Kobe motioned to a tumbler on the coffee table. “It’s not a smoky Mortician but someone has decent taste in scotch, so it’s not half bad.” He held his glass in a cheers motion.
“Small pleasures.” I helped myself to the drink, sipping. Kobe hadn’t added mix, and the strong alcohol seared a path down my esophagus.
Kobe laughed when I blew out a wheezing breath. “Sorry. I didn’t know how you liked it.”
“It’s perfect.”
“At least I poured it into a glass. Teenage me would have sucked it right out of the bottle.”
I sipped more cautiously the second time, eyeing him. “If you drank your tequila directly from the bottle in Mexico, it’s no wonder your memories are hazy.”
Kobe guffawed. “We don’t talk about Mexico. Besides, tequila is my ex, remember. Scotch and exploring Europe is my future.” He upended his glass and licked his lips approvingly. “It’s tasty.”
The corner of my mouth twitched. “I fear if that’s how you drink your scotch, you won’t be traveling anywhere but to the bathroom. It’s meant to be sipped.”
Kobe chuckled and set his glass aside. Clasping my hand, he drew me closer. “I love it when you smile. It lights you up, and those dark shadows you carry around fade.”
The comment should have stung, but it didn’t. It warmed me more than the alcohol. “Why are you so easy to be around? I’m not exactly a catch.”
“That’s your opinion.”
Kobe’s attention moved to the tree. This man had hooked his claws in me and seemed determined to bring me back to life. I wanted to give him something in return, and I had a feeling, I knew the perfect thing.
“What are you doing for Christmas?”
Kobe cut his gaze from the tree. “Likely working. Pretending the holiday doesn’t exist, like I do every year. Why?”
“I’ll be making princess pancakes with strawberries and whipped cream, suffering endless rounds ofThe Grinch Who Stole Christmas, and not the original 1966 version but the god-awful one with Jim Carrey.”
“Hey. I love that guy. Don’t knock our fellow Canadian comedian, and how the hell do you know the date the original Grinch was made?”
“I’ve had to defend my stance on which version is better for many years. I’ve since armed myself with as many facts as possible.”
“Ah, I see.” A wistful longing took the place of Kobe’s smile. “It sounds like you and Cosette will have a fantastic day. I don’tknow what a princess pancake is, but if it involves a metric ton of syrup, I bet it’s fantastic.”
“Join us.”
“No.” His answer was instant. He shook his head and stepped back, putting distance between us.
I grabbed his hand, keeping him close. “Why not?”
“Because Christmas is a time for families, and I’m not part of—”
“Stop it. My family was destroyed two and a half years ago. Do you know how hard it is to get through Christmas without her? I hate setting up that godforsaken tree and seeing it every day. She picked those decorations, and now I have to look at them and try not to fall apart.
“I hate pretending to be festive. I hate the holiday music that every person at work insists on putting on and listening to, day in and day out. It started on the first of December, I’ll have you know. I hate the icicle lights, the tinkling bells, the way you can’t go anywhere without it being shoved in your face. If I could ignore it all, I would, Kobe, but I can’t. I do it for Cosette because she deserves a joyful holiday. She deserves to experience Santa and Christmas carols and presents. Join us and maybe this year won’t hurt so much… for either of us.”
Kobe stared into the amber liquid inside my glass, his hand still clasped in mine, squeezing like he feared letting go. Funny, wasn’t I the one at risk of falling apart?
“Okay.” Kobe glanced up from under dark lashes, and in that moment, he seemed impossibly young and vulnerable. “I’d really like that. I haven’t celebrated Christmas since…” He let the sentence hang before shrugging. “I’ve never really celebrated Christmas. Not properly.”
“Then it’s settled.”
I drew him back into my space and captured his mouth, kissing him and savoring the sweetness of his scotch-laced lips.It was too easy. This. Kobe. Could I let go of the past? Let go of promises I should never have made to a woman who was never coming back?
Maybe I didn’t have to suffer anymore.
Maybe I could forgive and forget and look forward instead of backward, stop the self-flagellation that had consumed my life lately.
