten-free mistletoe.
I damn near bought some.
One lady had framed needlework, which I usually wouldn’t have noticed, but Diego glanced at one and laughed. “I think you need that one for your office.”
I read the delicate, flowery lettering out loud: “‘Take Your Bullshit Someplace Else.’”
We both snorted, and the lady smiled sweetly at us as we continued reading the similarly snarky work. I was tempted, but I didn’t want to carry anything right now, so we told her we’d be back and kept walking.
As we did, Diego’s elbow brushed mine. We exchanged glances, both smiling. A few steps later, another brush. The pier was way too crowded to walk any farther apart, and . . . who was I kidding? There was nothing appealing about putting more space between me and Diego.
But what about shrinking the space a little more?
I cleared my throat, creating a tiny cloud in the air. “Question.”
“Hmm?” He turned to me, eyebrows up as we kept moving with the crowd.
“Do you have any objection to . . . um . . .” I glanced down at our arms, which were dangerously close to touching again.
He was quiet for a second, but then a sly smile appeared on his lips. “Any objection to someone looking at us and guessing we’re a couple?”
My heart thudded at the last word. We were, weren’t we? Mute, I nodded.
Diego’s smile turned to something warmer, and he shook his head. “No. I don’t. What about you?”
My tongue was suddenly sticking to the roof of my mouth, so instead of speaking—and potentially saying something stupid—I freed my hand from my coat pocket and wrapped my arm around his waist.
Somehow, I was still surprised when he didn’t shy away.
And I was even more surprised when he wrapped his arm around me in return. We exchanged glances again, both smiled, and kept walking.
I didn’t notice much of the crafts for sale after that. I was too caught up in being this close to Diego, openly telling the world I was his and he was mine. The thrill made my head spin. I was distantly aware of a few dirty looks from other people, but I just didn’t care. After too many years of being starved for affection in a doomed marriage, the weight of his arm across my lower back warmed me more than a gallon of that hot apple cider could have. If someone from the ship saw us and realized I was with a man, fine, because that meant they’d know I was with him. With Diego.
Yep, I’m queer, and yep, he’s with me. Isn’t it awesome?
We stopped in front of a booth selling small wooden ornaments with designs burned into them. Behind the counter, the seller was carefully burning a detailed reindeer into a small round disc of pale wood. We silently watched him work, and it was impressive how quickly and precisely he made those dark lines.
Diego picked up one of the ornaments. Then he let go of me so he could turn it with his other hand. The cool spot where his arm had been was jarring. Like it had been hours, not just a few minutes, since he’d put it around me.
Kind of like how I swear you’ve been in my life longer than a few weeks.
My own thought jarred me, and my heart sped up as I watched Diego inspecting the tiny ornament. It was this weird feeling of where have you been all my life? and you’ve been here right from the start. My divorce, the loneliness, the long years of doing stupid shit like cheating—it was all a distant memory now because Diego was here. Because of course he was.
I stared at him. The twinkling lights above the booth picked out some of his gray hairs and the edges of those scars beside his eye. I remembered being intrigued by those and wanting to know the story behind them, because that would be a step closer to knowing the man behind them.
And now I did. I knew the story. I knew the man. I knew his scars and lines and the way he smiled, and how dizzy I could get from his playful laugh or wicked grin. It was hard to imagine him ever being a stranger.
Oblivious to me, Diego put the ornament back on the rack. Then he turned to me. “Ready?”
“When you are.”
He smiled, and we started walking again.
He didn’t put his arm around my waist this time, though. Instead, he laced our fingers together. As we strolled through the thick crowd, his thumb ran back and forth across mine, and I wondered if he knew what that was doing to my pulse. Or what he was doing to me just by being here.
I stole another look at him, and my heart gave a little somersault as Christmas lights danced across his features and that serene smile. He really was stunning, and not just in the way that had stopped me in my tracks the night I’d first laid eyes on him.
Early on, I’d wondered if I was discovering what falling for someone felt like.
Tonight, I knew how it felt to realize I’d already fallen.
“If anyone peeks in your windows,” Diego said the next afternoon, “they’re going to think we’re the most pathetic couple of bachelors they’ve ever seen.”
I laughed, but I couldn’t argue with him. If not for the pitiful tree glittering in the corner of the living room, no one would have guessed it was Christmas Day. The coffee table was covered in munchies and beer bottles, and we had a Star Wars marathon playing. Not the prequels, of course, since Diego refused to acknowledge they even existed. Just the three originals and the two newest ones.
We were both dressed down in sweats and T-shirts with the logos of our respective football teams. Neither of us had bothered to shave. We didn’t look like slobs, but we sure as hell weren’t fit for a church service. Not that either of us was planning to go to one today.
