The Christmas Keeper (Laurel Holidays #6)

4. Chapter Four

Chapter Four

S ometimes I impressed myself.

Not only did I get myself out of the house an hour early, but I managed to find some pretty cool little gifts for Kenan at the thrift shop. Nothing too ridiculous or expensive. I mean it was a thrift shop after all, but they were cute little things: a tiny stuffed dog with a beret (the headwear could be a yarmulke if you squinted really hard), a small rose-toned lidded dish where he could put earrings, a bracelet with spangly beads of red and green. Then I went to the grocery store. I found some small chocolates, a tin with hard candy, an orange, and a brownie from the bakery.

I planned to give him the brownie tonight, which was why I was now in the basement in my short-sleeved tee and pulling out boxes of decorations and looking for some damn wrapping paper. It was damn near impossible to rummage around in this lot and not be assaulted with memories.

Lights that Paulie had bought for the bar, a two-foot fake tree to sit beside the jukebox, little glass balls that he had insisted we buy even though drunken customers broke at least one every damn weekend. I should have thrown them all out the day after he had broken me in two.

For years I had glowered at them, cussed them, even spat at them, but I’d never been able to toss them. My father, a hoarding master, claimed that throwing perfectly good things away was wasteful and that someday, maybe in ten or twenty years, you might need it. My mother did not agree with that thinking, so there were many spats about Dad’s need to keep string or stop in the middle of the road to pick up a stray bungee cord. Maybe that was why I’d kept this mess of remembrances, or maybe I’d just left them here because I would have a need for them someday.

Pushing aside a large stocking in the shape of a beer mug, I found a small package of flat wrapping paper. Candy canes. Cool. Slipping things back into place, I tucked the pack under my arm, climbed the stairs, grabbed the gifts, and rushed upstairs, only to come up short once I entered the office. I’d been so engrossed in finding gifts and searching for paper that I’d forgotten the giftee was bunking on my sofa. The blanket he slept under was a rumpled ball on the floor. The sound of a man splashing around in the water closet—and closet was the right word—reached me in the doorway. Kenan emerged just as I was turning to sneak back to the bar to wrap my little goodies at a table. He was bare-chested, damp, and incredibly sexy. The man was lean as a whippet, but that took nothing away from his appeal. Dark curls covered his pecs and ran down into his jeans, jeans that were unsnapped to show just a peek of bright red briefs.

He yelped in fright. I stumbled backward, my bag of presents in one hand and candy cane paper in another.

“Shit, oh shit, you scared me to death,” Kenan huffed, hand coming up to rest on his thumping heart. “Oh shit, okay, fuck.” He nervously laughed as I, the creeper, stared at his dark brown nipples as if I’d never seen nipples before. “Sorry, I wasn’t expecting you until later.”

He rushed to pull a wrinkled tee from one of his duffel bags. “I was washing up.”

I nearly moaned in loss as he tugged a blue T-shirt over his wet curls. “No, totally on me,” I said, thrilled that I had found my voice. “I have some errands to run this morning.”

“Cool, I’ll be out of here in a second. I just have to hang up my socks to dry.” His head popped out of his shirt, dark eyes finding me still in the doorway. “Are you okay with me handwashing some delicates as my mother used to call them then letting them air dry?”

“Oh man, yeah, please come to my place to use the washer and dryer.”

He thought that over. “I was going to ask about a laundromat in town.”

“No, sorry, nothing at all like that. Next county they have one. We did have one, but it caught on fire and burned to the ground about seven or eight years ago. Faulty wiring or something. A notary bought the land and then built a little house where she works from her office. So if you need something notarized, you’re golden, but if your BVDs need a scrubbing, you’re shit out of luck.”

“Ah, gotcha. If my using your washer and dryer isn’t too much of an imposition…”

“Not at all,” I rushed to assure him. “Feel free to shower too.”

“Oh. That’s…above and beyond, yeah?”

