The Christmas Keeper (Laurel Holidays #6)

10. Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten

T he day after a big holiday usually feels like a massive letdown.

This one, however, didn’t feel like that at all. Probably because the man who had made the season so festive and gay was strolling along beside me to Mr. Blum’s cabin. We’d gotten a call from him late last night informing us that he’d be home early today and wished to speak to us rather urgently.

We’d watched the front window closely for his old Toyota pickup to trundle down the lane, our second day off in row—a rarity for me even with family in town—and then had pulled on coats, hats, and gloves to visit after an hour had passed. We were spending the night at the movies and then having dinner with the family. Antoine had to fly out early tomorrow for a game, Nora was going with him back to Canada, and my folks were heading back to Florida.

Mom had wheedled a commitment from us to show up in Boca Raton in March for Dad’s sixtieth birthday party. Kenan had jumped on the invite, claiming that his southern boy snow fascination had worn off long ago. That had left me walking on air hearing that we’d be a couple for at least three months, barring anything huge happening. I had no plans to do anything to jeopardize our relationship. I had to learn to accept Kenan’s word as truth. And, if we did end up apart, my life would go on. Those were hard lessons to absorb. I had to remind myself daily that I was loveable, worthy, and capable of not being a noose to quote Paulie.

“What do you think he wants?” Kenan asked as we turned off the road to enter his tiny yard. Several crows took to wing when we stepped on the path. It hadn’t taken him long to toss food out to his friends. The bird feeder was also full and smoke poured out of his chimney.

“I couldn’t hazard to guess. Probably he wants to show us snapshots of his time with his sister and give us a gift card for feeding the birds while he was gone.”

“That’s sweet, but totally unnecessary.”

“I’ve been telling him that for the past few years. I generally use the gift card to buy shell corn for him when he runs out and his social security check hasn’t come yet.”

“You’re such a sweetie.”

“Keep that to yourself. Everyone in this town thinks I’m a dick, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

He stole a fast kiss before ringing the doorbell.

The door swung open and my elderly neighbor stood there, mildly sunburned on his nose, but smiling widely.

“Ah, there are the boys. Come in. I brought some of Angela’s nut roll home and the water is hot for tea. Come in, come in, don’t worry about your boots.”

We worried. After removing them and our coats, which we hung by the door, we followed Mr. Blum into his cozy kitchen, sat down, and let him place a platter overflowing with nut roll on the table.

“I have a package with ten different flavors, but I thought a nice Earl Gray would go well with the sweets,” Mr. Blum informed us while placing a teapot on a knitted cozy in the middle of the round table. “Dig in.”

He passed cream and sugar to Kenan. We nibbled on incredibly good nut roll as we sipped tea and made small talk about his few days with his sister. His son was not mentioned, so I didn’t ask as a wave of sadness for the old gent washed over me. Family could be difficult for sure.

“So, here’s why I called you boys up the lane,” Mr. Blum said with a clap of his age-spotted hands. “My sister is having some eye issues. She needs surgery and since she never had children or got married, I’m going to go stay with her.”

“That’s very brotherly of you,” I said as Kenan chewed and nodded.

“She’s the only person I have left, other than you two.” He looked at Kenan and then at me. “Such a nice couple. A Jew and a Gentile falling in love. Gives me hope for the rest of the world.”

I could only smile at Kenan. “That being said, I would like to rent the cabin out to you, Kenan, if you’d like to stay here until spring? I won’t charge much, maybe a hundred dollars a month. I think you are a good boy, observant of the holidays, and possessing a tender heart.”

Kenan’s third slice of nut roll stalled midair. “That’s…that’s very kind of you. I’d love to rent your cabin and take care of it while you’re nursing your sister.”

I felt a twinge of regret but saw it for what it was, me being petty. Kenan needed this, badly. He’d been wandering for years, and this would be a way for him to set down roots of a sort. Would I miss him in my bed? Yes. For sure, but he would just be down the lane.

“Excellent! I’ll call my sister to let her know things are settled here. Now, tell me who won the gingerbread bake-off? Was it Millicent Prickett again?” Kenan and I bobbed our heads. “Pah, she always wins.”

