Christmas Cowboy

by Claire Adams

  She ducked her head shyly. “You were too.”

  “How about this?” I suggested. “You must have something in this house that could be cooked for breakfast. Why don't I make us breakfast?”

  Gretchen rolled her eyes. “Like you know how to cook,” she said, a teasing note in her voice. “You probably have someone come in to cook all of your meals back home.”

  I laughed and shook my head. “I've always enjoyed cooking,” I admitted. “It's a little less fun when you're just cooking for yourself, but it’s a necessity, right?”

  “The mysterious talents of Christian Wall,” Gretchen said, shaking her head. “Why don't we whip something up together? If you can make some eggs, I'll heat up some pre-cooked hash browns that I batch-cook, and then I'll make some fruit and yogurt parfaits.”

  I grinned at her, liking the idea of us being there in the kitchen together, working in tandem. “That sounds like a great idea,” I said. “And I can cook eggs.”

  “Can you poach them?” Gretchen asked. “Because that's the only way that I eat eggs.”

  I blinked over at her and then frowned. “I can try,” I said. “I'm sure there's a how-to video out there somewhere on the internet. Usually, I just fry mine or, sometimes, scramble them.”

  Gretchen burst out laughing. “I'm just kidding,” she said. “Anything sunnyside up to over medium is fine. I'd take them hardboiled if that's what you wanted to do.”

  I laughed and shook my head. “Minx,” I told her, pulling her into my arms and kissing her, trying to ignore how much that simple action turned me on.

  “Come on,” she said, leading me toward the stairs. “I'm hungry.”

  After a mutually-cooked breakfast, which was surprisingly filling and tasty, we decided to go for a walk on the beach. It was my suggestion; I knew that I needed to tell Gretchen that I was looking at flights home. I'd reached the decision at some point the previous night, or maybe that morning, when I'd woken up with her head pillowed on my chest. It wasn't fair to keep it from her.

  Still, having reached the resolve that I needed to tell her and telling her were two entirely different things.

  “I can't imagine living someplace where there wasn't a beach.” Gretchen sighed, shaking her head. “I've just always lived within walking distance of the beach. It's where I do most of my deepest thinking.”

  “It's nice,” I agreed. I paused. “New York doesn't have a beach. Not like this.” I didn't know why I said it. It wasn't as though I was trying to ask her to come back with me. I was about to tell her that I was leaving. The whole thing was just hideously out of place.

  “Yeah, I know,” she said softly. She shook her head. “Honestly, I wouldn't match the pace of New York anyway.”

  “I know,” I told her. Because that was truth. I bit my lower lip, wondering if she knew exactly what I was trying to say, without my even having to say it.

  I took a deep breath, preparing to let it out. It was like ripping off a Band-Aid. Before I could get the words out, someone called from behind us.

  “Chris! Christian!”

  I spun around, wondering if someone from the paparazzi had finally caught up with me or something. I knew they were interested in this Hawaiian girl who I was spending all my time with, or maybe they were wondering what I was planning to do with my Christmas. Maybe they were looking to share some photos with their customers, as some cheesy Christmas special, which had happened before more times than I could count.

  But when I turned around, I stopped short, staring back at the guy running across the sand toward us. He came to a stop near us, and I knew him. I recognized him.

  I stared at him for a long moment, and he stared back at me, unwavering no matter how many times I blinked my eyes. “Jeff?” I finally asked.

  My brother nodded at me, looking unhappy to see me. “What are you doing here?” he asked, as though he might somehow have more right to be here than I did. “Last thing anyone heard, you had fucked off your business for a few months, but did you have to pick the same place as me for your annual vacation? I've been coming here for years now.”

  I shook my head. “I didn't know that,” I admitted. “I've been here for a month or so now.” I nudged Gretchen forward. “This is Gretchen; she's-”

  “Another of your fuck toys,” Jeff surmised, without even letting me say otherwise. “God, I can't even believe you, parading around the globe with these girls like-”

  “That's not what this is,” I interrupted before Gretchen had to hear more about this. She was already moving further away from me, and even though there was only probably a foot between us, it felt like an uncrossable distance in so many ways.