“I mean washing in a sink works and all, but nothing beats a shower. If you want, which you totally do not have to want at all. Sometimes I skip…” I forced my jaw to shut to allow my stupid brain a chance to slow the hell down. “Not important. The offer stands if you want to use my laundry room and my shower. I can cook something that’s not a greasy burger for dinner or we can grab something at the pizza shop on the way home.” He seemed unable to find words. I wished I was suffering from verbal lockjaw instead of word diarrhea. “Right, well, let me get out of here so you can finish dressing.”

“It’s your office.”

“I know, but…”

He walked over to me, in his stocking feet, and pulled me into a hug. I was not expecting it at all, and my spine went ramrod straight for a moment. He smelled good and clean like the green soap in the soap dish. I decided on the spot that I wanted that kind of soap in that dish forever. His curls tickled my cheek and nose, and instead of turning from the tickle, I moved my face into it.

“You’re one of the kindest souls I have ever met,” he drawled quietly, his embrace gentle yet firm. Kind? Me? That was not the general consensus of most people. I closed my eyes, inhaled all those curls, and then felt the brush of his whiskers against mine. My dick was not only awake now, but it was playing reveille to ensure my balls were wide awake. The only thing that saved me from grabbing him was the fact that I had my hands full. My lips, however, were not holding anything, so they were free to find his cheek. Just a fast peck was intended. The kind you give your grandmother in thanks for a fiver in your birthday card. Only his cheek was not a matronly cheek. My lips landed on the corner of his mouth, not his cheek at all, and the jolt was akin to shoving your tongue into a toaster. Not that I had ever done that as a kid on a dare.

His breath quickened. My eyes flew open. We had a long, long moment of stunned staring as he held me flush to him. I didn’t dare shift right or left. My cock was so hard if I moved an inch, he would feel my erection. Probably he already did. Oh shit.

“That was not supposed to be a mouth kiss,” I blurted out, his minty breath warm and moist on my face. “It was supposed to be a kiss like the Europeans do, like to show thanks or to be welcoming. Like a grandma kiss.”

“You kiss your grandmother on the mouth?”

“What?! No, shit, no!”

He began to snicker as his arms fell away. I stayed locked in place, my gaze resting on his jovial brown eyes, utterly lost in the smell, sound, and now feel of him. If I wet my lips, would I taste that almost kiss?

“I was kidding. It’s fine. Hugs and cheek kisses are always welcome.” He moved away to finish dressing his feet, bending over to find his sneakers under the sofa. My sight fell to that skinny, firm ass.

Time to go. “Okay, so yeah, see you downstairs,” I mumbled as I waved the wrapping paper in the general vicinity of downstairs.

I then ran like a jackrabbit with a pack of braying beagles on its ass.

***

Thankfully, Kenan gave me some time to gather my scattered wits.

I wrapped tiny gifts with quaking hands, mumbling to myself about how dumb this was, how I’d never done this for any part-timer before—not that there had been many since I was ‘difficult and expected too much’ according to the last dude who had worked for exactly four hours before quitting because I’d asked him to engage with the customers a little and pull his damn face away from his phone—and why did they make scotch tape with ends that you couldn’t find. You know, the usual shit someone grumbled about when being festive.

“This is why I don’t do the holidays,” I whispered as I wrapped a stuffed dog in a square piece of candy cane paper with little to no skill or worry about pleasing aesthetics.

When I was done, I stashed all the tiny presents in the cash bag except for the one I was going to place by the menorah in the window. I had no clue if that was how it was done. Did you place the gifts under the candelabra like it was a Christmas tree? Damn it, I was such a gentile. I was about to Google it when Kenan came down the stairs, hair damp and curly, eyes darting about the bar until he found me with a poorly wrapped gift in my hand.

“Happy second day of Hanukkah!” I shouted. Why did I shout? Not one damn clue. It wasn’t like this was a surprise birthday party.

“Brann, that was not at all necessary,” he said as I climbed down from the chair, gift resting in my palm, as he closed the distance. “I don’t have anything for you.”