“Well, to be fair, her gingerbread Taj Mahal was pretty impressive,” I admitted, my sight flickering to Kenan as he beamed at me, his face alight with pride. I was happy for him, truly. Small steps lead to big rewards. I didn’t recall where I had seen that before, but it rang true.

Kenan and I were solid. I just had to add that to my daily morning mantras in hopes that it stuck.

On our way home, he took my hand, gently, to tug me from my silent state.

“Are you mad I took Mr. Blum up on his offer?” he asked as he pulled me to a slow stop beside some snowy pines lining the lane.

“No, I am not mad.”

“You seem mad.”

I cupped his scruffy chin with my free hand. Dark, worried eyes caught mine and held them.

“I’m not mad. Honestly, I am happy for you. I think having a place to call your own is a major step in your recovery journey.”

That erased some of the worry lines, but just some. “I agree. So why are you so quiet?”

I smiled weakly. “I’m having a rather lengthy battle with my inner saboteur. He keeps wanting me to freak out, grab you, and force you to stay with me.”

Worry turned to understanding. He turned his head to kiss my palm. Well, actually, it was the palm of my glove, but it counted.

“I understand. Those internal voices are real dicks at times.” I nodded strongly. “Mine likes to remind me of how much better life could be if I were high.”

“He sounds like a donkey dick.”

He chuckled. “He truly is. I think we should name our inner assholes. This way when we’re wrestling with them, we can just say ‘I’m cool, just taking time to bitch slap Stewie. Or Ralph. Or Donald.’”

“I want to call mine Richard Noggin.”

He snorted so loudly a resting cardinal took to wing. “I love that. I’m going to go with Ricardo Cranium.”

I snickered. “We are so damn clever. So yeah, I’m just conversing with Richard. I truly am happy for you. I’m so stupidly happy you’re staying for three more months.”

He stepped closer. His breath was rich from the cinnamon tea we’d enjoyed with Mr. Blum. “I have no plans to leave Whiteham. I think I might have found my forever town and my forever guy.”

My heart nearly burst out of my ribcage. “That right there is the best gift anyone has ever given me.”

“Better than a saw?”

“Oh man, tough call. Can you cut a two-by-four with your dick?”

“No, but I can do other things with it that you enjoy.”

Okay yeah, he totally was on point there. His dick was pretty magical. As were his fingers…

“Hearing that was a thousand times better than a saw.” We kissed right in the middle of the road in front of God, the pines, and all the snowflakes fluttering down from the sky.

***

Seven days of bliss rolled past in the blink of an eye.

Mr. Blum was getting ready for his big trip south, which meant that Kenan was also getting ready to leave my house. It wasn’t like it was going to require a moving van. He literally had two bags of clothes, his guitar, and his car. One trip. Done. Moved. So while he was nervous with excitement, I was still working on trying to get the insecure dickhead in my skull to shut the fuck up. It was tough, but I was slowly choking the life out of him. Good thing you couldn’t go to prison for throttling your toxic traits.

New Year’s was upon us and the alehouse was filled to capacity. Possibly even passed it by a few people. Kenan was putting on a show for the crowds and he was, as always, killing it. There were patrons in here who I had never seen before. I’d run out of fries early and had kicked about five kegs already. Tips were flowing into my cup and Kenan’s guitar case. The vibe was lively, happy, and just a tad silly, which was always the feel as we left one year behind and welcomed a new one. Our lone local driver, Teddy, who owned a yellow Chevy and was affectionately known as Teddy the Taxi Driver, even though it wasn’t really a taxi, was on call tonight. Teddy never charged people for taking them home. He’d lost a son to a drunk driver twenty years ago and had been shuttling inebriated folks around the county ever since. You needed a ride after one too many beers? Call Teddy Smith out on Keeley Fork Road. Teddy was good people.

I was leaning on the bar, enjoying a cover of “Friends in Low Places” which had the crowd singing along in hilarious, slightly tipsy voices, when a youngish guy wiggled up to me.

He was a clean-cut sort, short brown hair, bright blue eyes, and dressed in a blue sweater. Cute fellow. Not as cute as the guy sitting on a stool strumming a guitar but cute enough for a baby-faced dude.