  “So, what is it?” Jeff asked, a sneer on his face.

  “I've been…” I trailed off, wondering how even to word things. I'd been what? Gretchen and I had never talked about what we were to one another, and with me going off to New York in a couple of weeks at the most, we were never going to be anything to one another.

  I blushed brilliantly and ducked my head, like a schoolboy caught in some lewd act.

  “That's what I thought,” Jeff said, taking that as some admission of guilt. “God, Christian, couldn't you for once grow up and be the responsible adult that you're supposed to be by this point? We're all waiting for that day.” Then, he shook his head. “Not that that day is ever going to happen.”

  He spun away from us before I could respond, stalking off down the beach. For a moment, I was struck by the urge to go after him, to make him listen to me. To make him understand who Gretchen was to me.

  But I was still so shocked by the whole thing, by the fact that I had run into Jeff here, after carefully avoiding him for so many years.

  “Who was that?” Gretchen asked cautiously, and I couldn't help but grimace, suddenly remembering that she was there, that she had seen all of this awkwardness.

  “That was my brother,” I admitted.

  “I thought you didn't have any family left,” Gretchen said, her voice tight. When I looked down at her, her face looked tight, as well it might; she was probably wondering how many things I had lied about over the past few years.

  “We're not close,” I finally managed.

  “But he still exists,” Gretchen snapped.

  “Yeah,” I admitted. I sighed, rubbing a hand over my face. That day had started so good, not when I considered the fact that I had been planning to tell her all about my plans to disappear to New York sooner rather than later, but other than that, it was good.

  Gretchen reached up and yanked off the new necklace that I'd given her, throwing it down in the sand. I felt a stab of pain and tried desperately to think of something I could say to her.

  “Gretchen, please,” I said, my voice filled with raw emotion. “There's a lot of unhappy feelings there. We haven't talked in years, and if I’m being honest, I'm not a good guy. If you've read anything about me, you must know that. You know the kinds of things that I've gotten up to. And the thing with my brother is that we weren't really close as kids,” I admitted. “But through college, with both of us going to schools in different states, we got a lot closer. He always supported me, when I was only dreaming of going into real estate. Once I made my money, I…” I trailed off. “I'm not a good person.”

  “What did you do?” Gretchen asked.

  I was silent for a long moment. “I was an absolute dick to him, I guess,” I admitted. “Gretchen, I'm not a good guy.”

  Gretchen leaned up on her tiptoes and kissed me softly, chastely. “Stop saying that,” she said quietly, urgently. “Stop saying that you're not a good person. You might not be the best guy I’ve ever met, but I don't think you're a bad guy. You maybe did some things that weren't so good, but I don't think you're a bad guy, under all of that. Misguided, maybe, but not bad.”

  I spun away from her, shaking my head. “You don't know-” I started to say.

  But Gretchen spun with me, catching my arms in firm hands. “Yes, I do,” she said sincerel
y, looking up into my eyes. “Christian, do you think that I'd be here if I didn't think that you were a good guy?” she asked.

  “I don't know!” I exploded.

  Gretchen's finger came up to seal my lips, though. “Yes, you do,” she said softly. “And you know it, deep down. Maybe you didn't treat your brother the best. But that doesn't mean that you aren't a good guy. And he'd know that if he got to know you again.”

  “He'd hate me,” I protested, shaking my head.

  “I don't think anyone could hate you,” Gretchen said sincerely. I looked down into her serious eyes and had to at least consider that maybe she was right.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Gretchen

  I took my third day off from work to strictly pamper myself, spending most of the day lying out in the sun and reading a book. It was relaxing, but there was something hollow inside of me as I finished reading the last book and thought about things with Christian. It was enough to have me calling him up that night.

  “Hey,” he said warmly when he answered the phone. “How's the solo day going?”