“You still have several days. I like fruitcake,” I teased. The lingering tension left his face when I plunked the messily wrapped toy into his hand.

“You’re the only person I know who does,” he replied, weighing the package before opening it with more than a little trepidation. Those dark sinful eyes lit up when he saw the little pooch in the flat beret.

“His hat is flat,” I hurried to say as if he couldn’t see that for himself. “I saw him in the bin and he looked like he was wearing a yarmulke.” Kenan snorted softly. “So I thought he would be a good gift for a nice Jewish man during a special time of the year. If you don’t like him, we can just say he’s a French poodle who has seen some shit.”

“What kind of shit?”

“Oh, uhm, well, he broke up with his boyfriend and so he’s been spending his nights in cabarets, smoking like a fiend, drinking lots of French wine, and reciting slam poetry to other poodles who snap their fingers when his poem concludes.”

Kenan laughed, hard, and I felt a tingle in my toes that climbed up to settle somewhere in the vicinity of my stone-cold heart.

“I’ve never met a man who has a mind quite like yours,” he said.

“I’m uniquely Brann.”

“Yeah, you are very much uniquely Brann.” And with that, he leaned in to kiss me. Right on the mouth. Not on the cheek or nose or corner of my lips or my ear. Right on the kisser. His lips were warm and soft and lingered for a moment before he went to pull back.

“I like your kisses,” I softly said, sliding an arm around his waist and gently pulling him closer. The stuffed dog was flattened between our chests as we gingerly tasted each other. I lapped at the seam of his lips, eager beyond sanity, and got a tiny taste when he sighed and let me in.

The bar phone rang. Sanity returned. I opened my eyes and found myself swimming in pools of sweet milk chocolate.

“I like your kisses too,” Kenan whispered, then peeled himself out of my arms. I stood there like a marble carving, breathing hard, erect, and unable to do anything other than smile like a freaking idiot as Kenan jogged around the bar to pick up the call. “Someone asking about lunch specials,” he asked, his sight locked with mine again.

“Specials? We have beer and burgers. Those are the specials,” I managed to croak out, furious at whoever had broken our tender moment. Kenan snickered before telling the caller we were having a special on burgers and ale. I had to smile at his way with people.

The front door opened and cold air rushed in with a couple of the mill workers. Shit. Where had the time gone? I’d been so busy wrapping and kissing Kenan, the grill and deep fryer were still cold.

“Hey, guys,” Kenan called, hung up the old wall phone, and began pouring glasses of beer while I stumbled into the kitchen. I pulled a clean apron over my head and sighed at the boner holding out the front of the apron. How the hell was I supposed to cook with that thing? I’d have my pecker in the hot oil if I wasn’t careful. The sounds of male laughter filtered in right before someone fed some coins into the jukebox. “Kiss an Angel Good Morning” began to play, and I could only hope that Kenan had been the one to choose that song.

***

Nothing said goodwill to man than a nice dart league.

If only the jokers who shot darts could stop being total fuckups for ten minutes and take the game seriously. There was a hundred-dollar gift certificate to Pete’s Sporting Goods out on old Bender Bean Road plus a trophy. A motherfucking trophy. That I had wanted for the past three years but never won because my team was too busy being tipsy gossip grannies.

Tonight was a case in point. They’d shown up at the appointed time, seven, which gave me time to clean the grill, tidy up the kitchen, and change into our league shirts. Spiffy numbers in bright green with our team name, Alehouse Tipsy Arrows, on the back.

Kenan had pulled out his guitar and played during the span of when the kitchen was closed to when the dart throwing began in earnest. The pub was packed, which was highly unusual for dart night. Generally, it was just the dart teams, but tonight everyone and their chinchilla were here. That could only be due to Kenan’s draw. God knows I sure was captivated by him, so why wouldn’t the rest of Whiteham be?