“Hey, can I get a mug of Goose Island?” he shouted. I nodded and held out my hand. He rolled his eyes, pulled out his wallet, and extracted his driver’s license. New York State. Name was Mark Mills, and he was twenty-five.

“Sorry, but you look about sixteen,” I said as I handed back his ID.

“I get that a lot.”

“Let me get your beer.” I walked down the bar, pulled him a nice mug of the trendy IPA, and headed back to him. The crowd was cheering Kenan on as he moved from that Garth Brooks classic to a slower song. “Eight bucks.”

“Not bad. I paid twelve at a bar in Boston.”

“This ain’t Boston.”

He laughed and then slid a ten across the bar. “Keep the change.” I nodded in thanks and went to tend to some other customers. When I returned to ring up the sales, Mark was sipping his beer as he watched Kenan with the same intensity a cat watches a mouse. “Man, he is good,” he said between songs.

“Yep, he is,” I replied as I stuffed some crinkled twenties into the till.

“Care to tell me how you managed to lure Lance Galloway out of whatever cave he’s been hiding in to play in this alehouse that is not Boston?” He spun around to face me, his phone resting on the bar next to his beer. I felt my gut tighten instantly.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I snapped, slammed the drawer to the register, and stalked to the other end of the bar. It took several minutes, but I finally caught Kenan’s attention. Mark was now seated on a stool, his sight locked on Kenan. I gave my head a jerk in the direction of the now-closed kitchen. Kenan’s brows tangled, but he told the crowd he needed to wet his whistle and would return in ten minutes.

I met him in the kitchen, purposely avoiding eye contact with Mark.

“What’s wrong?” Kenan asked as soon as the doors swung closed. The kitchen was subtly lit, with just enough light to allow us to see our way to the basement. Washed cooking utensils sat drying by the sink. The hum of conversation just outside the door was dulled slightly.

“That guy in the sweater by the register asked me how I got Lance Galloway to sing in this shithole.”

His eyes flared. “He called your bar a shithole?”

I loved how defensive he was over my little pub. “Not exactly. I said this town wasn’t Boston.”

“Ah. Well, yeah, it’s not.”

“No, but then he used my quip a second time. That’s not the important thing, though. He somehow knows who you are.”

“It was bound to happen.”

“I can throw him out. I’m the owner. I can refuse to serve anyone I want. And this guy was rude to my place of business.”

“It was you who said it wasn’t Boston.”

“I’m allowed to poke fun at her. She’s my bar. Kind of like having a sister. I can say that Nora’s right ear is bigger than her left, but no one else had better make fun of that one Dumbo ear.”

“I never noticed.”

“Trust me, it’s huge. She hides it with her hair. Anyway, I can toss his ass to the curb. Just say the word.”

He gave me a soft kiss. “I don’t think we need to chuck him out in the snow. I’ll see what he wants and then I’ll decide what to do about him.”

“Okay.” I didn’t like it. Mark had a bad aura, I thought. “He’s probably a reporter or something. He just has that nosey ass vibe.”

Kenan shrugged as if nonplussed, but I noted the tension lines around his pretty dark eyes. When we exited, Paula and Mark were deep in conversation. She grinned at me when I made my way back behind the bar. Mark, the smug little sweater wearer, tapped his empty mug.

“Hey, Brann! I see you already met my nephew, Mark. He lives outside of Buffalo and is studying for his doctorate in journalism. Says he wants to be a senior editor at a big DC newspaper someday.” She gave him a proud auntie hug. Called it. I knew he was a reporter of some sort. I wanted to kick him off his stool but instead, because I was a sweet sort of fellow, I merely forced a smile and then refilled his fucking mug of beer.

Kenan began singing again. I was too busy to spend much time glowering at Mark and Paula, but when I could get a moment, I made sure Paula knew I was not pleased. Mark visited the men’s room near the end of Kenan’s second and final set. I pounced like a fox on a sleepy chicken.

“Did you tell your nephew about Kenan’s past persona?” I snarled, low, hoping to keep this discussion between us as the clock was nearing midnight.

She blanched. “I might have mentioned it over our Christmas dinner, but only to him! He’s looking for a big story to add to his portfolio and I thought—”

“You thought you’d sell Kenan out to this kid with a poison pen?”

