He chuckles. “No, but I still got fucked by Scrooge, so been there and done that. Besides, I don’t think Scrooge fits you anymore. Do you?”
I stare at all the decorations we’ve bought. “No, probably not. Although I still don’t love Christmas.”
“Yet, Daddy.” He flutters his lashes.
I sigh. I have a feeling that, someday soon, Christmas is going to be my favourite time of the year, too. Or as close to it as it’ll ever get. “What would you go as? One of the other ghosts? Bob Cratchet? Tiny Tim?”
“No! I’d go as the ghost of a Christmas present.”
“The, what now?”
“The ghost of a Christmas present! My wrapping paper would be all faded, like a ghost, and I’d wear a label that says ‘boo!’. We’d be a perfect matching pair.”
I can’t help but laugh. His idea is both ridiculous and ingenious.
“So, are we going, Daddy?”
How can I refuse him? “Only if Nigel doesn’t want to.”
“Bet he jets off again this year.”
“He’d better not.” I soften my voice and say, “Not without warning, anyway.”
“Oh, but Daddy, we get to have more fun while Nigel is away.” He shifts so he’s straddling me, and gently pushes me until I’m lying on the floor, surrounded by decorations. He leans down and kisses me. “Like sex in the storeroom.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You’re serious, boy?”
“Hmm, maybe. Maybe not.” He gets off me and opens the long box containing the tree. “Help me put this together, please, Daddy. We should decide where the tree is going first.”
I sit, catch hold of him, and pull him backwards onto my lap. “You cannot put that thought into my head and then start decorating.”
“Why not, Daddy?” he asks in a butter-wouldn’t-melt voice.
“Because you’re turning me on, boy,” I whisper into his ear.
“Is that a problem?”
“No, but I’d like to do something about it.”
He half-turns, embraces, and kisses me. “Before or after we decorate, Daddy?”
I release an exasperated grunt. “After.”
He grins. “Help me with the tree?”
Together, we put up all the decorations, starting with the tree and ending with a sprig of mistletoe above the front door. By the time we’re done, our apartment is a twinkling wonderland.
Rowan wraps his arms around my waist as we stand under the mistletoe, surveying our handiwork. “What do you think?”
“It’s a lot.” More decorations than I ever imagined putting up.
“Too much?”
But they’re pretty and cheerful and damn it, I can’t help it, they make me smile. It’s like the decorations are a manifestation of Rowan’s personality: sunshine and rainbows.
“No, not too much. They’re wonderful.”
“Huh, does that mean I can get away with more next year?”