Mr. Blum showed up around eight, and between rounds of darts, I introduced him to Kenan. The electric menorah was removed from a cloth shopping bag and instantly placed in the window with a small dog in a beret seated under it.

Kenan led Mr. Blum to the bar, where he and my neighbor fell into some really deep conversations while Kenan pulled beers and I tried to focus on darts. It was hard to pay attention to the game when my sight kept traveling to Kenan. If I concentrated hard enough, I could still feel the press of his lips to mine. He’d fit into my arms so well like we were puzzle pieces created solely to snap together.

“Hey!” Someone elbowed me. My gaze whipped from the bar to Tommy, my teammate, who was glowering at me as he held out a handful of darts. “Where the hell is your head tonight, man? The Milk Plant Mavens are kicking our ass!”

I shot the four women on the milk plant team a dark look. They all held up middle fingers then cackled in delight as our third shooter, Mitch, stumbled over a chair, more than a few sheets to the wind, and fell on the dart in his hand. Laura, one of the shooters’ wives, was a nurse, so she got Mitch’s ass cheek freed from the dart, cleaned up, and bandaged.

“Jesus,” I moaned when Mitch limped home. We had to pull a new player in, which happened to be Mr. Blum. The old gent was fair shakes at darts, and while we didn’t win, we didn’t lose as badly as we generally did. The ten teams finalized scores, drank more beer, and then headed home around ten p.m.

“Why don’t you two boys come to my place for dinner tomorrow night?” Mr. Blum asked as he pulled on his winter coat. “It’s been a long time since I had a reason to bake some challah bread.”

“I…” My sight darted to Kenan. We’d not had any time to talk today, what with customers and beer deliveries and banking runs. Perhaps he was sorry we’d kissed and was planning to leave town tonight to avoid my pawing him. “I’m not sure what plans Kenan has.”

“I’d love to, thank you, Mr. Blum.”

Mr. Blum beamed like a new headlight. “Excellent! I’ll dig into Betty’s recipes and see what other treats I can come up with. Goodnight, boys.” He shook our hands vigorously and strode out into the cold night. I locked the door behind him. Kenan began picking up chairs. My back stayed on the doorjamb for several seconds as I tried to organize my thoughts.

“So, about earlier,” I said and got a confused look. “The kiss…”

“Oh.” He placed a chair atop a table and folded his arms over his chest. “If you want me to go, I will. That was pretty cheeky of me to force a kiss on my boss. I’d totally understand if you told me to hit the—”

“No!” I rushed to end that train of thought. “No, not at all. I was fully into it. I’m really drawn to you, Kenan, but I need you to know I’m damaged goods. My last boyfriend fucked me over royally, and I have what some might say ‘trust issues.’ I’m cranky, irritable, and tend to prefer spending time with my geese than most people.”

“I’d like to meet your geese. You talk about them like they’re children.” His defensive stance relaxed, his shoulders dropping, his lips twitching at the corners. I’d kissed that corner. Hell, I’d kissed the whole mouth. And I wanted more.

“Children that bite you on the ass on occasion, shit all over the place, and are loud and obnoxious, so, yeah, exactly like kids but with feathers.”

His chuckle warmed me inside. “I’d like to meet them. Maybe I could bring my clothes over to your place tomorrow, take a shower…if that offer is still open?”

“God, yeah, it’s totally open. I have water and soap.”

“Then I should be set.”

I rubbed at my chest, right over where my heart was thundering in a mix of fear and happiness.

“I have bath towels too, just so you know.”

“Good to hear. The bar towels are a little small to dry off with.”

I snickered. Man, I really, really liked this guy. “So the kiss…”

“Was miraculous.”

Wow, that was some high praise. I hoped to experience another miracle or two tomorrow. I’d have to thank Nora for insisting I take one day a week off for good mental health. Spending a wintry Sunday with Kenan was going to be the best thing I’d done for my well-being since I’d traveled to Canada to be the brother of honor. I’d have to thank my sister for that too. Her head would be the size of a half keg when we spoke next.