“I…no, of course not! I didn’t sell Kenan out! I just mentioned that I’d seen Lance Galloway at this pub, and he was singing for tips. I mean, Brann, you got to admit that a rising star that fell out of the heavens in such a big way working in a—”

“Do not run down my bar. I know it’s not some fancy schmancy Boston pub. Christ. People need to get off their high horses.” She blinked at me in utter confusion. “Never mind about Boston. The thing is that you swore you would keep your lips zipped.”

“I only told Mark. No one else. He’s my nephew, and he so wants to get ahead. I thought if he could write about Kenan, it would be big and look good on his resume when he goes to New York or Chicago or Washington. I didn’t mean any harm to Kenan, but surely someone other than me was going to put two and two together. He’s not Clark Kent. He can’t hide behind long hair and a hairy face forever.”

She was right, of course. Kenan’s past was bound to catch up with him. How it hadn’t until now was a mystery. People believed what they saw and what they wanted to believe, I guess.

“Probably so, but you sold him out. I think that’s pretty shitty,” I replied and walked away to take care of other customers, leaving her to stare at my back.

Midnight came with hoots, hollers, and a hungry-eyed journalist sitting at my bar. After the chaos of a new year was past, people returned to blowing on their noisemakers and downing beer. Kenan was done playing now, and when he snapped his case shut, he made a beeline to Mark. I was too busy tapping kegs, washing glasses, and filling orders to eavesdrop. The two of them were at the bar, heads together, and Kenan appeared to be pretty serene. While I was giving some mugs a good suds, Mark and Kenan shook hands. My sight stayed on Mark as he made for the door, stopping to give his aunt a peck on the cheek. They had a few words. Probably him thanking her for ratting out my boy—

My Kenan to him.

“Hey, you can stop glaring at him with your stabby eyes.” Kenan nudged me out of the sink to take over washing. I wiped my hands on my apron. Paula glanced my way, then quickly pulled on her coat to leave with her nosy nephew. “It’s all cool.”

My sight flew from the door to Kenan. “And how is it cool?”

“I’m going to meet him here tomorrow for an interview.”

“Oh.” I thought for sure he was going to do something else. Not sure what, precisely. Throat-punching Mark and then banning Paula sounded like a good start.

“It’s time. I can’t keep sneaking around the country busking at airports. I have a home now, well for three months anyway, and a man who I’m having a thing with.” I pointed to myself. “No, Teddy the Taxi Driver. Of course you, doofus.”

“I’d like to put forth a petition to clarify what having a thing is,” I said and waved goodbye to a few mill workers as they headed out.

“I can do that with one word. Boyfriend.” I gaped. “Too soon?”

“No, I…” I had to take a breath to steady myself. “No, not at all. I love it. But you know me. I dive into the deep end of the relationship pool without floaties. So please don’t let me push you into something serious if you’re not feeling it.”

He flicked soap in my face. “I was feeling that. And I am feeling you and me too.” He wiped the bubbles from my cheek then carded his wet hands into my hair to kiss me into a stupor.

***

I flipped a page. Just a simple page flip.

How on earth Kenan…nope, my boyfriend—that was going to take some getting used to—how my boyfriend thought that a simple page flip was aggressive I couldn’t grasp.

“Maybe you should go up to the office when Mark arrives?” Kenan suggested as he gathered some coffee mugs from where they had dried on a clean bar towel overnight to pour himself and me some dark roast. It was my fourth cup already this morning. So maybe I had page flipped with a bit of zeal. I was beyond jittery.

“Maybe I should sit here at the bar in case he starts asking you shit questions. Maybe I should boot him to the curb and ban his aunt.”

“Okay, I don’t think you should boot or ban.” He pushed a steaming cup of adrenaline boost to me. I closed the paperback I’d been pretending to read. It was some ?70s crime story that someone had left lying on a table about a year ago. I’d pulled it out of the lost and found box by the coat rack just for something to do aside from booting journalists. “He’s not done a thing illegal. To be honest, he’s been pretty forthright for a reporter. He could have been lurking around your yard taking pictures of us fucking on the sofa.”

“How do you know he didn’t?” I shot back.