  I sighed and shook my head. “To be honest, I miss you,” I said plaintively.

  “Aw, baby,” he said. “What are you doing right now?”

  “Curled up on the couch trying to watch some TV. Thinking about ordering a pizza or something for dinner, but not sure what I want.”

  He laughed. “That sounds nice,” he said.

  “What are you up to?” I asked.

  I could almost hear his shrug over the phone. “Not much,” he admitted. “I went out with Mark and some of his friends, but they've all paired off, and I'm just sitting here now. It's kind of weird to go to a bar when you're not with someone, and you're not trying to take someone home.”

  I laughed. “I can only imagine,” I said. Then, I blurted out, “Do you want to come over?”

  “Are you sure?” Christian asked teasingly. “Or would that interrupt your personal day?”

  “I've had enough of that by now,” I admitted. “I'd like to see you.”

  “I'll be over in a minute,” he said.

  In the end, we didn't have sex, but we did watch a couple of great movies and ate our way through most of a pizza. We passed out together on the couch, so I counted that as a success. At some point in the night, Christian must have woken up and moved us upstairs, because I woke up in my bed, with him spooning me. I shifted away from him and made a couple soft, sleepy noises.

  “Good morning,” he said into the nape of my neck.

  I hummed in response. “Thanks for coming over,” I said quietly.

  “Thanks for having me over,” he retorted. “I needed this.”

  I laughed. “We just saw one another the day before yesterday,” I reminded him. “And it's not like we had sex or anything like that last night.”

  “No,” he agreed. “But, I can't stop thinking about the whole thing with Jeff,” he finally admitted. “I know I shouldn’t, but the guy clearly wasn't happy to see me. I should just let bygones be bygones.”

  “He's your brother,” I reminded him quietly. “You can't just let bygones be bygones.”

  He sighed. “I know.” He shook his head. “The thing is, I would never even be considering working things out with him if it weren't for you,” he admitted. “I feel like this is kind of silly, but I feel like I've honestly become a better person since I've known you, Gretchen. In so many ways. You were telling me the other day about how you think I'm a good person? I don't think I was, but maybe I'm starting to become one.”

  “You can't just become a good person,” I said sagely. “You were always a good person, there underneath. Maybe you did some not-so-good things, but that doesn't mean that you were ever not a good person underneath.”

  He sighed. “You have too much faith in me,” he told me.

  “And you should make things right with your brother,” I said.

  “I don't even know where he's staying,” Christian protested. “How am I supposed to find him? This island isn't exactly tiny.”

  “In order to run into us the other day on the beach, he must be staying in one of the hotels near there,” I pointed out.

  “Or at an Airbnb or something like that,” he reminded me.

  “Start with the hotels, and if you can't find him, then we'll start broadening our search,” I said firmly. I sighed and rolled out of bed; no matter how comfortable it was, unfortunately, I couldn't stay there for the whole day. “I wish I could spend the whole day in bed with you, but I do have to get into work today, I've taken enough time off already.” Christian sighed, starting to get out of bed as well, but I put a hand on his shoulder. “I'm not kicking you out; you can stay as long as you want to.”

  He fell back against the sheets, breathing in deeply. “You sure?” he asked, even as he pulled the blankets up around himself.

  “I'm sure,” I said, smiling sweetly down at him. I leaned in to drop a kiss to his cheek. “I'll see you later, okay? Lock up when you leave.”

  “Okay.”

  When I got to work, I was in pretty good spirits. “Somebody had a good Christmas,” Mina said, coming into my shop and taking in my smile.

  I grinned at her. “As a matter of fact, I did,” I told her. “A really good Christmas.”

  “Chatted with your family?” she asked.

  “Of course!”

  “And saw Christian a few times?”

  I shrugged. “Of course,” I said. I paused, biting my lower lip. “It's been good.”

  Mina sighed. “I know that look,” she said, shaking her head.

  “What look?” I asked defensively.