We’d both called our families earlier to wish them a merry Christmas. My parents had filled me in on the latest drama in their retirement community, where my dad was constantly battling with his neighbor over some issue involving a tree and my mom’s bridge club had developed a rivalry with the people who played dominoes down at the clubhouse. My dad had asked about the ship, and my mom had fretted about how I was doing since the divorce, and I’d just smiled as I’d run my fingers through Diego’s hair and insisted I was doing fine.
I couldn’t have repeated a single thing Diego had said while he was on the phone with his family, but admittedly, I’d listened just because I loved hearing him speak in his native language. That, and someone on the other end could make him laugh in a way that made my heart melt. Completely relaxed, not in the least bit self-conscious—God, he was beautiful.
After we’d made our respective calls, we’d settled in for the laziest Christmas imaginable.
With the credits rolling on Return of the Jedi, I got up and collected the empty bottles. “You want another one?”
He looked into the one in his hand. “Might as well top off before the next movie starts.
” He got up and followed me, bringing the empty Doritos bag too.
“Let me know when you want actual food,” I said as I put the bottles in the recycling bin. “I’ve got some frozen pizzas.”
Diego chuckled. “That is one festive Christmas dinner.”
“I know, right?” I pulled a couple of beers from the fridge. “Hell, I’m just happy I’m not stuck on board tonight.”
“You usually have to work on Christmas?”
“Used to. Doesn’t really happen anymore, but when I was a junior officer it did.” I popped the lid off one bottle and handed it to him. As I opened the other, I added, “You know how it is.”
“Oh yeah. I was on duty three Christmases in a row.”
“Jesus, really?”
Diego took a swig of beer as he half shrugged. “Luck of the draw.”
“I hear that.” I sipped my own. “Anyway, if it’s a choice between eating on the ship and having some sad frozen pizza at home? Easy.”
“Especially if you can have a beer with it.”
“Precisely.” I motioned toward the freezer. “So anyway. Holler if you want me to start preheating the oven.”
“Will do. I think I’m good for a while, though. I don’t know if Doritos count as lunch, but . . .” He waved a hand.
“Hmm, yeah. Point taken.” I wasn’t miserably full or anything. I just didn’t need to eat anytime soon. We started to head back to the living room, but I paused and put my free hand on his hip. “By the way, in all seriousness, I was expecting to spend Christmas alone this year. It, um, turned out a lot better than I expected.”
Diego smiled. “Yeah. Same here.” He lifted his chin and kissed me softly. “Just don’t tell my mom I did a Star Wars movie marathon with my boyfriend instead of going to Mass on Christmas.”
“Long as you don’t tell mine.”
“Deal.”
We clinked our beer bottles together, then shared another quick kiss before we continued into the living room.
“So.” I dropped onto the couch. “Rogue One?”
He sat beside me. “Definitely.”
I held up the remote, but hesitated. “You’re, uh, okay with this one? It’s got a lot more combat scenes and—”
Diego smiled, patting my leg. “It’s fine. I’ve seen it before. Thanks, though.”
“No problem.”
“But wait, weren’t we supposed to watch that one before Episode IV?”
I paused. “Shit. I think you’re right.” Then I reached for the remote. “Meh. Whatever.”
Diego laughed into his beer bottle. “You rebel, you.”
“To be fair, it is called ‘Rogue One.’”
“And I can’t imagine anything more rogue than watching the movies out of order.”
I shot him a glare. “I will put on the prequels.”
He stiffened. “You wouldn’t.”
“Try me.”
We locked eyes.
After a few seconds, he exhaled dramatically. “Fine. You’re a rebel and a rogue.”
“That’s what I thought.” I clicked on the movie and sat back beside him. He’d spent the last three movies curled against me, and he did the same thing now. I loved how we fit together, especially once I let out the recliner. Sitting like this, he could keep his leg fairly straight or propped on a pillow and didn’t seem to get too sore.
Even with our combined body heat, the room was cool, so I dragged the blanket off the back of the couch and draped it over our legs. Somehow, that made it feel like we were cuddled even closer than before. I didn’t question it. I just sat here and enjoyed his warmth while we watched the movie.
When the credits rolled, Diego shifted a little but didn’t get up.
I ran my hand up and down his arm. “Comfortable?”
“Mm-hmm.” He stretched, then draped his arm across my stomach. “Force Awakens?”
I glanced around for the remote. It was just out of my reach. The only way I was getting it was if Diego moved and let me sit up.
I rested my hand on his shoulder. “It can wait a few minutes.”
“Fine by me.” He sighed happily.
We stayed like that for a little while, but eventually, he sat up to twist a crick out of his back.
“You okay?” I asked.
“Yep.” He turned to me and smiled. “Too long without moving.”
“I know the feeling.” I tucked the recliner in and sat up myself. Yeah, I was getting a bit stiff too. When I stretched, my back cracked loudly.
Diego laughed. “Getting old?”
“Shut up.”
He chuckled and wrapped an arm around my waist. “I told you, I’m going to milk the age jokes until I turn forty.”