“Do you honestly think anyone could sneak into the yard with Fred and Wilma there? They’re louder than a Doberman and just as mean.”

“Dobermans are just mean because people make them that way.”

He gave me a quirky smile. “And why are geese so mean? Did people make them that way?”

“No, God did. In defense of geese, they’re just aggressive to protect themselves, their goslings, or their territory. I totally respect that.”

“You would. You and those geese are the same. Lots of hissing, wing flapping, and pinching, but deep down you’re just fluffy doodle lumps.”

“Please. Fred and I take exception to being called fluffy doodle lumps. We much prefer being called fuck around and find outers.”

He snickered into his coffee. “You’re so funny.” He met my gaze with a soft one that instantly started to unravel my ball of snark. “Let’s just give Mark a chance. I’ll answer what I want to answer and nothing more. I’ve already stipulated that we get final approval of the piece before it goes to print. I will not reveal where we live or where I’m working, I promise. I know you don’t want the press showing up here or at your place, and neither do I.”

“I will sic Fred on anyone who shows up at my cabin with a camera. Bird watcher? Tough shit, bucko, haul your ass down the lane.”

“Totally fair, although you might want to ascertain what the camera is being used for before you let loose the goose.”

“We’ll see. I kind of like seeing some folks dashing down the road with a goose on their heels. Of course that’s why I have to read my own electric meter now.”

“I’ve never known a person more perfectly suited to their pets.” He rose to his toes to kiss me on the mouth just as the front door opened. We both turned to see who was here this early. If it was one of the gas workers, they’d be told to go to the Happy Mart for their morning java. Mark slid in, bringing a gust of cold wind with some light flurries with him. The leftover blue and white streamers from New Year’s Eve shook madly.

Mark gave us a wary smile as he shook off his coat and stamped the snow from his Vans.

“I ran into a snow squall on Route 17 that halted traffic for ten minutes until it blew through,” Mark said as he neared us at the bar.

“Those snow squalls can bring some unexpected things into our lives,” Kenan replied with a gentleness that made me want to block any and all unpleasantness from his life. Mark being one of those things. “Brann is going to take his coffee to his office now and we’ll take that table by the jukebox.”

“I am?” I threw Mark a look that made him shrink into himself.

“You are. We’ll be done in an hour, maybe less.” Kenan patted my cheek. I rose, coffee mug in hand, and threw my most foreboding look at Mark.

“You play nice,” I warned the reporter before stalking upstairs. Each step was placed heavily on the stairs. Leaving the door open, I flopped down behind my desk, stared at the sofa where Kenan had slept, and waited not unlike a jaguar waiting for a monkey to walk past. Did monkeys walk? Shuffle. Lumber. However the fuck monkey’s motivated.

Ten minutes passed. I considered going down to get my book just to see how things were going, but I kept my ass in my rickety office chair. Instead of spying or eavesdropping, I set up some tax forms for the new year, downed my coffee, and decided it was probably time to put Kenan on the books. For his sake and mine.

The creak of the fourth stair from the top pulled me from boring tax shit. Kenan eased into the office. He was not crying or cussing.

“How did it go?” I asked as he dropped to the sofa, all long legs and curls. The sexiest thing I had ever seen in my life, and he was all mine.

“Pretty well. Better than lots of other interviews I’ve given. He seemed pretty relatable, kind, and understanding of my wishes to just be left alone. He promised that where we were located would not be in the finished interview, but he could not guarantee that some people wouldn’t figure it out, which is okay. People will talk. I hope you’ll be understanding if some of my old fans show up now and again.”

I left my seat at the desk to sit beside him on the old, bow-legged sofa. I pulled the blanket he’d slept under over us. He cuddled in close, two bugs in a rug as Dad liked to say.

“I will not mind if some old fans show up. I won’t mind if new fans show up. Here. At the bar. I will mind if people track us down to our homes. That is a crime punishable by goose pinching for starters, followed by a call to the state police. I’m not going to let some obsessed fan scare you.”

He nuzzled his nose into my throat, then tossed a lanky leg over my lap, his thigh resting over mine as he hugged me into him tightly.

“Agreed on all points.” He smelled so good, his curls tickling my chin. “I told him everything. All about the drugs, the stints in rehab, and my life on the road.”