  “That look,” Mina said, waving a hand at my face. “You look guilty. And you know what I think that means? I think that means that you're starting to forget the fact that he's going back to New York in, like, a week. Maybe two at the most.”

  “He would have told me if he was,” I protested.

  “You'd like to think so,” Mina agreed.

  “Have you read something in one of your magazines?” I asked softly, not sure if I wanted to know the answer.

  “No,” Mina said. “Although the fact that you even feel the need to ask…”

  “Then maybe he's not leaving,” I said stubbornly.

  Mina sighed and came forward, catching my hands between hers. “You know that he has to leave at some point,” she reminded me. “There's no way around that. And I don't want to see you get hurt, but I'm afraid that that is exactly what's going to happen.” She sighed. “Do you remember what happened the last time you fell in love with a guy?”

  I grimaced. “Mina-”

  “No, don't you Mina me,” she said, shaking her head. “I'm always on your side, and if he leaves and goes back to New York, I'm going to be there for you with ice cream and Chinese takeout food and stupid movies. But at the same time, you can't just hide away in your little bubble and insist that it's never going to exist. That's-”

  “Mina,” I interrupted firmly, finally succeeding in halting her litany. I sighed. “Mina, I know he's going back to New York,” I said. “But we had a great time over the holiday, and I'm trying to take a leaf out of your book. You told me to just have fun with this, with whatever it was. I'm trying very hard to do that. I'm trying very hard to enjoy this.”

  Mina shook her head, looking pained. “Just-”

  “Mina, he likes me,” I interrupted. “He does. And I'm not saying that he's going to take me back to New York with him, he couldn't do that, I know that. But all the same, I want to enjoy this. So, please.”

  “Okay,” Mina said, miming zipping her lips.

  “So, how was your Christmas anyway?”

  Mina grimaced and flopped into one of the waiting room chairs. “Trust me,” she said dramatically, “you don't even want to know.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Christian

  I don't know why I did it, but it was Mark that I called up for advice. Maybe it was just because he was a dude.
Maybe it was because I thought I could get his unbiased opinion on the subject in a way that I knew I would never be able to from Gretchen. Whatever it was, I dialed his number and waited impatiently for him to pick up.

  “Yo, what's up?” he asked. “How was your Christmas?”

  “It was good,” I said distractedly, thinking of something else. “Look, could you meet me over here at the hotel?”

  “Uh oh,” Christian said. “Are you looking at different shirts again?”

  I laughed a little, but the sound was weak. “I honestly wish I were,” I told him.

  “I'll be there in ten,” Mark told me.

  True to his word, he strode into the suite not too long after that. He raised an eyebrow at the way that I was pacing and dropped almost challengingly into a chair. “Dude, what's up?” he asked. “You look stressed.”

  “I am,” I admitted. “I shouldn't be, I should have known this day was coming, but I am.”

  “You're headed back to New York,” Mark said, realization dawning on his face.

  “No!” I said. “I haven't booked my flight yet, but I've been looking at them. That'll happen soon.” I grimaced. “It’s because of my brother.”

  “Okay,” Mark said slowly. “I didn't realize you had a brother.”

  “I don't talk about him much,” I admitted. “And the media doesn't seem to have realized he exists either. We don't have a relationship. At all. I was…” I swallowed.

  “You were probably a dick to him,” Mark surmised, the words coming easily. He shrugged. “Sorry, but I've ready all your interviews and things.”

  “Yeah,” I sighed. “I was a dick to him.”

  “So.”

  “So, he's here in Hawaii at the moment,” I said. “And I feel like, I don't know...”

  “You probably should make things right with him,” Mark said, as though it was that simple.

  “But he wasn't-”

  “No,” Mark said, holding up a hand. “I know that's a pretty normal sibling move, but you can't just do the 'he said, she said' thing for the rest of your life or you're never going to solve anything. And then you'll probably be sitting there on your death bed eventually, and you'll be stuck wondering about all the things that you might have changed about your relationship with your brother. Well, no one's going to want to listen to that shit. You'd better make things right now.”