“No,” I say, loosening my grip on her. “Nope.” Forcing myself to let go of her completely, I take a step back.
I will be the one to walk away this time.
Paxton grabs the sleeve of my suit jacket with both hands, trying to pull me down to his level. “Please, Dad? It’s my interfaith-holiday-season wish.”
“You said having all theStar WarsLego kits was your interfaith-holiday-season wish.”
He is expressionless, but he blinks twice. “Did you get me all theStar WarsLego kits?”
God, I love this kid. “You will know by end of day on the twenty-fifth.”
He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. I really need to get those tightened for him. “Can I have two interfaith-holiday-season wishes, then? Lego for me for Hanukkah and Cleo for you for Christmas.”
Cleo for me for Christmas.
I should have had Cleo for Christmas eight years ago.
I watch as Cleo picks up an invitation card that someone left on a nearby table. After reading it, she looks around and spotsAlyssa with Barry, then she looks over at me with pity in her eyes. Pity. For me.
I hate pity.
Especially when it’s for me.
So why don’t I hate that she feels something, anything for me, besides merry contempt? Why does it feel so good that she’s paying attention tomeand not Nico Todd, who’s singing “Here Comes Santa Claus,” and okay, he’s a slightly better singer than I am and everyone else is enthralled, including the band. ButnotCleo Jones. She’s looking atme.
I look away first. That doesn’t mean she wins, it just means I’m an awesome father who pays attention to his son. “I will stay for one more hour,” I tell Paxton.
“She’s really nice, so please be nice to her,” he quietly pleads.
She is really nice. But nice people crush souls and break hearts too, and she doesn’t get to break mine twice. “You’ve run out of holiday wishes, buddy.”
“Don’t I get a Kwanzaa wish?”
“That is a lengthy philosophical conversation for another time.”
I meet Cleo’s gaze again, and she strolls over to join us.
“I’m gonna go get another cookie,” Paxton announces.
“That’s the last one for tonight,” I tell him. “You’ve had way too much sugar today.”
He pretends he didn’t hear me as he runs off. I know that trick. I know all the tricks.
“So…” Cleo clasps her hands behind her lower back and wraps one leg around the other. “You going to the office now?”
“I will stay for one more hour.”
“Cool. Guess I will too, then.” She lowers her voice. “Are we really pretending I’m your date?”
“I wouldn’t want to disappoint my son.”
“Nor would I. So, I’m your date but not your girlfriend?”
“Correct. I’m still seeing how things go, trying to determine if you’re a total nutjob or not. It’s very casual. But you’re obsessed with me.”
“Got it. Good note.” In slow motion, she stands on her tiptoes and reaches up to comb an errant wave of hair away from my forehead. “Seems like my character would do something like this if she had the chance.”
I get a whiff of the perfume emanating from her wrist, and it’s all I can do not to grab that wrist and kiss the palm of her hand. “My character would allow you to do that, despite his suspicions that you might be bad news.”