“Did you mention your parents?” I ran my hand up and down his back. If we never moved from this spot, I would die a happy man.

“I mentioned that we had a falling out. He pressed a bit. I said that no is a complete sentence and to move on. And he did. Overall, he was pretty nice. I guess we’ll see if that kindness was just an act to make me spill more juicy stuff or not. He did ask if you were mad at his aunt still and I said that I thought it was more a case of feeling betrayed.”

“That. But yeah, I’m mad at her. She said she wouldn’t say anything and then what does she do? Go running to some wanna-be Anderson Cooper to tell him about her amazing discovery. That’s not the way people in this town act.”

“She was trying to help her nephew. Maybe you could consider giving her a second chance. Everyone deserves at least that in life. Some of us need third, fourth, and fifth chances before we get it right.”

I had to squeeze my eyes tightly and frown. “Ugh, damn it. Why are you always so damn right and nice and kind?”

He softly laughed as his breath fanned over my throat. “Lots and lots of rehab. Lots and lots of group therapy. Lots of praying. Tons of praying, to be honest. I’m really not all right all that often. I do try to be kind. Do unto others and all that.”

I huffed dramatically. “Fine, I will consider not being a dick and banning Paula, but she is going to have to do some big-time tipping for her to be graced with my sweet disposition again.”

That made him laugh out loud.

I could be sweet. When I had good reason. Kenan got lots of my sweet because he was a very good reason.

“I’m so glad you’re staying here in Whiteham,” I confessed into his curly hair. He sighed as he melted into me. “I think I might kind of love you.” God I hoped it wasn’t too soon to say that to him. If he ran off into the night, I would curl up and let myself mummify. Months from now, someone would find this human-sized cheese curl of a human body lying on the sofa dead from a broken heart that couldn’t take being broken again.

He picked up his head, kissed the corner of my mouth, and then stared right into me. “I think I might kind of love you too. And no, it’s not too soon to say it.”

“I wasn’t going to say that.”

“You were thinking it.”

Shit. He knew me too well already. “Yeah, okay, I was.”

From down below, the sound of customers filing in rose up the stairs. Kenan sighed. “I forgot to lock the front door.”

“Hey, barkeeps, we’re hungry and thirsty!” Lyle shouted from downstairs.

“If we stay very quiet, maybe they’ll go away?” Kenan posed.

“Are you two getting down with it?!” Lyle bellowed up the stairs. Titters could be heard from his buddies.

“No, we’re going over beer invoices,” I yelled as Kenan snickered softly.

“Is that what the kids are calling it now?” Lyle replied. More dirty sniggers from the peanut gallery downstairs.

“Can’t they pour themselves a mug?” Kenan whispered, unwilling to leave my arms, it seemed.

“Nah, they’ll just drink all my beer for free and then set the place on fire trying to make double batches of onion rings. We better get down there.”

“If you insist. Can I have a kiss?” he asked, and I was more than happy to oblige. The kissing and hugging could have gone on for much longer, but someone had fired up the jukebox and the smell of hot fryer grease reached my nose. I threw off the cover, took his hand, and pulled Kenan to his sneaks.

“Yeah, they’re trying to make food.” I hauled ass down the stairs where the usual suspects were all seated at the bar aside from Lyle, who was in the kitchen. I tossed him out with a growl as Kenan made more coffee. Once the first wave of sawmill workers were full, I snuck out of the kitchen to grab a soda. Kenan was at a table with three of the mill workers, laughing at something one of them had said.

“You and Kenan got a thing going?” Lyle asked as if everyone in this damn burg didn’t already know that.

“Yeah, we do.”

“He’s a nice guy.” I caught Kenan’s smiling gaze dart to me and linger. “Good barkeep. Real good singer. You know none of us really care if you two are gay and Jewish.”

“That’s incredibly kind. I’m not Jewish,” I said as I tied on an apron.

“Oh, Willie over at the tire shop said he heard you were converting. I told him I hoped so then maybe we could get some blintzes on the menu.” I stared at Lyle. He winked.

Funny man. This town was filled with hilarious, decent sorts. Well aside from Al, but hey, no town could bat a thousand.