“And when you do?” I pulled him closer. “You are never going to hear the end of it.”
He snickered softly but let me draw him in for a kiss. A kiss that kept right on going, until we weren’t fighting off laughter anymore but were completely engrossed in what we were doing. Diego’s fingers slid up into my hair, and the tip of his tongue teased my lips apart. I ran a hand up the inside of his thigh. He gasped, fingers tightening in my hair.
“If anyone peeks in my windows now,” I said between kisses, “I doubt they’ll think we’re a couple of bachelors.”
Laughing, Diego slid his hands down my back. “Hmm, no. Probably not. Think we should give them a show?”
I didn’t answer.
But if anyone did peek in my windows, they definitely got a show.
The annual New Year’s Eve party at the High-&-Tight was legendary. Even some of the people who stuck to the clubs in Flatstick came up to Anchor Point for this, so we had a packed house. It was a great night to be a bartender too—I’d be flush with cash for days even after I sent a nice chunk to my family.
A couple of my coworkers were handing out glittery hats and masks, but they didn’t bother offering one to me. They all knew I hated stuff like that. I was the Ebenezer Scrooge of party favors, according to them. I let them think that. It was easier than explaining that I didn’t like things on my face or my head because even lightweight paper brushed the same nerve endings where my protective headgear and NVGs had sat.
It was weird, the shit that could send me into a tailspin. One of my friends from the military couldn’t handle flashing lights, especially strobes. They didn’t bother me at all. Hell, one of my buddies from the war zone had freaked out after someone in a crowd bumped hard into her shoulder. The crowd had already been making her nervous, and something about the impact of his shoulder slamming into hers reminded her of a weapon’s recoil, and it had taken three people to get her outside and bring her down from the flashback.
Me? I didn’t like anything on my face. Not even sunglasses. If I ever had to start wearing glasses, I was going straight to contact lenses.
Movement caught my eye, and when I looked up from filling a pint glass, my heart went wild. It wasn’t a panicked reaction, though. Quite the opposite.
“Hey you.” Mark leaned on the bar.
“Hey.” I grinned and gave him a just a sec gesture. I finished with the customer’s beer and settled up. Then I wiped my hands on a towel and turned back to Mark. “Sorry about that.” I leaned partway over the bar for a kiss. “Glad you came.”
“Me too.” His gaze flicked to my lips, then met mine, doing crazy shit to my pulse as the disco lights played in his eyes. “Didn’t want you to spend New Year’s alone.”
“Alone?” I gestured at the thick crowd. “You call this alone?”
Mark slid a hand up my arm and winked. “I have a different kind of not-alone in mind. For later.”
I gulped. “Oh yeah?”
“Mm-hmm.” He leaned closer, gesturing for me to do the same, and his low growl barely carried over the music: “I want to start the new year barely being able to walk.”
The noise swallowed up my whimper, and the room was suddenly ten degrees hotter. In his ear, I said, “I think we can arrange that.”
&nbs
p; “Good.” He kissed my cheek, then my lips, staying there a second longer. When he drew back, he gave me a wink that almost dropped my knees out from under me.
I cleared my throat. “You don’t want me to be able to concentrate tonight, do you?”
He just laughed.
Rolling my eyes, I smirked at him. “All right, smart-ass. You want a drink or something?”
“I wouldn’t mind a Corona.” He took out his wallet, but I waved him off.
“You know I’m not going to charge you for it.” I took out the bottle, popped the top, and put in the lime wedge. “Now go dance so I have something to keep me entertained.”
Mark chuckled as he pocketed his wallet again. “Am I that bad of a dancer?”
“You know you’re not.”
Another wink. Then he took the bottle, toasted me with it, and slipped into the crowd.
“That your boyfriend?” Chase, another bartender, asked.
I couldn’t help grinning as I nodded. “Yeah.”
Chase whistled. “Damn. He’s hot.”
Beaming, I nodded. “Yeah, he is.”
Chase eyed me. “Since when do you date guys in the service?”
“Since him, apparently.”
He laughed. “Can’t blame you. He’s a little old for me, but damn, I’d bend all kinds of rules to get with that.”
“You have no idea.” I’d meant to sound smug, but it came out . . . reverent? As I watched Mark out on the dance floor, I just . . . couldn’t . . .
He was mine. Somehow, that man wanted me, and I wanted him, and when the party was over, we’d be going home together. He . . . was mine.
“Can I get a vodka martini?” The voice snapped me out of my daze, and I turned to see three guys in sparkly New Year’s hats watching me expectantly.
I shook myself, nodded, and started pouring the drink. I could ogle Mark later. Right now, I had tips to earn.
At a little before midnight, Hank cut half the bartenders loose. Those of us who’d worked all night last year got the rest of the night off this year. With a fat wad of tips in my wallet already, not to mention the credit card tips I’d collect from my boss later, I was happy to take an early night for once.